Shall We Go to Otsu?

Chapter 7: To Market, To Market

In which the newlyweds brave the crowds.

It was time.

They'd arrived two weeks ago, and to delay longer would seem odd to the villagers—normal provisions, he knew, didn't keep as long as soldier rations. Most people went to market several times a month. As it was, the specious pretext of "honeymooners" could use some buttressing.

He tied his hair into a bun, as Ōkami had shown him, and fitted the hat she had given him close down over his head. As he tied it securely, he spoke without looking at her.

"Remember, we are not planning to remain here, but are merely waiting for my uncle's household to make room for us. Please do not obligate us to anyone in any way."

"I understand."

He would have preferred to have supplied for them entirely through hunting and fishing, and the occasional bale of rice from headquarters, but he realized that even a bachelor—an ordinary one, at any rate—would have to come to town occasionally.

Tch! What inconvenience.

The trail was steep, and he led the way, as much to prevent her falling as from custom. Once he braced himself as her fingertips pressed suddenly on his shoulder, and he could hear her footsteps uneven and hesitant on the path behind him. She had insisted they must dress in their good clothes to go into town. It made no difference to him—all his clothes were styled for action—but her stylish kimono and city geta nearly hobbled her on the rough path. He slowed his pace.

The market center was indeed crowded, and they blended well into the crowd. The festive atmosphere lightened his mood in spite of himself. It made him remember the day, back in the City, that Ōkami had ordered him to accompany the girls she sent out for supplies.

"Go with them. Watch out for them." He started to object, but she cut him off. "Think of yourself as a heavyweight attendant. I'm sending all of them because we are low on almost everything, and I'm sending you because I don't want any trouble." She gave him a look, and said, "Besides, you need to get out, too. In the sun." He could tell she'd brook no argument. Besides, he felt obligated. Ōkami went out of her way to accommodate his idiosyncrasies. She'd assigned a girl to provide him meals on his curious schedule, and to do his laundry and clean his room, although he could certainly have taken care of those last tasks himself. He could have managed even his own meals, had he been allowed a pot and a flame.

The noise and bustle had been an adjustment for him—he'd rarely been among crowds except under cover of darkness, and with a target to boot—but he soon realized that no one was paying any attention to him, that he was relatively invisible with his large bowl-shaped hat covering the thick bundle of red hair that she'd tied up for him into a high, hidden bun. The girls—his girl was not among them, and he only now wondered why Ōkami had kept her back—were excited to be out together, giggling and gossiping, and he tagged along solemnly, counting and re-counting the half-dozen or so as they flitted from vendor to vendor. Their happy chatter and the colorful turmoil of the marketplace reminded him of his trips to town with his master, and he felt his spirits rise. The enticing aroma of ramen, and the neat rows of beautifully crafted castella cakes, shaped as fruit or flowers or baby animals—he found it all to be surprisingly pleasant.

At one point, he saw them whispering together in a huddle and glancing at him. Shortly afterward, one of the girls lingered behind the others at the flower seller's, and he could tell she wanted to talk with him. He waited for her to speak. Hesitantly, she greeted him, "Good morning, Himura-san."

"Good morning, —" He realized he didn't know her name. He didn't know any of their names. He had only kept count. "Good morning," he repeated awkwardly.

"I I mean, we I mean, all of us are very grateful to you for taking care of us. We can't usually come out together. I haven't been out of the inn for over a month!" She caught herself, then said, "Please take one of these." Embarrassment deepening her bow, she held out the unfolded paper containing a pile of taiyaki with both hands.

His impulse was to refuse, but he knew she'd been sent by the rest of them for just this purpose. He wished he knew her name. It was rude to speak to her like this.

He plucked off the one on the top of the pile. "Thank you very much." Biting down through the soft, fish-shaped cake into the sweet red bean filling, he closed his eyes with the intensity of the memory: Shishou loves these.

That evening, he asked Ōkami why she'd picked him as guard. She just looked down at him with her long, cool eyes and said, "Why do you ask?" Taken aback by such a pointed question, he answered without thinking, "I enjoyed it." She didn't change expression, but after a small nod, she turned and walked away. As he watched her slide down the hallway away from him, he realized he'd been played, though he couldn't imagine to what end. Surprisingly, he didn't mind. He didn't even mind that he felt happier for a few hours.

Today, here in the village by the lake, he chose which stalls they visited, and she kept close by his side. She spoke softly to each vendor as he kept a surreptitious eye on the crowd around them, and though he'd feared her inexperience would cost them, somehow her gentleness brought out equally gentle—and sometimes generous—responses, and they ended up spending less than he'd allowed. He carried their purchases, which were both bulky and heavy.

He looked at her appraisingly, re-evaluating what he saw. The small, pale face, always composed; the polished, jet-black hair, arranged in a modest queue; the expensive but well-worn kimono—the collar had already been turned once, he could tell that, now that he really looked. Bad times after good? It was a common tale. A certain steeliness in the eyes, easy to miss since she kept her face tilted down a degree or two. Well-bred. It had never occurred to him to wonder what had brought her to the City like that—alone and unprotected.

"You did well."

"Thank you." She seemed pleased by his praise, and he watched with curiosity as she fidgeted with the handle of her purse, her glance darting from stall to stall. "Do you want to go back right away? Perhaps you'd like a paper of pickled plums, or a skewer of mochi balls?" She gestured toward a stall close to the water. "Over there, they are serving them with sesame seeds in the sauce, even though it's not the season for it."

He considered that. It might indeed be a good idea to seem a bit more social. The sun was high in the sky, and the aromas wafting from the outdoor grills and steamers made his stomach growl. It was a beautiful day, and no one seemed to be paying them any undue attention. Why shouldn't they enjoy themselves?

He smiled at her, feeling expansive. "Yes. Let's eat before we head home." He thought he had seen a vendor selling nikuman, and these steamed, savory, meat-filled buns were a particular favorite of his. Just the thought of them made his mouth water and put a spring in his step.

Under a stand of willows at the edge of the market stalls stood a cluster of community-style tables lined with benches. He stopped and, cocking his head sharply, looked between her and the tables. The smallest suggestion of a smile quirked the corners of his mouth. Ignoring her baffled look, he took her hand and led her to one of the tables that had room enough for two more. He checked the sun's angle to make sure she wouldn't have the sun in her eyes, then gestured to a seat in the dappled shade. When she just stood there, uncomprehending, he put both hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her down onto the bench. Under cover of a playful little bow, he lifted her hand and smoothly removed their money purse from her wrist. With what might have passed for levity in someone else, he said, "Please rest here, my lady. I will procure a meal for us."

He turned away and strode eagerly back toward the stalls. Had he been just a little less quick, he might have noticed her flushed cheeks, and seen her touch her wrist in wonder.