Grass for His Pillow (11 page)

“Then we must do what we can ourselves,” Kaede said, and when the work was under way she went to the stables with Kondo.

A young man greeted her with a deference that could not hide his delight. It was Amano Tenzo, who had accompanied her father to Noguchi Castle, and whom she had known when they were both children. He was now about twenty years old.

“This is a fine horse,” he said as he brought Raku forward and saddled him.

“He was a gift from Lord Otori's son,” she said, stroking the horse's neck.

Amano beamed. “Otori horses are renowned for their stamina and good sense. They say they run them in the water meadows, and they're fathered by the river spirit. With your permission, we'll put our mares to him and get his foals next year.”

She liked the way he addressed her directly and talked to her of
such things. The stable area was in better condition than most of the grounds, clean and well maintained—though, apart from Raku, Amano's own chestnut stallion, and four horses belonging to Kondo and his men, there were only three other warhorses, all old and one lame. Horse skulls were fixed to the eaves, and the wind moaned through the empty eye sockets. She knew they were placed there to protect and calm the animals below, but at present the dead outnumbered the living.

“Yes, we must have more horses,” she said. “How many mares do we have?”

“Only two or three at the moment.”

“Can we get more before winter?”

He looked glum. “The war, the famine . . . this year has been disastrous for Shirakawa.”

“You must show me the worst,” she said. “Ride out with me now.”

Raku's head was held high and his ears pricked forward. He seemed to be looking and listening. He whinnied softly at her approach but continued gazing into the distance.

“He misses someone—his master, I suppose,” Amano said. “Don't let it worry you. He'll settle in with us and get over it.”

She patted the horse's pale gray neck.
I miss him too,
she whispered silently.
Will either of us ever get over it?
She felt the bond between herself and the little horse strengthen.

She rode out every morning, exploring her domain with Kondo and Amano. After a few days an older man turned up at the door and was greeted by the maids with tears of joy. It was Shoji Kiyoshi, her father's senior retainer, who had been wounded and feared
dead. His knowledge of the estate, the villages, and the farmers was vast. Kaede swiftly realized he could tell her much of what she needed to know. At first he humored her, finding it strange and slightly comical that a girl should have such interests, but her quick grasp of affairs and her memory surprised him. He began to discuss problems with her, and though she never lost the feeling that he disapproved of her, she felt she could trust him.

Her father took little interest in the day-to-day management of the estate, and Kaede suspected he had been careless, even unjust, though it seemed disloyal to think it. He occupied the days with reading and writing in his rooms. She went to him every afternoon and sat watching him patiently. He spent a lot of time staring into the garden, saying nothing as Ayame and the maids worked tirelessly in it, but sometimes mumbling to himself, complaining about his fate.

She asked him to teach her, pleading, “Treat me as if I were your son,” but he refused to take her seriously.

“A wife should be obedient and, if possible, beautiful. Men don't want women who think like them.”

“They would always have someone to talk to,” she argued.

“Men don't talk to their wives, they talk to each other,” he retorted. “Anyway you have no husband. You would spend your time better marrying again.”

“I will marry no one,” she said. “That's why I must learn. All the things a husband would do for me, I must do for myself.”

“Of course you will marry,” he replied shortly. “Something will be arranged.” But to her relief he made no efforts in that direction.

She continued to sit with him every day, kneeling beside him as he prepared the inkstone and the brushes, watching every stroke. She could read and write the flowing script that women used, but her father wrote in men's language, the shapes of the characters as impenetrable and solid as prison bars.

She watched patiently, until one day he handed her the brush and told her to write the characters for
man, woman,
and
child.

Because she was naturally left-handed she took the brush in that hand, but, seeing him frown, transferred it to the right. Using her right hand meant, as always, that she had to put more effort into her work. She wrote boldly, copying his arm movements. He looked at the result for a long time.

“You write like a man,” he said finally.

“Pretend that I am one.” She felt his eyes on her and raised her own to meet his gaze. He was staring at her as if he did not know her, as if she alarmed and fascinated him at the same time, like some exotic animal.

“It would be interesting,” he said, “to see if a girl could be taught. Since I have no son, nor will I ever have one now . . .”

His voice trailed off and he stared into the distance with unseeing eyes. It was the only time he alluded even faintly to her mother's death.

From then on, Kaede's father taught her everything that she would have learned already had she been born male. Ayame disapproved strongly—so did most of the household and the men, especially Shoji—but Kaede ignored them. She learned quickly, though much of what she learned filled her with despair.

“All Father tells me is why men rule the world,” she complained
to Shizuka. “Every text, every law, explains and justifies their domination.”

“That is the way of the world,” Shizuka replied. It was night and they lay side by side, whispering. Ai, Hana, and the other women were asleep in the adjoining room. The night was still, the air cold.

“Not everyone believes that. Maybe there are other countries where they think differently. Even here there are people who dare to think in other ways. Lady Maruyama, for instance . . .” Kaede's voice went even quieter. “The Hidden . . .”

“What do you know about the Hidden?” Shizuka said, laughing softly.

“You told me about them, a long time ago, when you first came to me at Noguchi Castle. You said they believed everyone was created equal by their god. I remember that I thought you, and they, must have been mad. But now when I learn that even the Enlightened One speaks badly of women—or at least his priests and monks do—it makes me question why it should be so.”

“What do you expect?” Shizuka said. “It's men who write histories and sacred texts—even poetry. You can't change the way the world is. You have to learn how to work within it.”

