Spinning Silk Read online

  Madame retrieved her switch and returned to the room. She gave me a terse nod as if to say, “You know what to do.”

  I did. Drawing a slow breath, I loosened my robe and let it pillow around my ankles without a rustle. As I did this, the air in the room tightened. I almost thought I could hear the watchers cease to breathe. Madame paused. Blinked. Her right hand trembled an instant as she raised the switch.

  There was not a scar on my back Madame didn’t know. Now she was astounded to see it made somehow new, as clear and bright as new snowfall.

  Now the shoji door slid wide and heads swiveled to face the veranda. We all expected Shin, standing in the doorway with the late morning sun shining behind him. He was part of this mystery and everyone knew it.

  But Tatsuo stood on the veranda, leaning his aging body against the rosewood cane. “I’m sorry, Madame. I have the cane. Please don’t punish Furi.”

  Madame stared in disbelief. “Where did you find that?”

  “Find it? No. I took it. I have felt the need of something to aide my step these many months. I thought I would give it a try. I’m sorry, Satomi. I know how you prize it.”

  “If you need a cane, Tatsuo, you have but to ask for one,” Madame said, pressing her lips together tightly.

  “Yes. Yes, thank you. I would like a cane.”

  Satomi exhaled heavily in frustration. “Don’t defend her. I know she took it before you did. Mother, you can’t let her get away with teasing me.”

  Madame rotated between Satomi and Tatsuo. I believe if Tatsuo had left the room then, Madame would have resumed her beating. But he stood frozen, daring Madame to strike me. For a moment they stood paralyzed at impasse. Finally, Madame stamped one foot, threw down her switch and quit the room.

  Forcing a confrontation that lead to Madame’s defeat in front of her servants meant a grave loss of face for Madame, and Tatsuo couldn’t avoid some kind of consequence for having done it. I wondered what motivated him to take such a risk. What could be worth it?

  I didn’t know how, but I had a vague suspicion Shin played some role in this event. I couldn’t think how Tatsuo had found the cane, and Satomi couldn’t puzzle it out either. No doubt she had hidden it away herself. Perhaps Tatsuo found it by the same magic Shin had procured it when I had hidden it behind Satomi’s chest. Perhaps this was Shin’s doing again.

  I might have gone on guessing, but I desperately needed an ally. Although I would also live to regret ever going to Shin, it seemed the whole household was driving me to him. Not only the household. There were other forces too—sensations difficult to describe, and even more difficult to deny.

  9

  Shin had never made the least attempt to speak to me since the night he had given me that apple. Even when he had seen me bury my weavings deep inside the furthest reaches of the garden, he hadn’t advanced a step. There might be nothing to gain by speaking to him now, and something to lose. Because of the weavers’ conspiracy against me, I couldn’t openly befriend him without bringing us both under suspicion and probable punishment.

  I considered entering the garden after nightfall, but this created other problems. I couldn’t bring myself to awaken Shin out of sleep. A visit from a woman at midnight would have a particular look to a lone man. This troubled me, but I don’t know if it would have ultimately deterred me.

  Soon, weather resolved the conflict. I awakened, as was my former habit, in the early morning hours and went to my loom by moonlight. But the night was so dark, and no matter how wide I opened the doors, the room was too dim, even for my sharp eyes. I didn’t dare burn anything. Oil was too precious, and Madame would notice if I burned it all night long. So, I went to the veranda, sat down and watched the garden. In the distance, I could perceive the linear exterior of the shed where Shin slept.

  A current of air carried the scent of an approaching storm. The darkness deepened, and heavy clouds opened up in a torrent of rainfall. If Shin had not awakened yet, he would soon.

  Within minutes, the shed door opened and an indistinct figure raced across the gravel path toward the house. He leapt up under the deep eaves of the veranda, and paused. For a moment, we stared at each other.

  Finally, I spoke, “I won’t say anything to Madame. Sleep under the eaves.”

  He nodded a slight bow. “Thank you.”

