A/N: Ok, here's a nice, long, chapter to read and revel in. ^_^ I
know they've been short as hell for the past few weeks (so sorry about
that! ^_^)
** WARNING ** This chapter deals with some pretty heavy stuff, so please beware!! I basically reveal a little of what life has been like for the women at the Black Dove before the decree. I also deal with what some would call an extremely touchy subject (you'll find out what it is when you get toward the end), but I'd like all of you to read the A/N at the end of the chapter to kinda get an idea of what was going on in my mind when I wrote this (and for some explanations, too.)
Chapter 34
In The Days That Have Passed
It is utterly amazing to me how swiftly and calmly the hours bleed together, forming days that eventually group themselves into weeks. It all seems unrealistic, like a dream world full of everything that is real- people, words, feelings. I drift through them all like a ghost, cut free from the land of the living but still held fast to it because there is a part of me that remains there. So I linger on, waiting for that one thing that still connects me to this place to finally show itself, to finally return.
I wait for him, my eyes constantly searching through the days and nights. I look for the brilliant shine of his fire-red hair swirling through the masses of people that trap me, waiting for him to find me and carry me away. I see him in my mind's eye, grinning mischievously, his almost unnoticeable fangs peeking out from between his lips, teasing me. I see his emerald golden eyes looking back at me through the haze of smoke that lingers constantly in the tavern air.
But the weeks pass by empty of any part of him.
My life has been calm ever since Shingen's declaration that the women of the Black Dove brothel were to be unharmed by any man from there on in. By way of mouth, his order was spread among our clients, earning a few murmurs of annoyance and disapproval.
Our customers thought it customary to discipline an uppity whore when she needed to be reminded of her position. All five of us, myself included, had received what was though by our clients to be a rightfully earned bruised jaw or eye whenever we might voice our opinion on certain things, whether it be a sexual act we would have rather abstained from or a simple request for a an extra gold piece from a customer who liked to spend the night in our room.
We are defined as objects for rent. A few hours worth of pleasure and relaxation in exchange for a few coins. We are expected to perform and act as our customers see fit. Sometimes, a simple fuck is not what our men want from us.
Some desire to be fooled, purposefully tricked into thinking that the woman they are paying for truly loves them in some way. They want to be sung to and kissed, touched in a way that makes them believe they are desired just as hungrily as they desire. These men are the lovers who pay for lovers, not just a whore to be used and discarded.
And then there are the men who come to the brothel for the simple pleaser of being entirely different people. At this place, they morph themselves into whatever their hearts desire. A shy, mild farmer becomes a mad beast with the heated touch of a talented whore. A cold-hearted slave merchant transforms into a gentle soft-handed lover.
And then there are the others, the ones who lust after pain more than pleasure. The ones with the demands that make us blush even though we have been fucking men for money for years. These are the ones that revel in seeing us in pain, cracking under the brutality of their hands and masculine desires. They grin when they hear us beg for them to stop. They laugh when we cry out. These are the ones we fear. The ones who could slit our throats if we anger them enough. Each of us has known one of these men, and each of us has cried ourselves asleep after our nights with them. We have cleaned each other's bleeding faces, caressed each other's bruised skin, and mended the torn and mutilated flesh between each other's legs.
And, of course, it is these men who mumble among themselves upon hearing our pimp's order. They don't like being inhibited of what they view as their necessities, their rights. But, apparently they still desire us, for they come as often as they did before Shingen's declaration. They are harsh with us, and they go as far as they can without physically harming us, pushing us to the edges and leaving us there. But they do not harm us, and so we cannot speak against them. They are numerous at the Black Dove, and I suspect that Shingen is pleased that he didn't lose his highest paying customers. As a matter of fact, I doubt that we have lost even one client.
How goddamn fortunate for Shingen.
Tokizo visits often-at least twice a week or more. His first visit to the tavern to check on me and the others made me so nervous I could hardly speak to him. Perhaps it was his intimidating presence that was both unnerving and comforting at the same time, or perhaps it was the constant burning of Shingen's curious and fearful eyes on my back as the imperial soldier and I stood on the veranda. I spoke in low tones during our first conversation, making it very obvious to Tokizo that I was uncomfortable being within earshot of my pimp. And so that is how we got into the habit of taking walks during his frequent visits.
