The Peony Lantern (12 page)

‘He's in the garden.'

He went straight out without pausing to talk to us. He waited until his uncle had finished the moves he was executing, then stepped forwards. They talked for some time, then Isamu unsheathed his long sword.

The two men kneeled, facing each other, with their swords lying in front of them.

Then, as one, they rose.

‘It looks as if they're training,' Misaki observed as they began to move in what appeared to be a series of drills.

‘Have you seen Lord Shimizu practising his swordsmanship before?' I asked. In the two months I'd been in Edo I had never seen it.

‘No, but it's possible he practises at the mansion.'

The air was rent by a clash of steel, then they both withdrew.

‘Do you think this has something to do with what happened in Yoshiwara last night?' Misaki wondered aloud. ‘If they're practising, it suggests they're anticipating another attack.'

I looked at her and knew we had both reached the same conclusion. I said it aloud. ‘What if the attack was not random?'

River of lanterns

Each flickering light a soul

Riding the tide home

Tanabata flowed into Obon, and though it was meant to be a celebration, as the souls of our ancestors were welcomed back to earth for three days and nights, both Misaki and I felt the melancholy of being so far from our homes. Back in Tsumago, I knew, my mother and father and Hana would be visiting the cemetery and cleaning my grandparents' graves, leaving offerings in front of the altar at home. At night the drums would beat time for the Bon-Odori dance.

On the third night, the night when the lanterns would have been released on the river to guide the spirits home, Misaki and I walked into the garden to stand by the pond. I said a prayer for my grandparents then turned to see that Misaki too had her head bowed.

‘Are you praying for your father?' I asked.

‘My father?' Misaki looked startled. ‘My father isn't dead.'

Why had I thought he was? It was from our first
ikebana
lesson, I recalled; the way she had closed off when she spoke of him, I'd assumed she was grieving.

‘No,' she continued. ‘It's my mother who died.'

‘How?' I asked softly.

‘In a fire.' As always when she mentioned fire her hand went to her cheek. ‘It was not even two years ago.' Her eyes were fixed on the reflection of the lantern she was holding, a small bead of light dancing along the water. ‘It burned so fast. We ran. One minute she was beside me and the next . . . I tried to go back, but the fire was too hot.'

‘Lord Shimizu lost his family in a fire too,' I remarked. We had never talked about his previous family.

‘Yes. It's why he doesn't mind about this.' Her hand was still pressed to her scar.

‘How did you meet?' For the first time I felt I could ask the question.

A breeze swept us, distressing the surface of the pond, and the reflected light flickered like a flame.

‘I was praying at a shrine near my house and he was there. He said that he noticed my beauty first and then he saw I had suffered.' She gestured to her scarred cheek. ‘I wasn't wearing makeup then.

‘My father thought that no one would marry me. Perhaps he even wished it would be so; after my mother died there was only me to keep house for him. But Minoru said my scar was a sign of strength, not a defect.
I have never known anyone so kind.' She fell silent and I couldn't help but think how lucky we were not to be mourning her husband. It could so easily have been him who died in the attack a few nights earlier.

‘How long will he be away this time?' I asked.

‘He said a few weeks.' Shimizu had left for Matsuyama on the first morning of Obon. I was surprised that he would travel during the festival. Obviously his business with the daimyo couldn't wait. Once more I considered the possibility that the attack hadn't been random.

The weather had mellowed by the time Lord Shimizu returned to Edo early in the eighth month. He said nothing more about the attack on Tanabata, but went about his business as usual.

Misaki and I were kept busy with
ikebana
and painting — which took up more and more of my time. I would have painted every day if I could. Isamu and Taro were regular visitors, and they would tell us about the festivals they had been to at various shrines. Misaki and I still hadn't left the house since the fireworks festival, but then Shimizu brought home an invitation from Lady Sayuri, the wife of the daimyo: there was to be a Noh performance at the domain mansion. Misaki was invited, and so was I.

‘Where's my comb?' Misaki sounded querulous as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

I had fixed her hair using black-lacquered combs painted with purple bellflowers, to symbolise autumn, and mother-of-pearl hairpins.

‘Which one?' I asked. There were at least a dozen scattered on the dressing table.

‘The red comb my husband brought back from his journey through the Kiso. You remember.'

I glanced down at the dressing table. ‘You were wearing it the other day with your blue kimono. Did you take it out somewhere?'

‘Of course not.' I didn't take Misaki's tone personally, knowing how nervous she was about her first visit to the daimyo's mansion.

I opened the drawers of the dressing table, but there was no sign of the comb. ‘I'll have a proper look this evening,' I promised. ‘But we really do need to be going.'

‘I'm so glad you're coming with me,' Misaki admitted. ‘I'd hate to turn up alone. What if I don't recognise anyone?'

‘I'm sure some of the ladies you met at the fireworks will be there. And Taro-san said his wife would be there.'

The palanquin was waiting by the gate with the two men who would carry it. ‘I wish I could walk with you,' Misaki sighed.

‘I'd happily trade places,' I replied. The palanquin was a gorgeous thing: wood and lacquer, gilded brass and gold leaf, with a long horizontal handle running along the top.

Misaki stepped into the tiny wooden box and kneeled, and one of the men slid the screen closed. On second thoughts, maybe I wouldn't trade, I thought. Misaki was sealed off from the world, her only view through wooden slats.

The men stood at either end, hoisted the handle onto their shoulders, and we set off.