  His simple cotton robe clung to his broad frame, and dripped rainwater to the floor. “You can’t sleep in that, I whispered. “Tatsuo may have a spare robe hung by the wash basin.”

  Shin shook his head sharply and then I noticed he carried a small, neat bundle in one hand. He carefully unfolded a clean, dry robe and though I looked away, I stole a quick glance over my right shoulder and suppressed a gasp at his exposed back, innocent of all traces of Tatsuo’s recent beating.

  After tying his robe, he approached an increment closer to me, though too distant for a whispered exchange. I closed the further distance, and asked, “You come and go within the house and somehow no one ever notices. How do you do it?”

  A shy smile just touched the corners of his mouth. “I anticipate telling you my secrets someday, but you don’t really expect to have them all at once, do you?”

  I started at his strange answer and felt the heat travel across my face. “Granting that you have secrets I’m not prepared to know, why should you promise to tell me any of them?”

  “It seems only fair I should tell you mine.” He paused for a breath. “After all, I know yours.”

  My eyes snapped wide in surprise. Surprise, yes, but not doubt. “Mine?” I snatched a quick breath. “Do you…do you know where I came from?”

  He gave a curt nod. “Your mother and mine were…acquainted.”

  I let go of a long breath and felt the warm rush of blood to my cheeks. “Were acquainted. Is she dead, then?”

  “Shortly after she left you, I was told.”

  “Do you know whether I have any other family?”

  “A few, yes…but your people are different: roamers, artists, political dissidents. They’re not well integrated with larger society. They couldn’t keep you.”

  I knew what this meant. They were eta…the burakumin, or outcasts. I had long suspected I was from them. Who else abandons their child on a genkan?

  “Is my father alive?”

  “No. He passed with your honored mother.”

  “Also of illness?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  I sensed Shin’s discomfort as he spoke, and I didn’t know whether I fully believed his story, though I wanted to badly.

  “What were they like—my parents?”

  “Your mother was also a brilliant weaver. Her work was truly fine. Better even than yours.”

  My brow arched. “What do you know about my weaving?”

  I thought I saw him flinch, but only barely, and he wouldn’t answer and so I knew he had more secrets he might tell, and wouldn’t.

  “What about my father?”

  Shin hesitated. “He was a warrior…”

  I gasped, “My father?”

  “Once, yes…but he displeased a ranking official and lost his title. Later, he took care of cattle.”

  This would explain my family’s outcast status.

  Shin sent me a nervous smile. “But your father was a great man. You would have been proud of him. He and your mother share quite a love story.”

  “Tell it to me!” I leaned in eagerly and almost took hold of him, before recollecting.

  Shin stiffened. “It isn’t for me to tell. But there are records. They’re not safe to carry. Some would call them seditious. Maybe someday I’ll be able to take you to them and you can see them yourself.”

  We fell silent for a moment, and I understood then what Shin had meant about secrets and my readiness to hear them. In a short conversation, the telling of my history had forced an intimacy I was unprepared for. What’s more, Shin seemed torn to relate it. I couldn’t be sure why he had even done it, and still I took little caut
ion from this insight and instead believed him my benefactor. “You came here for me? To tell me my past?”

  He assented with a short nod.

  “I don’t know what to say. Do you know what that is worth to me? How can I ever show you?” I really wanted to know the price, and would have given him almost anything to remove the debt.

  Shin’s mouth smiled, but his eyes saddened. Finally, he shook his head in absolute rejection of my gratitude. “There is no debt. I came into service here as much for my own reasons—not to put us on unequal ground. Remember, you know nothing about me.”

  I could but stare at him. What I already knew of him was hard to comprehend. He had taken my beating for me; had done something to my lashings—healed them in some remarkable, even miraculous way—he had brought me the first knowledge of my mother and father’s identities; then warned me not to trust him? “Your help will be a burden to me if you say I cannot trust you.”

