Hide from me while I
Count the heartbeats until I
Must start to seek you
My amah said that summer was going to be very hot. I was too old to still need an amah, but Anzu had been my brothers’ amah before I was born, and she had been about the house for so long I suppose it was taken for granted that she should be there. In any event, it had never occurred to anybody to either send her away or find her another job.
Anzu tended to ramble on, so I nodded absently, barely listening to her as I waited to see if Father would summon me. When I heard the sound of his horse clattering away—the shoji had been left open in the hope of catching any breeze that arose—I sighed and paid her some attention. I had nothing else to do.
“How do you know it’s going to be hot this summer?” I asked lazily. “It seems the same as last year to me.”
“Oh no, Mi-san, it’s much hotter already. The river is very low, and the kitchen maids say the well water is so low they have to put a large stone in the bucket to weigh it down to get any water in it.”
In spite of the fact that she had cared for me since the day I had been born, Anzu was still stiffly formal in my presence. She did everything for me, from bringing my meals to hanging up my clothes and soaping and rinsing me before the bath. I liked her well enough, except when she wanted to chatter about nothing at all, and then I quickly became irritated with her. One day, when I had been very bored, I had tried to show her how the abacus worked, and she had reduced me to fury in moments with her total bewilderment. Now I shrugged and answered absently.
“Oh, I daresay it will be hot this year, then.”
It meant nothing to me. As far as I was concerned, all the days when I did not accompany Father to Edo were dross. I spent my time copying the kanji Gen had left me with over and over again until I was sure they were perfect. Only then did I allow myself the pleasure of playing on my biwa or doing increasingly complex calculations on the abacus for my own amusement.
Whatever I did, Anzu watched me with breathless admiration. I realized how much I missed Edo when I found myself wishing that Gen had ever given me a fraction as much praise as she did. Even more did I long for Father to acknowledge that I was useful. Tanaka-san said that I was as quick on the abacus as even the best of Father’s clerks, and perhaps even more accurate. Had he, I wondered, mentioned that to Father?
If he had, Father did not speak to me of it.
There was no reason for me to be hurt by his silence. As far back as I could remember, Father had been a quiet sort of man. Naturally, I did not see him that often at home. If he was back from Edo in time, the whole family took the evening meal together—unless Mother was feeling unwell, which was often the case, and then she chose to eat alone in her apartment. Father ate in silence, acknowledging any comment either of my brothers made with a nod of his head or a grunt.
The day after my disagreement with Gen seemed like any other. Mother did not join us for the evening meal. It made little difference. When she did eat with us, she was generally quiet, concentrating on her food rather than joining in the conversation. I, of course, was not expected to speak.
For some reason, Father did not like to have the servants present during a family meal, so I handed round the dishes they had left when one of my menfolk asked for something, and I made sure the tea bowls were full. In between, I ate my own food quickly before it went cold.
But I listened. Carefully. Young as I was, it seemed to me that my brothers were much given to idle chatter. Both of them were very fond of sumo wrestling and often spoke of bouts they had seen or how their favorite wrestler was performing. Father—as politeness demanded—appeared to listen but rarely commented. But now and then, even his patience was exhausted and he would demand abruptly how much cash Ichiro had lost betting on the wrestling matches.
Whenever that happened, a dreadful silence would fall in the room. Ichiro and Satoru would exchange glances until one or the other of them—usually Ichiro, who held the responsibility of being the eldest son—would reply meekly.
“Honored Father, the whole world attends sumo matches. It is an excellent place to make contacts. Naturally, one has to place a bet now and then. If one did not, then the other patrons would think we were short of money, and that would mean loss of face for the family business.”
It was a smooth answer, and generally Father chose not to question it. But now and then he persisted, and both my brothers would eat the rest of their meal in sulky silence.
That day, Satoru had, I think, taken too much sake after his meal. He had become loud and boastful, talking of how he had persuaded a foolish gaijin to borrow a large amount of money to buy inferior pearls from one of Satoru’s cronies.
