The Samurai's Lady (10 page)

The old stone church was full. Friends and neighbors from all around had come to see the wedding of the young woman and her groom. The minister was
there in his best Sunday robes. He smiled at the couple as he blessed the ring and
handed it back to the attendant.
“I now pronounce you man and…”
Suddenly the scene changed. The woman was dressed in ceremonial kimono. Beside her was the dark-haired groom. Who were they? She wondered.
Then the view switched. The bride was she herself. The groom handed the bride a sake cup. He looked a little like Isamu.
As she raised her head to accept the cup to seal the nuptials she found herself smiling into the face of the handsome samurai who was now asleep on the
opposite side of the tent.

When she woke her eyes were misted, her pillow under her cheek wet with her tears.
She didn‟t know how it had happened but she had fallen in love with him. It was the worst thing that could have happened. Now everything would become complicated.
Unless she could convince herself it was not true, that it was only the dream that had convinced her. And like the dreams of her youth about some of the men that worked herfather‟s land, the feelings would dissipate with the events of the day, never to return.
She resolutely closed her eyes and returned to a thankfully dreamless sleep. Fujito woke early. He needed to pray about his next move. In order to get to the nearest coastal town they needed to pass Hakone. It would be the closest they wouldcome to Edo and there was no escaping the Shogun‟s checkpoint. They would be looking mainly for weapons entering the capital and women, who must stay there as hostages coming out. But they will also have been informed by now of the barbarian woman‟s presence, and the samurai who was travelling with her.
There was another problem. More urgent than the fact the post had been alerted. He had to pass through Hakone each time he had traveled to Edo. The simple dress of asensei wouldn‟t fool them.
Their only hope would be to bypass the checkpoint all together and travel through the fields on a diagonal path to Atami.
“Ready?” He asked once everything was packed away. Katharine nodded uncertainly.
Fujito saw her hesitation, and put his arm around her shoulder. “It‟ll be all right. We‟re almost back in Satsuma country. It won‟t be long now.” He assured her. She nodded again.
The way to Gora was uneventful. No one paid much attention to the young doctor and his female companion, rice fields take a lot of tending in the early stages and theplanters were too busy to care, as long as they didn‟t encroach on their fields. The terrain changed suddenly and they found themselves on the edge of a bamboo forest.
They were halfway through when without warning the ground shook underneath their feet. Katharine raised frightened eyes to his. She looked as though she were ready torun. „What is it?”
“We Japanese say the dragon that lives in the earth is getting restless.” He told her with a smile. “Stay here. It‟s the safest place to be.” He pulled her down beside him.
“Will it last long?”
“I hope not, for your sake.” He smiled. “You don‟t get these in England do you?” “No. And I thank the Lord for it.”
Fujito laughed.
“You don‟t really believe there‟s a dragon under the earth do you?” She watched the place beside her as if she expected its head to rise up out of it at any moment. “I don‟t know.” He smiled. “But if there is I‟ll kill it before it touches you.” He put his hand on the hilt of his short sword he carried inside his kimono to prove it. Leaning toward her, he kissed the tip of her nose.
The tremor was over within a few minutes and they were able to stand again and emerge from the bamboo grove.
They were close to Hakone now and Fujito kept a closer eye on the scene around him. He was on the look out for any officials that might be on business in the surrounding area.
Ahead along their line of sight stretched the Tokaido Road, the highway built to facilitate travel between Kyoto, the former capital and Edo. There was no wheeled traffic along this road and anyone travelling it must show papers and give reasons for their being on the road.
From where they were, they could see nothing moving along the highway, but as they drew a little closer they saw a procession along the thoroughfare. “My goodness!” Katharine breathed.
“Beautiful, isn‟t it?” Fujito asked
“Yes.” She watched in awe the black horses with their riders; the bannermen in black kimono; and in the middle of the procession a great palanquin. Gold silk curtains embroidered with grass done in silver thread covered the outside. Four men wearing only their loincloths even though it was still cool bore the palanquin riding box on thick long poles.
They heard someone shouting from the road but paid no attention.
The official and his subordinate were approaching them quickly before Fujito realized they were the objects of the call.
“Sumimasen Deshita. Can you come with me, please?” The official asked. Fujito smelled a trap. He had to get her out of there, and quickly.
The subordinate roughly propelled them toward the checkpoint.
“What do you think they want?” Katharine whispered anxiously. “Do you think they were waiting for us?”
“I don‟t know.” Fujito whispered back. He tried to keep the fear out of his voice to keep her calm. “But you have to avoid capture. Even if you have to go to Atami alone.”
“I can‟t—
“ Shhh. Yes you can, you have to. We‟ll wait for the appropriate time. When I signal take this.” He slipped a piece of rice paper into her hand. “And go to Atami. I‟ll tryto meet you there”
“All right.” She answered submissively, fear making her voice tremble. The official led them into a small hut where the only furniture was a desk that sat on the floor. He knelt behind it and began shuffling the papers in front of him. Finding the right one, he nodded to his subordinate.
The man grabbed Fujito roughly, holding him by both arms.
“Run Katharine!” Fujito cried out. “I love you,
koibito
.” He added, but she was gone. A solitary tear rested on his lashes before falling onto the collar of his kimono.
The Samurai‟s Lady

