The Scent of Sake (15 page)

O-Natsu nodded and bowed deeply.

“Will you please repeat what I asked you to do?”

Rie sat intently while O-Natsu repeated the instructions. “Very good. Now when dusk falls this afternoon, please go on

your errands, and let me know when you have completed them.” “Certainly, O-Josama. I will do exactly as you say.” O-Natsu

thrust the bags and note into her sleeve, bowed, and left the room.

Rie smiled and sighed. She looked in the mirror, adjusted her hair, then took out the container of her mother’s Kyoto perfume, opened it, and inhaled. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be with Saburo Kato. How would she manage to leave the house at night without being seen, to find a ricksha and make it to the house O-Natsu had indicated? More important, would Saburo really come to the house to meet her?

For the rest of the day and the day following, Rie went about her chores with a distracted air, thoughts of Saburo, his reaction to the note, filling her with anticipation.

Rie awoke early. She sat up abruptly as she realized it was two days since she had sent O-Natsu on her secret errand. To her immense relief and great pleasure, she caught her breath, as the following morning she opened Saburo’s note in reply. Her hands trembled as she read his words. Saburo agreed to the rendezvous. She had never felt so elated. She dressed quickly and sat at her mirror combing her hair. How was she to effect her escape from the Omura House and reach her destination by midnight for her rendezvous with Saburo Kato? She would have to go in disguise, cover her face, pretend she was a low-ranking servant.

Although she knew she could never provide the heir for the house, she wanted a child of her father’s blood, a child who would carry on the Omura bloodline. Carry the heart and soul of her parents. Besides, loneliness had been a constant companion. She knew she could never love Jihei, nor he love her, and

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all her attempts at seduction had ended in failure either because he was too drunk or because he hadn’t come home at all. Lately she would lie awake at night, remembering Saburo’s eyes, his lips, and the gentleness in his voice. She was in love with Saburo. Deeply in love. And he had given her enough subtle clues that he felt the same. She just hoped that they didn’t get caught. She knew the penalty for a woman would be severe, probably even death. Of course there was no penalty for a man, whether married or not. Saburo was not married, and there would be no danger for him, even if he were.

Downstairs, she ate a quick breakfast. When O-Natsu brought in tea and miso soup, Rie saw her opportunity. “O-Natsu, can you find some old clothes that I can use . . . later?” She did not want to be more specific in case one of the maids happened to be listening. Walls and shoji were so thin.

O-Natsu, always quick to guess Rie’s meaning, understood. “Yes, I’ll find something suitable. You need not be concerned.” She nodded and bowed.

Breakfast finished, Rie hurried to the Butsudan to pray to the ancestors, to burn an incense stick, to leave rice and a tiny cup of plum wine for her mother. She sat unmoving for several minutes before the altar, folded hands raised to her chin as she prayed, entrusted her mission to the ancestors. They would surely be listening.

She walked briskly to the storeroom to inventory supplies for the kurabito. She worked to ensure that they were as content with her management of their health and well-being as they had been when her mother was alive.

Next she went to Yoshi’s room, where he was playing with an abacus Kinnosuke had given him. At two, her father said it was time he began to learn skills that would be useful later.

“Good morning, Yoshi.” She smiled, pleased to see him with

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the abacus. “Shall we have a lesson in writing today? You did so well starting with
hiragana
the other day.” Rie sat next to Yoshi and took a pad of paper from her sleeve.

Yoshi nodded and opened a cabinet where his inkstone and stick were kept.

Rie poured a small amount of water on the inkstone.

“I can do it, Okaa-san.” He reached for the inkstick and began to rub it back and forth on the stone.

Each time he called her “Mother” she had stifled a comment. The first time she had wanted to say “I’m not your mother,” but of course she didn’t. She needed to treat Yoshi as if she were, and she did her best to behave that way. Yoshi after all had not chosen his parents. He was not responsible for Jihei’s action. Besides, he was eager to please, and she had to admit he was an appealing child. In any case, she had learned to adjust her behavior when it had no relationship to her feelings. Was that what her mother had meant when she told Rie women had to “kill the self”?

Yoshi continued busily rubbing the inkstick.

“Very good, Yoshi. I think that’s enough.” She pushed two sheets of rice paper in front of him. “Now, do you think you can write
‘sa, shi, su, se, so’
for me?”

Yoshi dipped his brush into the ink and awkwardly wrote the

crude syllables, then sat back proudly and looked at Rie.

“That’s good, Yoshi, yes. And you remember how I told you to hold your brush so it points straight up and down?”

Yoshi nodded and did his best to hold the brush properly.

Rie spent some minutes this way each morning instructing Yoshi. She found that she began to take satisfaction in watching his improvement and childish enthusiasm. It helped alleviate some of the pain of not having borne an heir herself.

