Shogun

harigata and studied it closely, whistling tonelessly. Then he held it up. “You were saying, Teacher-san? It can be rough?”

“Yes,” she said cheerfully. “It can be as rough or as smooth as you desire, and harigatas very particularly have far more endurance than any man and they never wear out!”

“Oh, that’s a point!”

“Yes. Don’t forget, not every woman is fortunate enough to belong to a virile man. Without one of these to help release ordinary passions and normal needs, an ordinary woman soon becomes poisoned in body, and that will certainly very soon destroy her harmony, thus hurt her and those around her. Women don’t have the freedom men have—to a greater or lesser degree, and rightly, neh? The world belongs to men, and rightly, neh?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “And no.”

“I pity your women, so sorry. They must be the same as ours. When you go home you must instruct them, Anjin-san. Ah, yes, tell your Queen, she will understand. We are very sensible in matters of the pillow.”

“I’ll mention it to Her Majesty.” Blackthorne put the harigata aside with feigned reluctance. “What’s next?”

Kiku produced a string of four large round beads of white jade that were spaced along a strong silken thread. Mariko listened intently to Kiku’s explanation, her eyes getting wider than ever before, her fan fluttering, and looked down at the beads in wonder as Kiku came to an end. “Ah so desu! Well, Anjin-san,” she began firmly, “these are called konomi-shinju, Pleasure Pearls, and the senhor or senhora may use them. Sake, Anjin-san?”

“Thank you.”

“Yes. Either the lady or the man may use them and the beads are carefully placed in the back passage and then, at the moment of the Clouds and the Rain, the beads are pulled out slowly, one by one.”

“What?”

“Yes.” Mariko laid the beads on the cushion in front of him. “The Lady Kiku says the timing’s very important, and that always a .?.?. I don’t know what you would call it, ah yes, always an oily salve should be used .?.?. for comfort, Anjin-san.” She looked up at him and added, “She says also that Pleasure Pearls can be found in many sizes and that, if used correctly, they can precipitate a very considerable result indeed.”

He laughed uproariously and spluttered in English, “I’ll bet a barrel of doubloons against a piece of pig shit you can believe that!”

“So sorry, I didn’t understand, Anjin-san.”

When he could talk, he said in Portuguese, “I’ll bet a mountain of gold to a blade of grass, Mariko-san, the result is very considerable indeed.” He picked up the beads and examined them, whistling without noticing it. “Pleasure Pearls, eh?” After a moment he put them down. “What else is there?”

Kiku was pleased that her experiment was succeeding. Next she showed them a himitsu- kawa, the Secret Skin. “It’s a pleasure ring, Anjin-san, that the man wears to keep himself erect when he’s depleted. With this, Kiku-san says, the man can gratify the woman after he’s passed his pinnacle, or his desire has flagged.” Mariko watched him. “Neh?”

“Absolutely.” Blackthorne beamed. “The Good Lord protect me from either, and from not giving gratification. Please ask Kiku-san to buy me three—just in case!”

Next he was shown the hiro-gumbi, Weary Armaments, thin dried stalks of a plant that, when soaked and wrapped around the Peerless Part, swell up and make it appear strong. Then there were all kinds of potents—potents to excite or increase excitement—and all kinds of salves—salves to moisten, to swell, to strengthen.

“Never to weaken?” he asked, to more hilarity.

“Oh no, Anjin-san, that would be unearthly!”

Then Kiku laid out other rings for the man to wear, ivory or elastic or silken rings with nodules or bristles or ribbons or attachments and appendages of every kind, made of ivory or horsehair or seeds or even tiny bells.

“Kiku-san says almost any of these will turn the shyest lady wanton.”

Oh God, how I would like thee wanton, he thought. “But these’re only for the man to wear, neh?” he asked.

“The more excited the lady is, the more the man’s enjoyment, neh?” Mariko was saying. “Of course, giving pleasure to the woman is equally the man’s duty, isn’t it, and with one of these, if, unhappily, he’s small or weak or old or tired, he can still pleasure her with honor.”

“You’ve used them, Mariko-san?”

“No, Anjin-san, I’ve never seen them before. These are .?.?. wives are not for pleasure but for childbearing and for looking after the house and the home.”

“Wives don’t expect to be pleasured?”

“No. It would not be usual. That is for the Ladies of the Willow World.” Mariko fanned herself and explained to Kiku what had been said. “She says, surely it’s the same in your world? That the man’s duty is to pleasure the lady as it is her duty to pleasure him?”

“Please tell her, so sorry, but it’s not the same, just about the opposite.”

“She says that is very bad. Sake?”

“Please tell her we’re taught to be ashamed of our bodies and pillowing and nakedness and .?.?. and all sorts of stupidities. It’s only being here that’s made me realize it. Now that I’m a little civilized I know better.”

Mariko translated. He drained his cup. It was refilled immediately by Kiku, who leaned over and held her long sleeve with her left hand so that it would not touch the low lacquered table as she poured with her right.

“Domo.”

“Do itashimashite, Anjin-san.”

“Kiku-san says we should all be honored that you say such things. I agree, Anjin-san. You make me feel very proud. I was very proud of you today. But surely it’s not as bad as you say.”

“It’s worse. It’s difficult to understand, let alone explain, if you’ve never been there or weren’t brought up there. You see—in truth?.?.?.” Blackthorne saw them watching him, waiting patiently, multihued, so lovely and clean, the room so stark and uncluttered and tranquil. All at once his mind began to contrast it with the warm, friendly stench of his English home, rushes on the earth floor, smoke from the open brick fire rising to the roof hole—only three of the new fireplaces with chimneys in his whole village, and those only for the very wealthy. Two small bedrooms and then the one large untidy room of the cottage for eating, living, cooking, and talking. You walked into the cottage in your seaboots, summer or winter, mud unnoticed, dung unnoticed, and sat on a chair or bench, the oak table cluttered like the room, three or four dogs and the two children—his son and his dead brother Arthur’s girl—climbing and falling and playing higgledy piggledy, Felicity cooking, her long dress trailing in the rushes and dirt, the skivvy maid sniffing and getting in the way and Mary, Arthur’s widow, coughing in the next room he’d built for her, near death as always, but never dying.

Felicity. Dear Felicity. A bath once a month perhaps, and then in summer, very private, in the copper tub, but washing her face and hands and feet every day, always hidden to the neck and wrists, swathed in layers of heavy woolens all year long that were unwashed for months or years, reeking like everyone, lice-infested like everyone, scratching like everyone.

And all the other stupid beliefs and superstitions, that cleanliness could kill, open windows could kill, water could kill and encourage flux or bring in the plague, that lice and fleas and flies and dirt and disease were God’s punishments for sins on earth.

Fleas, flies, and fresh rushes every spring, but every day to church and twice on Sundays to hear the Word pounded into you: Nothing matters, only God and salvation.

Born in sin, living in shame, Devil’s brood, condemned to Hell, praying for salvation and forgiveness, Felicity so devout and filled with fear of the Lord and terror of the Devil, desperate for Heaven. Then going home to food. A haunch of meat from the spit and if a piece fell on the floor you’d pick it up and brush the dirt off and eat it if the dogs didn’t get it first, but you’d throw them the bones anyway. Castings on the floor. Leavings pushed onto the floor to be swept up perhaps and thrown into the road perhaps. Sleeping most of the time in your dayclothes and scratching like a contented dog, always scratching. Old so young and ugly so young and dying so young. Felicity. Now twenty-nine, gray, few teeth left, old, lined, and dried up.