Chapter Ten
Fujito found himself being pushed toward the prison, a deep hole in the ground reached by a steep ladder and covered with a bamboo grill.
He knew that after the torture the grill was unnecessary. No one could move after that.
He prepared himself for the inevitable agony. Folding his hands in prayer, he concentrated on the agony of Jesus before the cross. He prayed that he would be strengthened with the same strength the Father had given to the Son.

When she was on the other side of the highway, she pulled out the piece of paper Fujito had given to her. It was a map of the route to Atami. He must have drawn it just in case anything happened to them.
She found it hard to walk with the tears streaming down her face but she resolved she would make it home without him; she would do that one last thing, for him. He said that he‟d try to meet her in Atami. But that was probably impossible now. She had looked back just as he was being taken away. She refused to think of the torture
he would endure.
She was in love with him, totally, deeply. But why was it only now he was absent that she dared admit the feelings that had been there for weeks, perhaps months into her consciousness?
She stopped at a small farmhouse to beg shelter for the night. The old woman that lived there offered her an empty granary. The ground was hard. Fujito had had no time togive her anything from the pack he‟d been carrying. But it was much better than sleeping outside.

“Come on you, out.” The guard‟s gruff voice followed him as he was pushed up the ladder and out into the blinding sun.
He was herded like an animal to a hut not far from the post station where the official was waiting.
He was not afforded permission to kneel but was forced to stand in the center of the room before the official‟s desk.
“What is your name?” The magistrate barked.
“Fujito Isamu.”
Funny, the official thought, his voice held the tone of a nobleman, his baring that of a samurai, yet he carries no sword. His dress is that of a common townsman. “No.” He told him, smiling silkily. “It is Hashimoto. Now, what is your name?” “Fujito Isamu.”
The official nodded at the guard. His hand came up and struck Fujito across the cheek. He turned his head to deflect the force of the blow.
“What were you doing in that field?”
“Walking.” It was the truth.
“You were escaping a village because you had committed a murder.” “If that‟s true, then where‟s my weapon? I haven‟t had a chance to wash; do you see any blood on my hands, ormy clothing?” Fujito asked evenly. His eyes showed no fear.
The official had no satisfactory explanation. His logical questions made him feel inadequate, and he hated to feel inferior.
“Imbecile!” He bellowed. He nodded to the guard again. Slap.
For another hour he was questioned, told answers, and rejected them for the truth. They returned him to his cell, pushing him down the last few steps.