Walking through the gate felt like being let out of a larger palanquin. Our glimpses of the outside world were so limited. Most of my pictures of Edo came not from the fact that I lived in the city but from the woodblock prints that Isamu had shown me. The streets we walked through now, though, were nothing like the crammed bustling streets I'd seen in pictures of the city's low town. These were wide and leafy avenues, the upper-class residences hidden behind walls. After a walk of about half an hour, we passed a long low wall lined with windows and covered by a tiled roof.

‘Those are the barracks where the low-ranking retainers from Matsuyama live,' one of the palanquin bearers told me.

‘So many of them?'

‘About two thousand people live here,' he said.

That was five times the number in my whole village!

We rounded the corner and I saw three gates. I presumed that, as with the
honjin
and
waki-honjin
back at home, there was one gate for ordinary use and another for the samurai. ‘What's the third gate for?' I asked as we passed through a gigantic entrance with an elaborate tiled roof.

‘This is the main entrance for high visitors, over there is the kitchen gate and the third gate is for the Shogun.'

To think I was standing in a place where the Shogun himself might have stood. I had an urge to drop to my knees and bow despite the fact he wasn't here now.

Inside the gate, the two men lowered the palanquin to the ground and the man who had been acting as my
guide kneeled in the dust, slid back the screen and bowed as Misaki exited the confined space.

‘Here we are.' Misaki sounded apprehensive as we stood for a moment watching women in butterfly-bright kimonos streaming across the courtyard. In front of us were enormous buildings with huge, curved, tiled roofs, but the women were moving towards a structure in the far corner of the compound.

‘I suppose we should follow them,' I said, suddenly self-conscious in my plain cotton kimono among the array of glorious silks.

‘I suppose,' Misaki echoed faintly, fanning herself furiously.

We were swept along by the murmuring throng until the river of silk seemed to eddy. The obstruction wore a black kimono richly embroidered with trailing green wisteria, hollyhocks in white and gold, and orange and yellow peonies. Women were kneeling on a
tatami
mat before her and touching their heads to the ground.

‘That must be the daimyo's wife,' Misaki breathed.

As we approached, Misaki kneeled on the mat and I kneeled several paces behind her in the dust.

One of the ladies surrounding the daimyo's wife whispered in her ear.

‘Ah, Misaki-san,' the lady said graciously. ‘I'm so glad you were able to join us.'

‘It is very kind of you to invite me, my lady.'

And then we were moving on towards a wooden pavilion.

‘Misaki-san!' It was Miri, Taro's wife.

‘I've been keeping an eye out for you. Why don't you sit by me?' She was as warm and kind as her husband.

‘Thank you, Miri-san. We'd like that. This is Kasumi, my
churo
.'

I bowed.

‘Ah yes, I saw you lurking in the background at the fireworks I think, Kasumi.'

As she ushered us closer to the pavilion, Miri said, ‘What a beautiful kimono. You always look so lovely, Misaki-san.' It was probably my favourite of Misaki's kimonos: a vine and fan design on red satin, with a contrasting obi in leaf green.

I was surprised when she addressed me again. ‘Have you been to a Noh performance before, Kasumi?'

‘No, my lady.'

‘Oh, you're in for a treat. It will last all day, five plays and some short funny pieces between. Actually —' she held up her fan to cover her face and whispered ‘— the real treat is the bento boxes that will be handed around at lunchtime.'

The pavilion, I saw now, was a square stage, open on three sides with a pine tree painted on the back wall. It had a roof supported by a pillar at each corner and stood about three feet off the ground.

Tatami
had been laid out around the three open sides; Miri led us towards the front of the stage. ‘We'll get the best view of the mask effects from here,' she said.

All around us women were settling onto the mats, and there was a flurry as a big drum began to pound. ‘That means it's about to begin,' Miri whispered. Again, she was addressing me, but I noticed that Misaki, sitting between
Miri and me, was paying close attention too. It occurred to me that Misaki might not have seen Noh before either; it was a favourite art of samurai.

The audience fell quiet.

Four musicians, one with a flute and the others with drums, began to play, joined by a chorus.

An actor wearing the mask of an old man entered the stage via a ramp.

‘That's the
shite
. He's the lead actor.'

I leaned forwards in anticipation as the
shite
began to dance.

‘That's the
kata
, movement patterns. Each pattern expresses an emotion.'

I stared intently, trying to work out what emotion he was meaning to convey, but it just looked like a man in a beautiful costume moving very slowly and deliberately.

The dance went on and on, and on and on and on. The chanting droned and I found myself struggling to keep my eyes open. Other actors joined the
shite
on stage, their faces expressionless. It was beautiful to look at, with the elaborate costumes, but the movements were so repetitive, the sun so warm on my head . . .

And suddenly a buzz rose up around me, startling me out of my drowsy state.

‘What's happening?'

‘There's an interval.'

The buzz was women talking as they stood up and moved around.

I spied some serving maids with trays of cold tea.

‘May I fetch you some tea, my ladies?' I asked.

‘Thank you, Kasumi.'

I was walking back clutching three cups when I heard a distinctive voice. It was Aiko, the
yuzu
-voiced woman from the fireworks festival.

‘Rin-san, have you seen Lord Shimizu's wife?'

Rin . . . The name was familiar. I turned my head subtly and caught a glimpse of an imperious-looking woman wearing a kimono of white satin decorated with plum and cherry blossoms. She had been standing alongside the daimyo's wife when we entered, and I thought someone had referred to her as Lady Sayuri's sister.

The daimyo's sister-in-law sniffed.

‘She's very beautiful, I suppose,' Aiko said grudgingly.

‘I don't think she's as beautiful as all that,' countered Rin. ‘There are a dozen women from our own domain who are twice as beautiful — and two dozen who would have made a more suitable wife for Minoru-san.'