  He exhaled in apparent frustration. “I don’t forbid you to trust me. I only meant…” he sighed heavily and continued brokenly. “Someday, I may want to ask something of you—some extraordinary something I have no right to expect you to honor. And you are under no obligation for what little I’ve told you about your mother and father.”

  I frowned. “Someday, you will ask me? I don’t understand.”

  He whispered in reply, “We shouldn’t talk here.”

  I agreed. “Nor during the day. The weavers watch me, and suspect…” I hesitated to speak the scurrilous words.

  Shin frowned. “They can’t help themselves. Tomorrow night at midnight, if the rain stops, I’ll meet you at the plum tree.”

  “Wait!” I said, and snatched at the neck of my robe. Carefully, I pulled the small piece of red silk from where I kept it hidden always above my heart. “My mother swaddled me in this piece of silk. I want you to keep it. A token of the secrets you have told me, and still promise to tell me.”

  Shin pushed my hand away. “I can’t take it.”

  “I didn’t say you could have it. Only keep it for me. I don’t want to lose the right to return to this subject again. If you hold the fabric for me, I won’t be able to help it.”

  “No,” he repeated, and frowned a warning, but I was determined and wouldn’t let him discourage me.

  Lightning flashed. A clap of thunder followed. I scarcely noticed, but set my jaw and met his gaze unblinking. When he glanced askance, I reached my hand to the neck of his robe, pulled it apart, and tucked the red inside against the visible rise and fall of his chest.

  Eyes closed, he accepted it with no further resistance. And when I withdrew, he covered the spot where my hand had rested against his chest with his open palm.

  * * *

  I soaked my futon through that night, mourning for my dead mother and father.

  Next day, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, Cook and Kame both awakened ill. Both emptied their stomachs outside over the veranda.

  “Since you have miraculously escaped any trace of sickness, Furi, you’ll take care of meals until Cook is well,” Madame said. “When you’ve finished in the kitchen, you can take care of Kame’s chores.”

  I could never finish the work in time to meet Shin, however late, but it didn’t matter. The weather coincided with my emotional flood. It rained torrents for several days.

  * * *

  During the downpour, I never saw any hint of Shin—not during all the midnight hours. Not under the eaves during all those storms. I couldn’t discover him anywhere, and his means of disappearing was a secret he intended to keep.

  I didn’t care. Whether he wished it or not, I was awed by his mystery, his power of healing, the depth of his knowledge, and his breathtaking generosity to me. I wouldn’t demand to know the source of his power.

  I didn’t know what it meant to be an immortal, but I accepted Tatsuo’s theory. And if Shin were all that, I was sure when he trusted me enough to make his request of me—no matter how great his demand, I was bound to comply.

  10

  I wouldn’t enter the garden while the sun was up. Not willingly. As events unfolded, however, the choice wasn’t mine. The weavers would move against me, and by myself, I couldn’t oppose them.

  On the first morning after the rain cleared, Cook appeared by the side of my loom. “The ume are ready. Today is the day.”

  “No, Cook. It is still early. Give the fruit another week at least.”

  “It must be today, or they will be spoiled.”

  “Then ask the gardener to do it. I have enough work here at the loom.”

  “Shin is already busy harvesting one of the trees. You must help with the other.”

  I could sense an ulterior motive in this request. It was my usual task to ferment the ume from Madame’s garden, but I did not think Cook’s urgency had anything to do with ume. “Cook. I am busy here.”

  “Shall I tell Madame you refuse?”

  I bit down hard. If Madame knew of my disobedience, she would punish me. And I would still be forced to harvest the plums alongside Shin. There was nothing to do but take the bucket and ladder and hope Shin would be wise enough to avoid me completely. Cook and others would be watching us and would take encouragement from any form of friendly exchange.

  I marched out to the plum tree and examined the still green fruit. It was as I expected, days earlier than ideal. The ume are always harvested green and fermented in salt, the product transforming from green to a pale pink. But they were too early. I noticed Shin already making fast progress on the other old tree. At his rate, we would soon be harvesting from the same tree. I wished he would work a little more slowly.