When the woman‟s son returned home the next morning, he found her. “Come along, now. Out!” He barked.
When she had roused herself she was hauled up by her elbow and pushed along the stone path to the main house.
Mother and son had a short conversation and a conclusion was reached. “Mother says you need a place to stay.”
“For a while.” She said in a small voice. But he appeared not to hear. “You will work.” He told her brusquely. “We need someone to plant the rice. I have to work my uncle‟s fields. And Mother is too old to do her own planting. But old Samanose needs his taxes so we must produce rice.”
She knew from what Fujito had told her that some farmers had to pay a lot of Koku, the Japanese measurement of rice, to the local daimyo. Thinking of that remindedher of the last vision she‟d had of him and it pricked her heart. She took a deep breath to ease the painful memory, and followed Maratoki outside to the rice paddies.
It was backbreaking work, even more than working in Kazu‟s dye-works. She closed her eyes. Every thought, every person she had met had connections with Isamu.
Hours on end she was bent over in icy cold water, sometimes up to her knees planting rice seeds that were collected from last year‟s crop. She was not alone, other women also worked in the fields, but most of them paid little attention to her. Then one day a tiny lady, she could not be more than nineteen years old saw her during a breaktime, sitting alone on a rock, like she used to do at Fujito‟s villa. Although she had no instrument, she sang the song Fujito had taught her, “Sakura, Sakura…” It was the only one she dared try to sing. To sing the lullaby would be too painful.
When she had been in Kanazawa, the songs filled her with hope of his return; now they could only bring his memory a little closer.
“You are sad, lady.”
She looked up to see Koniko standing before her.
“I am.” She smiled.
“Can I help?”
“I don‟t think so. I‟m missing someone, that is all.”
But the girl was persuasive and she found herself telling her about how they had been taken on the checkpoint near Hakone. Koniko didn‟t ask why they were travelling off the highway.
Somehow, she knew they would become friends, even if not as close as she and Midori.
She was assigned sleeping quarters with Koniko which made them become friends faster than they would have just working alongside each other. “I wish I could meet a samurai.” She said one night as they got ready for bed. “Were you ever engaged, Koniko?”
“No.” Koniko smiled. Mother was too poor to be able to know any rich families with handsome young sons. Besides, they could never be rich enough to take me awayfrom drudgery.”
“But when you love someone it‟s never drudgery.”
“You are a strange lady, to talk of love. Usually Japanese ladies perform their duty to husbands who are picked for them. Love comes much later, if it comes at all. He must have been very special, your samurai.
“He was.” She smiled. She eased herself down to her futon, her back ached from bending over, her arm from setting the seeds.
Koniko went to the door and hung wind chimes above it near the center. “What are you doing?” Katharine asked.
“There was a murder here a little while ago. I don‟t want to take any chances.” Fear gripped Katharine‟s heart, but only for a moment. She wished Fujito were here. But only until she remembered she belonged to the Lord now. He would take care of her, and Koniko.
Soon the planting was done, but she was not to be released yet. She was, the son informed her, to come into the house and be maid to his mother. Because of illness, the old lady was unable to move very well. She would be doing most of the work which, she learned later would include washing the dishes and the clothes in the river, cooking most of the meals, and helping the lady in and out of the o-furo.

Repeatedly Fujito was brought before the magistrate to be asked the same questions; to give the same answers as before, to receive the same treatment, only each time more brutal than the last.
When he awoke in his cell, he could feel his cheek stinging where the magistrate had sliced the skin open with his fan. Until then, he‟d forgotten that fans could sometimes carry blades in the bamboo ends. He kept one himself, but had never used it.
At night, he dreamed of Katharine. He could feel the soft touch of her hand on his shoulder, her lips, soft against his own. But each time he woke, his eyes met the earth walls of his cell; the brand on his shoulder was not from her touch but from the beating he had taken by bamboo poles.