The day seemed to Rie to be passing impossibly slow. She filled the afternoon hours with as many tasks as possible, impatiently

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hurrying from one to the next. Toward the dinner hour O-Natsu brought a bundle of old clothes to Rie’s room.

“I hope these will do,” she said as she laid them in front of Rie.

Rie held up the tunic and long scarf and fingered them. “These should be perfect, O-Natsu.” Rie wound the scarf over her neck and arranged it so that it covered her face, leaving an opening for her eyes.

“Yes, you look like a poor peon.” O-Natsu giggled.

Rie smiled broadly and removed the scarf. “At dinner this evening I’ll tell my father and husband that I am tired and will go upstairs early.”

“Do you want me to help you leave tonight?” O-Natsu scratched her face.

Rie pondered. “Maybe when it is twenty minutes before midnight you could make certain no one is awake, and that my husband is not here. Let me know. That would be a help. Yes, thank you.” It was likely that Jihei would not be around, but she needed to make certain.

When O-Natsu left, Rie sat thinking. She and Saburo Kato had so many things in common. She had never forgotten his sympathy when little Toichi had drowned and he had realized her responsibility. And now they both wanted to prevent Yamaguchi’s reelection. They even had similar taste in flowers, so important an indication of a man’s sensitivity. And she knew Saburo was as dedicated to the Kato house as she was to hers. He appeared to Rie to have strength of character, something she admired in a man, something so lacking in Jihei. But this was not the time to think of Jihei.

He was nowhere to be seen in the evening, Rie was pleased to see. She dressed in her room for the adventure, making sure her mother’s perfume was secure in her sleeve. She sat alone in anticipation.

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Late in the evening she heard O-Natsu’s voice beyond the shoji. “It’s time.”

Rie opened the shoji and followed O-Natsu down the stairs, both walking as quietly as possible. O-Natsu led the way to the door closest the storeroom and opened the outer gate. Rie peered out and saw a ricksha standing at the corner. She turned to O-Natsu. “Be sure to meet me here at the gate just before dawn,” she whispered.

She quickly hailed the ricksha, adjusting the scarf over her face, and instructed the puller where to take her. As the ricksha jogged toward her destination, Rie reached into her sleeve and applied the crème parfum liberally to her neck and wrists. She didn’t care if she used it all.

As they neared the house, Rie saw another ricksha standing not far from the gate. She felt a thrill go through her. Saburo was already there as he had said he would be. She alighted and went through the gate to the front shoji. “I’m here,” she said, not so loudly that a nearby neighbor might hear.

Saburo was at the door to meet her as she stepped inside. He wore his ordinary kimono, as he had not wanted to attract suspicion either, and his oval face bore an expression of tenderness that she had never seen on Jihei. Rie stood directly before him, unable to hide her excitement or her nervousness, as she fidgeted with the hem of her tunic. Saburo smiled and raised his hands to her face. For a moment they gazed into each other’s eyes. Neither knew exactly what to do, what to say. But then Saburo drew her to him and embraced her gently, kissing her face, neck, lips. Trembling, Rie clung to him tightly, then more tightly still.

“I knew when I saw you at the ikebana exhibit that you had a place in my heart,” he murmured. “I knew from the first time I saw you.”

She nodded, hearing the truth in his words. “I felt the same,” Rie said, breathlessly, remembering the day of her brother’s fu—

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neral, Saburo’s gentleness even then. “Just the same.” She felt tears start, but they were tears unlike others.

“As you know, my mother died when I was a child, so I understood your deep loss at the death of your mother. And I remember about your little brother.” He ran a finger along her chin. “I was so happy that you responded to my note.” He pressed his cheek against hers.

Saburo held her from him so he could look at her. “The heart has its own song,” he said, smiling broadly.

Rie felt her whole being smile joyfully. Until now, she hadn’t realized how deprived her life had become with Jihei, how lonely she’d been. “
Ah . . .
You would have been a poet in the Old Capital.” Her mother had once told her of the poet lovers in the Old Imperial Court, of the beautiful poems they wrote for the women they courted.

“You would have sat behind a screen listening to my poems.” “And I would have chosen your poems above all others,” Rie replied. She had never felt such harmony and peace. She glanced quickly at the tea tray and futon thoughtfully laid out by O-Nat- su’s relatives. “I’m glad we have no screen now.” She had her

arms around Saburo’s neck.

“We need none.” He led Rie toward the futon and pulled off her tunic, kissing her shoulder, caressing her neck with his tongue.

Soon there was not only no screen between them, but nothing else.

Rie felt something in her being released, becoming free. For the first time in her life it seemed there was no separation between her feelings and her behavior. She felt totally new, so new. They lay on the futon, light from the candle revealing the secrets of each other’s bodies.

Saburo met Rie with a tender passion that caused her wonder. This was how it was meant to be, she was sure. For the next few