Father heard him out quietly and then spoke calmly and softly. Even so, his words bit like a sword-blade.
“It is you who is the fool, Satoru. The gaijin will find out he has been duped and he will not trade with us again. Even worse, he will advise his fellow gaijin not to trade with us. You may have made money on one transaction, but you will lose it ten times over in future trade.”
I was so startled by Father’s bluntness—to call his son a fool was a deadly insult and very uncharacteristic of him—I was quite frightened and dropped my chopsticks. I was grateful for the diversion. It meant I could pretend to search for them and not look at the men.
“Father…” Satoru began to protest and then thought better of it. Instead, he held his sake cup up, clearly expecting me to jump up and fill it.
“I think you have had enough to drink, Satoru-san.” Father spoke so formally, I understood he was very angry. “And in the future, if you want anything to eat or drink, then either get it yourself or call for a servant. Mi-chan has better things to do with her time than serve you two.”
My brothers glanced at each other, and Ichiro shrugged fractionally. I recognized the message that passed between them. Oh, Father is annoyed with us over nothing. Smile and nod and all will be well.
But they were wrong.
Father stared at both of his sons, then turned to me and spoke so abruptly I was startled.
“How many clerks do I employ, Mi-chan?”
I was relieved the question was easy and answered quickly.
“Not counting Tanaka-san or the messenger boys, you have thirty-two clerks, Father.”
“And if I gave you an abacus and told you how much I paid each clerk each day, would you be able to tell me how much the salary bill was for all of them each year?”
“Of course, Father.” I was mystified but replied promptly. Father nodded and then turned to face his sons. His voice was very even when he spoke.
“Ichiro-san, Satoru-san, did either of you know how many clerks I employ?”
“Of course, Father,” Ichiro spoke quickly, smiling as if it was a foolish question. “And I think Mi-chan is wrong. I believe the number is thirty-three.”
It was Ichiro who was wrong, not me, but I dared not correct him. Father did it for me.
“Mi-chan is correct,” he said sharply. “Could either of you calculate their yearly salaries?”
“Given an abacus, naturally,” Satoru said.
Ichiro had become very sullen. He reached across for the warming vessel and helped himself to more sake. He filled the cup to the brim and exclaimed angrily when a few drops fell on his robe.
“I could do it easily. But as I do not have an abacus at hand …” He shrugged and sipped his sake.
The silence lingered for so long I began to be frightened. I stared at my bowl, longing to eat but not daring to move. Finally, Father sighed and shook his head.
“Do either of you know that Mi-chan is learning to read and write? Tanaka-san tells me that she is an apt pupil and shows great determination in pursuing her studies.”
Satoru stared at me as if he had never seen me before. Finally, he threw back his head and laughed.
“Why? Why would a betrothed girl ever want to learn to read and write? Mi must surely have inherited her talent with the abacus from you, Father. And naturally, it is always useful to have another clerk, particularly an unpaid one. But a woman who can read and write? What’s the point? When she marries Yuto-san, he will knock all that nonsense out of her head.”
My spirits had been soaring high. Tanaka-san had spoken to Father. And Father had, in his own quiet way, complimented me on my achievement. I was so happy I almost cried with pride. So very happy that even the mention of Yuto could not depress me.
But the moment was snatched from me almost before I had time to savor it.
“I suppose you are right, my son.” Father sighed and picked up his bowl. His anger was always as quickly forgotten as it was infrequent, and this evening was no exception. “But it is a great shame that Mi-chan was born a girl. Had she been a boy, then who knows what she might have achieved.”
Both my brothers chuckled at the thought.
I ate my cold food miserably in spite of the great compliment Father had paid me. I had the beginnings of a headache—I supposed caused by the argument—and was pleased when dinner was over and I could go and lie down in my bedroom.
The night felt very sultry, and I tossed and turned on my futon, searching for a cool spot. Anzu might be right, I thought. The summer was probably going to be very hot.
I never found out if she was correct or not.