Once the futon were put away and the morning meal cooked and eaten, it was time to wash the dishes in the nearby stream. Katharine joined the other women on the bank of the rivulet.
“Did you hear?” One woman asked her neighbor. “They‟ve captured Miako‟s killer.”
“Really? Where did they find him?”
“Near Hakone.”
Hakone? Katharine perked up her ears, but kept her attention on the pot she was scrubbing.
“Yes. And her people are very influential. Her son was adopted into a samurai household. They will demand the harshest penalty.”
Katharine knew what that meant, death, and by the most agonizing method possible.
She held back the tears until she was alone in the hut. Poor Isamu killed for a crime he hadn‟t committed.
The following week all the houses in the village went through a thorough cleaning. Futon were aired, mats beaten to remove the dust and dirt collected over the winter.
The old lady‟s house was large which meant many mattresses and many tatami mats.
Katharine dragged the old, heavy futon out through the doorway and dropped it with a dull thud on the hard ground. Winded, she took a breath and blew the hair out of her eyes. She was only half finished and could not stop longer. With a sigh she stepped over the ledge into the house and returned to her work. Finally, she pushed the last futon outside with her last ounce of strength. Next came the mats. Each one needed to be beaten with a bamboo pole to which twigs had been attached for a makeshift whiskbroom.
After hours of raising her arm and whacking the mats with all her might to dislodge the dust her shoulders ached something terrible.
But Katharine was glad of all the work. It kept her thoughts from wandering to Fujito, although she longed for his hands on her shoulders to ease the tense muscles.
Although she did not know as much about medicine as Fujito, she could tell the old woman‟s health was failing. She suffered from shortness of breath and the shortest period of exertion had to be followed by hours of bed rest. One morning, Katharine brought in the tea tray as usual. She knew immediately that something was wrong. The room held a deathly silence.
She set the tray down on the shelf beside the door and quelled the fear that threatened to rise up from the pit of her stomach. She could see no movement to show the old lady was breathing. She approached the pallet cautiously. Taking the small mirror from the shelf beside the futon, she held to the woman‟s lips. No fog clouded the polished metal circle. She was dead.
She had no idea of what to do. She was quite unprepared for the situation. The woman‟s son was in another village. Even if she knew how to get there, she could not be sure of finding him. She didn‟t even know the lady‟s name. Koniko. She must find Koniko.
Her friend was in the garden tending the bonsai trees.
“The old lady is dead.” She whispered.
“Hosako?”
Katharine nodded.
“We have to get a message to her son.” Koniko said. “But you‟ll have to go.” “Why?”
“Because I have to go to the temple.”
It was the only thing to do. She and Koniko walked most of the way together then the girl tuned in the opposite direction, leaving Katharine to go the rest of the way alone.
She approached the outer barrier of the post station with trepidation and wished Fujito were with her. The gate was empty.
While she waited for the lookout to return she thought she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw someone in the hut next to the station examining something. It was the picture Fujito had drawn of her near the lake at his Villa.
They had him!
But had they killed him? Oh, how she hoped not.
She kept her face serene as she explained to the man about the need to get a message to Hosako‟s son about his mother‟s death. But all the time he was writing her eyes darted about for any signs of Fujito.
“Thank you.” He said. “We‟ll see he gets it.” He stood up and went toward the stables.
There was no one about. The roadway at the back was deserted, as was the surrounding country. Then suddenly she saw him. He was being led away between two guards.
In one breath, she prayed he would look her way, and that he wouldn‟t. It would be too painful.
She watched nonetheless. Then just as he passed within feet of where she stood he turned his head. Their eyes met. Her heart leaped to her throat.
“Aishiteru. I love you.” He mouthed. He did not wish to arouse the guard‟s suspicions. If he looked, he would see only the ravings of a man made mad by torture.
Katharine was hidden behind a pile of bales so no one could see her. She walked slowly back to the village, aware that that could be the last she would see of her gentle samurai.
When the woman‟s son returned the funeral for his mother was held. Afterward, the neighbor women came to console and leave him food. Katharine too expressed her regrets.
“You, what right do you have to say anything. You caused her death.” She was taken aback by his words. “Wakarimasen. I don‟t understand.” “She fell and hurt herself. You should have caught her.”
“Sumimasen. I believe it was her heart. I found her asleep.”
The man opened his mouth to say something but Katharine had left the room before he uttered a sound.
Two days later he came to see her.
“I think we can forget this whole business, if you would do something for me.” “What?”
The look in his eyes told it all.
“No, I‟m afraid I cannot.”
“Oh come on. I know you have no protector. You‟ll enjoy it, you‟ll see.” Katharine remembered suddenly the day she‟d landed on the beach and was rescued by Fujito. Oh, what she wouldn‟t give—she pushed the thought resolutely from her mind and prayed for guidance instead.
The man lunged for her but she sidestepped his grasp.
His eyes darkened with anger and he picked up the whiskbroom. Holding it at the base of the twigs, he made to strike her with it.
The blow struck her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. He came closer but instead of forcing himself upon her, he struck her repeatedly.
The sun had risen and set twice before she was able to open her eyes. She was surprised not to be looking at the gates of heaven but at the familiar surroundings of the hut. She crawled slowly over to the shelf, the only thing sturdy enough to hold her weight and pulled herself painfully to her feet.
Every muscle in her body cried out in pain. Then she saw the note folded on the futon. Unfolding it, she was glad that Fujito had taught her some written language after leaving Kamikochi.
It was from Koniko. With a sad heart, she read that Hisako‟s son had attacked the girl. She was going to the temple for refuge.
Katharine knew she must get away, too, before he came for her again. She must get to Atami and fulfill the vow that Fujito might never know she made to him.