changed and to her horror Taka saw her eyes fill with tears. She looked away. She didn’t want the slightest hint that her mother might have feelings too, like her.
‘Just as we thought the war was over and our lives were going to be peaceful again, off he storms,’ her mother wailed. ‘Him and his precious principles. There he was, the most powerful man in the entire country and he throws it all away. The gods alone know what he can be thinking of, with his farming and his hunting.’ She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve and gave Taka a wan smile. ‘Just look at you. You’ve got ink all over your face! You’d better tidy yourself up if you’re going to be a rich man’s wife.’
Perhaps that was why her mother was so eager to find a husband for her, Taka thought, as the whisper of stockinged feet disappeared into the vast expanses of the great house. Perhaps she needed to keep herself busy to fill the emptiness in her own life. She seemed a little too bright and cheerful. If only she hadn’t been a geisha. Geishas and samurai were two sides of the mirror and Taka felt eternally torn between her mother’s geisha ways and her father’s fierce samurai spirit.
And the worst of it was, there was no escape. She could already feel the prison walls closing in around her.
7
‘OTAKA-
SAMA
,’ OKATSU HISSED , panting with excitement.
Ever since Fujino had burst in with her extraordinary announcement, Okatsu had been rushing back and forth, pulling out armfuls of dresses. They hung around the walls, stiff and flouncy and brilliantly coloured, like exotic birds – day dresses heavy with ruffles and ribbons, shaped gowns with bodices and draped and trimmed skirts, floaty frocks with trailing overskirts, and a couple of thoroughly uncomfortable whalebone corsets, purchased direct from Mr Kawakami of the Ebisuya emporium, who had brought trunkfuls of them to the house.
‘I’d knock over the teapot in one of those,’ Taka said, laughing, opting for a simple pale blue kimono with a subtle design of gentians across the sleeves and hem.
‘You’ll look like an old lady in that,’ Okatsu complained as she helped her tie the under-kimono and collar in place. ‘Why not something more bright and girlish?’
‘He’s been in America, he won’t even notice,’ said Taka. The truth was, she half hoped someone as progressive as this Masuda-
sama
would turn his nose up at a woman dressed in traditional costume.
Now Okatsu was on her knees, her face pressed to the shoji screens that closed off the room, hiding them from view. She’d pushed the screens apart just enough to peek through. ‘Taka-
sama
. The honourable guest is arriving!’
‘Okatsu, don’t peek. It’s not dignified.’
‘He looks like a real gentleman,’ Okatsu squeaked breathlessly. ‘And his clothes – just like a barbarian’s. Madam, come and see. You know you won’t be able to once you’re serving tea.’
She was right, it would be quite unseemly. Taka hesitated, then took Okatsu’s place. She held her breath, closed one eye and pressed the other to the crack between the screens. Her heart was pounding. It must be because she would be mortified if this unknown youth were to catch a glimpse of her, she told herself.
In the dazzling afternoon sun, the footmen were closing the gates and servants clustered around three splendid upholstered rickshaws with painted wheels and the hoods pushed back, emblazoned with the circle and half moon of the Shimada family crest. A young man was stepping down from one. He turned towards the house and for a moment his face was in full view. Light sparked off something metallic – a watch chain. Taka drew back, fearful he would see her, then took a breath and put her eye to the crack again.
It wasn’t so much his face she noticed as the lordly way he carried himself, as if he owned the world. He stood very straight, looking around with a disdainful air, his eyebrows arched and a distinct downward curl to his
‘Just as we thought the war was over and our lives were going to be peaceful again, off he storms,’ her mother wailed. ‘Him and his precious principles. There he was, the most powerful man in the entire country and he throws it all away. The gods alone know what he can be thinking of, with his farming and his hunting.’ She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve and gave Taka a wan smile. ‘Just look at you. You’ve got ink all over your face! You’d better tidy yourself up if you’re going to be a rich man’s wife.’
Perhaps that was why her mother was so eager to find a husband for her, Taka thought, as the whisper of stockinged feet disappeared into the vast expanses of the great house. Perhaps she needed to keep herself busy to fill the emptiness in her own life. She seemed a little too bright and cheerful. If only she hadn’t been a geisha. Geishas and samurai were two sides of the mirror and Taka felt eternally torn between her mother’s geisha ways and her father’s fierce samurai spirit.
And the worst of it was, there was no escape. She could already feel the prison walls closing in around her.
7
‘OTAKA-
SAMA
,’ OKATSU HISSED , panting with excitement.
Ever since Fujino had burst in with her extraordinary announcement, Okatsu had been rushing back and forth, pulling out armfuls of dresses. They hung around the walls, stiff and flouncy and brilliantly coloured, like exotic birds – day dresses heavy with ruffles and ribbons, shaped gowns with bodices and draped and trimmed skirts, floaty frocks with trailing overskirts, and a couple of thoroughly uncomfortable whalebone corsets, purchased direct from Mr Kawakami of the Ebisuya emporium, who had brought trunkfuls of them to the house.
‘I’d knock over the teapot in one of those,’ Taka said, laughing, opting for a simple pale blue kimono with a subtle design of gentians across the sleeves and hem.
‘You’ll look like an old lady in that,’ Okatsu complained as she helped her tie the under-kimono and collar in place. ‘Why not something more bright and girlish?’
‘He’s been in America, he won’t even notice,’ said Taka. The truth was, she half hoped someone as progressive as this Masuda-
sama
would turn his nose up at a woman dressed in traditional costume.
Now Okatsu was on her knees, her face pressed to the shoji screens that closed off the room, hiding them from view. She’d pushed the screens apart just enough to peek through. ‘Taka-
sama
. The honourable guest is arriving!’
‘Okatsu, don’t peek. It’s not dignified.’
‘He looks like a real gentleman,’ Okatsu squeaked breathlessly. ‘And his clothes – just like a barbarian’s. Madam, come and see. You know you won’t be able to once you’re serving tea.’
She was right, it would be quite unseemly. Taka hesitated, then took Okatsu’s place. She held her breath, closed one eye and pressed the other to the crack between the screens. Her heart was pounding. It must be because she would be mortified if this unknown youth were to catch a glimpse of her, she told herself.
In the dazzling afternoon sun, the footmen were closing the gates and servants clustered around three splendid upholstered rickshaws with painted wheels and the hoods pushed back, emblazoned with the circle and half moon of the Shimada family crest. A young man was stepping down from one. He turned towards the house and for a moment his face was in full view. Light sparked off something metallic – a watch chain. Taka drew back, fearful he would see her, then took a breath and put her eye to the crack again.
It wasn’t so much his face she noticed as the lordly way he carried himself, as if he owned the world. He stood very straight, looking around with a disdainful air, his eyebrows arched and a distinct downward curl to his
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