  If Shin had seen me, he gave no sign of it. And I gave him credit for sharp instinct in the apparent slackening of his pace. I worked more quickly on my tree, harvesting first the low hanging fruit. Soon, however, I needed the aid of a ladder. As the morning wore on, I was beginning to feel easier about how little satisfaction Cook would be taking from watching us, busy at our different trees. I began, even, to enjoy the warmth of the early June sun on my back and the fragrance of a pleasant summer garden life among the greenery. I climbed higher, to reach the fruit, and it wasn’t until I had filled my basketful that I heard a loud crack from below. I fell to the ground, spilling my basket, and twisting my leg in the broken rung. I yelped in pain and instantly, Shin was bending over me. Faster still, I withdrew with a warning glance and a sharp signal with one hand. “Go to the house,” I whispered.

  He frowned, perceived my meaning, and steadfastly ignored it.

  He untangled my right leg from the piece of broken ladder. Then he carefully examined the injury, applying gentle, but firm pressure to the wound. It was bruised, even I could see, and swollen, but I thought not broken. He rested the ankle on a bed of grass, snapped up a piece of the ladder, and marched into the house.

  I had a long wait, before Tatsuo, not Shin, appeared, standing above me and staring at my swollen foot. “Can you stand?” he asked, one hand squeezing my ankle and sending tremors of pain up and down my leg.

  “Ah. Not without help, I think.”

  Tatsuo bent low and pulled me up onto my good leg, then he lent me a boney shoulder, by which aide, we slowly returned to the house, me hopping and wincing as we went. Tatsuo helped me into my sleeping quarters and prepared my futon for me while I leaned against one wall. “What a rag this futon is. Don’t you have anything better?”

  I shook my head no and he muttered something I didn’t hear clearly.

  I rested on my futon for the remainder of the afternoon before Madame appeared. She glanced askance at my swollen foot and then asked me for my account of events. Then she murmured some complaining words about lost labor and left me.

  My evening meal was forgotten, and had I not begged Kame for some tea, I would not have had even that for sustenance. I was fairly certain of Cook’s, or someone’s, having sabotaged the ladder. Or why else had Shin examined it with such a grim expression before carrying the evidence away
with him? Tatsuo, at least, seemed to believe his account. And perhaps Madame, too, when faced with the evidence. Cook, I believe, would be warned, at least as much for the losses in umeboshi and silk fabric, as for harm to me. But where was Shin now? And how could I safely meet him as long as my ankle throbbed so angrily.

  Cook and Kame were long asleep when the scrape of the shoji doors came slowly sliding open along their track. Someone was entering the room. My gaze darted to the opening door where Shin stood, peering in on me. He tiptoed inside and knelt beside my futon. “How is your ankle?”

  “Never mind my ankle. You’ll awaken Cook and Kame! You have to leave at once!”

  Unworried, he whistled faintly at the sight of my swollen ankle, then winked. “Neither Cook nor Kame will awaken. I promise.” He helped me to sitting while I stared at him, eyes wide.

  “Another secret revealed,” he said, holding a dried herb I did not recognize between his finger and thumb. “It’s a potent insomnia antidote. They will sleep well into the morning.”

  I gasped. “How did you manage it?”

  “That secret, I will keep for now.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It grows in my herb garden, among other medicinal plants. And I brought some of these to care for you now. Do you trust me?” Shin’s warm expression met mine and I gave a mute assent. First, he removed my blanket and folded up the hem of my night robe. Then he opened a salve and began applying it gently to the bruised and swollen foot. His hands were gentle, and conductive of something more than warmth. Under his touch, I found myself relaxing even toward sleep. Did he drug me too? I wondered, without daring to accuse him.

  “I didn’t drug you, if that is what you are wondering.” He said, apparently reading my thoughts.

  But it was you who applied the pine salve to my back,” I said, forcing the subject I really didn’t want to visit.

  He explained, “There was no sedative, and the way I applied the salve without discovery is a secret I’m unable share.”