“There are women writers,” Kaede said. “I remember hearing their tales at Noguchi Castle. But Father says I should not read them, that they will corrupt my mind.”

Sometimes she thought her father selected works for her to read simply because they said such harsh things about women, and then she thought perhaps there were no other works. She particularly disliked K'ung Fu-Tzu, whom her father admired intensely. She was
writing the thoughts of the sage to her father's dictation one afternoon, when a visitor arrived.

The weather had changed in the night. The air was damp with a cold edge to it. Wood smoke and mist hung together in the valleys. In the garden the heavy heads of the last chrysanthemums drooped with moisture. The women had spent the last weeks preparing the winter clothes, and Kaede was grateful for the quilted garments she now wore under her robes. Sitting writing and reading made her hands and feet cold. Soon she would have to arrange for braziers: She feared the onset of winter for which they were still so unprepared.

Ayame came bustling to the door and said in a voice tinged with alarm, “Lord Fujiwara is here, sir.”

Kaede said, “I will leave you,” placed the brush down, and stood.

“No, stay. It will amuse him to meet you. No doubt he's come to hear whatever news you may have brought from the East.”

Her father went to the doorway and stepped out to welcome his guest. He turned and beckoned to Kaede and then dropped to his knees.

The courtyard was filled with men on horseback and other attendants. Lord Fujiwara was descending from a palanquin that had been set down beside the huge flat rock that had been transported to the garden expressly for that purpose; Kaede remembered the day from her childhood. She marveled briefly that anyone should so travel by choice, and hoped guiltily that the men had brought their own food with them. Then she dropped to her knees as one of the attendants loosened the nobleman's sandals and he stepped out of them and into the house.

She managed to look at him before she cast her eyes downward. He was tall and slender, his face white and sculpted like a mask, the forehead abnormally high. His clothes were subdued in color, but elegant and made of exquisite fabric. He gave out a seductive fragrance that suggested boldness and originality. He returned her father's bow graciously and responded to his greeting in courteous, flowery language.

Kaede remained motionless as he stepped past her into the room, the scent filling her nostrils.

“My eldest daughter,” her father said casually as he followed his guest inside. “Otori Kaede.”

“Lady Otori,” she heard him say, and then: “I would like to look at her.”

“Come in, daughter,” her father said impatiently, and she went in on her knees.

“Lord Fujiwara,” she murmured.

“She is very beautiful,” the nobleman remarked. “Let me see her face.”

She raised her eyes and met his gaze.

“Exquisite.”

In his narrowed appraising eyes she saw admiration but no desire. It surprised her, and she smiled slightly but unguardedly. He seemed equally surprised, and the sternly held line of his lips softened.

“I am disturbing you,” he apologized, his glance taking in the writing instruments and the scrolls. Curiosity got the better of him. One eyebrow went up. “A lesson?”

“It's nothing,” her father replied, embarrassed. “A girl's foolishness. You will think me a very indulgent father.”

“On the contrary, I am fascinated.” He picked up the page she had been writing on. “May I?”

“Please, please,” her father said.

“Quite a fine hand. One would not believe it to be a girl's.”

Kaede felt herself blush. She was reminded again of her boldness in daring to learn men's affairs.

“Do you like K'ung Fu-Tzu?” Lord Fujiwara addressed her directly, confusing her even more.

“I'm afraid my feelings toward him are mixed,” she replied. “He seems to care so little for me.”

“Daughter,” her father remonstrated, but Fujiwara's lips moved again into something approaching a smile.

“He cannot have anticipated such a close acquaintance,” he replied lightly. “You have arrived lately from Inuyama, I believe. I must confess, my visit is partly to find out what news there is.”

“I came nearly a month ago,” she replied. “Not directly from Inuyama, but from Terayama, where Lord Otori is buried.”

“Your husband? I had not heard. My condolences.”

His glance ran over her form.
Nothing escapes him,
she thought.
He has eyes like a cormorant.

“Iida brought about his death,” she said quietly, “and was killed in turn by the Otori.”

Fujiwara went on to express his sympathy further, and she spoke briefly of Arai and the situation at Inuyama, but beneath his formal elegant speech she thought she discerned a hunger to know more. It disturbed her a little, but at the same time she was tempted by it. She felt she could tell him anything and that nothing would shock him, and she was flattered by his obvious interest in her.

“This is the Arai who swore allegiance to the Noguchi,” her father said, returning with anger to his main grudge. “Because of his treachery I found myself fighting men from the Seishuu clan on my own land—some of them my own relatives. I was betrayed and outnumbered.”

“Father!” Kaede tried to silence him. It was none of Lord Fujiwara's concern, and the less said about the disgrace, the better.

The nobleman acknowledged the disclosure with a slight bow. “Lord Shirakawa was wounded, I believe.”

“Too slightly,” he replied. “Better had I been killed. I should take my own life, but my daughters weaken me.”

Kaede had no desire to hear any more. Luckily they were interrupted by Ayame bringing tea and small pieces of sweetened bean paste. Kaede served the men and then excused herself, leaving them to talk further. Fujiwara's eyes followed her as she left, and she found herself hoping she might talk with him again but without her father present.

She could not suggest such a meeting directly, but from time to time she tried to think of ways to make it happen. A few days later, however, her father told her a message had come from the nobleman inviting Kaede to visit him to view his collection of paintings and other treasures.