Shogun

Mariko shook her head sadly and touched her tenderly. “Yes. But for him, if it contained you that would be everything.”

Kiku let the matter rest. Then she said, “I am a gift to the Anjin-san? He did not ask for me himself?”

“If he had seen you, how could he not ask for you? Truthfully, it’s his honor that you welcome him. I understand that now.”

“But he did see me once, Mariko-san. I was with Omi-san when he passed on his way to the ship to go to Osaka the first time.”

“Oh, but the Anjin-san said that he saw Midori-san with Omi-san. It was you? Beside the palanquin?”

“Yes, in the square. Oh yes, it was me, Mariko-san, not the Lady, the wife of Omi-sama. He said ‘konnichi wa’ to me. But of course, he would not remember. How could he remember? That was during a previous life, neh?”

“Oh, he remembered her—the beautiful girl with the green parasol. He said the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He told me about her many times.” Mariko studied her even more closely. “Yes, Kiku-san, you could easily be mistaken for her on such a day, under a parasol.”

Kiku poured sake and Mariko was entranced by her unconscious elegance. “My parasol was sea green,” she said, very pleased that he had remembered.

“How did the Anjin-san look then? Very different? The Night of the Screams must have been terrible.”

“Yes, yes it was. And he was older then, the skin of his face stretched.?.?.?. But we become too serious, Elder Sister. Ah, you don’t know how honored I am to be allowed to call you that. Tonight is a night of pleasure only. No more seriousness, neh?”

“Yes. I agree. Please forgive me.”

“Now, to more practical matters, would you please give me some advice?”

“Anything,” Mariko said, as friendly.

“In this matter of the pillow, do people of his nation prefer any instruments or positions that you are aware of? So sorry to ask, but perhaps you might be able to guide me.”

It took all of Mariko’s training to remain unabashed. “No, not that I know. The Anjin-san is very sensitive about anything to do with pillowing.”

“Could he be asked in an oblique way?”

“I don’t think you can ask a foreign person like that. Certainly not the Anjin-san. And—so sorry, I don’t know what the, er, instruments are—except, of course, a harigata.”

“Ah!” Again Kiku’s intuition guided her and she asked artlessly, “Would you care to see them? I could show them all to you, perhaps with him there, then he need not be asked. We can see from his reaction.”

Mariko hesitated, her own curiosity swamping her judgment. “If it could be done with humor?.?.?.”

They heard Blackthorne approaching. Kiku welcomed him back and poured wine. Mariko quaffed hers, glad that she was no longer alone, uneasily sure that Kiku could read her thoughts.

They chatted and played silly games and then, when Kiku judged that the time was correct, she asked them if they would like to see the garden and the pleasure rooms.

They walked out into the night. The garden sparkled in the torchlights where the raindrops still lingered. The path meandered beside a tiny pool and gurgling waterfall. At the end of the path was the small isolated house in the center of the bamboo grove. It was raised off manicured ground and had four steps up to the encircling veranda. Everything about the two-roomed dwelling was tasteful and expensive. The best woods, best carpentry, best tatami, best silk cushions, most elegant hangings in the tokonoma.

“It’s so lovely, Kiku-san,” Mariko said.

“The Tea House in Mishima is much nicer, Mariko-san. Please be comfortable, Anjin-san! Per favor, does this please you, Anjin-san?”

“Yes, very much.”

Kiku saw that he was still bemused with the night and the sake but totally conscious of Mariko. She was very tempted to get up and go into the inner room where the futons were turned back and step out onto the veranda again and leave. But if she did, she knew that she would be in violation of the law. More than that, she felt that such an action would be irresponsible, for she knew in her heart Mariko was ready and almost beyond caring.

No, she thought, I mustn’t push her into such a tragic indiscretion, much as it might be valuable to my future. I offered but Mariko-san willed herself to refuse. Wisely. Are they lovers? I do not know. That is their karma.

She leaned forward and laughed conspiratorially. “Listen, Elder Sister, please tell the Anjin-san that there are some pillow instruments here. Does he have them in his country?”

“He says, no, Kiku-san. So sorry, he’s never heard of any.”

“Oh! Would it amuse him to see them? They’re in the next room, I can fetch them—they’re really very exciting.”

“Would you like to see them, Anjin-san? She says they’re really very funny.” Mariko deliberately changed the word.

“Why not,” Blackthorne said, his throat constricted, his whole being charged with an awareness of their perfume and their femininity. “You—you use instruments to pillow with?” he asked.

“Kiku-san says sometimes, Anjin-san. She says—and this is true—it’s our custom always to try to prolong the moment of the ‘Clouds and the Rain’ because we believe for that brief instant we mortals are one with the gods.” Mariko watched him. “So it’s very important to make it last as long as possible, neh? Almost a duty, neh?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. She says to be one with the gods is very essential. It’s a good belief and very possible, don’t you think, to believe that? The Cloudburst feeling is so unearthly and godlike. Isn’t it? So any means to stay one with the gods for as long as possible is our duty, neh?”

“Very. Oh, yes.”

“Would you like sake, Anjin-san?”

“Thank you.”

She fanned herself. “This about the Cloudburst and the Clouds and the Rain or the Fire and the Torrent, as we sometimes call it, is very Japanese, Anjin-san. Very important to be Japanese in pillow things, neh?”

To her relief, he grinned and bowed to her like a courtier. “Yes. Very. I’m Japanese, Mariko-san. Honto!”

Kiku returned with the silk-lined case. She opened it and took out a substantial life-size penis made of ivory, and another made of softer material, elastic, that Blackthorne had never seen before. Carelessly she set them aside.

“These of course, are ordinary harigata, Anjin-san,” Mariko said unconcernedly, her eyes glued on the other objects.

“Is that a fact?” Blackthorne said, not knowing what else to say. “Mother of God!”

“But it’s just an ordinary harigata, Anjin-san. Surely your women have them!”

“Certainly not! No, they don’t,” he added, trying to remember about the humor.

Mariko couldn’t believe it. She explained to Kiku, who was equally surprised. Kiku spoke at length, Mariko agreeing.

“Kiku-san says that’s very strange. I must agree, Anjin-san. Here almost every girl uses one for ordinary relief without a second thought. How else can a girl stay healthy when she’s restricted where a man is not? Are you sure, Anjin-san? You’re not teasing?”

“No—I’m, er, sure our women don’t have them. That would be—Jesus, that—well, no, we—they—don’t have them.”

“Without them life must be very difficult. We have a saying that a harigata’s like a man but better because it’s exactly like his best part but without his worst parts. Neh? And it’s also better because all men aren’t—don’t have a sufficiency, as harigatas do. Also they’re devoted, Anjin-san, and they’ll never tire of you, like a man does. And too, they can be as rough or smooth—Anjin-san, you promised, remember? With humor!”

“You’re right!” Blackthorne grinned. “By God, you’re right. Please excuse me.” He picked up the