Feeling free to talk about whatever I wished, and knowing that someone was listening intently, I quickly befriended Tokizo. His delicate eyes that contrasted so strangely with his muscular build gave me the most wonderful feeling of security. Of course, we made an odd pair to look at as we strolled through the marketplaces, temples, gardens, and streets of the capital. Him with his fire-red breastplate and helmet decorated generously with golden trim; and me with my flimsy silk gown, brazenly left open at the top of my breasts far more than any honorable woman would allow. Simply by taking a glance at us, passers-by would be able to tell as to what our occupations were. We were often awarded with the unabashed stares and hushed whispers of people wondering what in the name of Suzaku a palace soldier and a prostitute were doing strolling through the city together. But it happened so often that we eventually became immune to it.
And even though the purpose of Tokizo's visits is to make sure the emperor's order is being obeyed, our conversations more often than not veer off in completely different directions. If we begin by discussing how myself and the other women are adjusting to the new and very appreciated rules of the brothel, by the time he escorts me back to the tavern, our talk has turned to the interesting gossip of the palace.
But one day, he seems indifferent to the gossip I try to pry from him, and as I beg him to tell me the latest rumors circulating through the seraglio, he slows his pace until I have to slow mine in order not to lose him among the throngs of people in the street.
"Tansho," he replies softly, yet with an unmistakably firm tone, "Would you mind if I asked you something personal?"
His request makes me a little skittish, but he has become a trusted friend in the amount of time we have walked and chatted together. He is my protector, and I understand that he would never inquire into my unorthodox lifestyle without my permission. And I want him to know that I trust him; but mostly, I'm just curious as to what he will ask me.
"Of course I wouldn't mind," I answer truthfully, although I doubted my ability to give a truthful answer for fear of losing his friendship if I happened to offend him.
"Why did you decide to remain at the Black Dove instead of accepting the emperor's offer? You could be in a palace apartment now if you wanted to. Why are you still a." I knew he would ask that last question sooner or later, but I knew he would never be able to say the word-just as Tasuki was never able to truly say it.
"Why am I still a whore?" I inquire gently. Our walking pace has returned to normal, and I slip my arm into his as we continue to walk down the street in no direction in particular.
"Yes."
"Because I could not leave the other women here alone. They have been the only family I have known for the past five years, Tokizo; and although they are not honorable women, they are nobler in my eyes than any lady of Konan. And I owe them my life for protecting and loving me the best they know how."
He does not answer for a long time, and I can't help but wonder what he is thinking. It is true I could be living quite comfortably right now, safe in the arms of the palace, waiting to be turned over into Tasuki's arms once he returns. But I chose the harder road, and I am walking it with my head held high nonetheless.
He only smiles at me, and we both understand our conversation is over. In silence, he escorts be to the veranda of the Black Dove and kisses my hand gallantly before I return into the darkness of the tavern. Perhaps if I had lingered downstairs for a few more minutes, or gone to my window in my room, I would have seen Okichi walk onto the veranda just before Tokizo turned in the direction of the palace. And perhaps I would have heard bits and pieces of their soft conversation and caught a few of their curious glances at each other that seemed to be more flirtatious each time they dared a look.
It has been nearly two months since Tasuki left and the women of the Black Dove were put under protection. And in those torrid two months my life has changed drastically. For the first time in all my years of living within the Black Dove brothel, I am able to sit at my vanity table and not see a contusion-littered face staring back at me.
I sit in front of my vanity table now, looking at my reflection in the mirror. My face is clear of all blemishes, proof that the Imperial decree that Shingen claimed for himself has been effective. Nothing but gently tanned skin from my afternoon walks with Tokizo is evident on my face. But I see a dying woman in front of me. I see a forlorn girl-child still searching for a savior. I see despair. Sorrow. Fear. It is all still so obvious on my face. Even though my skin is as smooth and clear as it was the day I left my home for the capital, I am blind to it. I still see the face of a harlot. I cannot find a trace of beauty anywhere-but one single place.
My eyes. I glance at my eyes and I see hope buried so deep within them that I wonder if it could ever be dug up. And I proudly realize that I did this to myself. I inflicted this miraculous thing upon myself. Tasuki gave it to me, and I plunged it deep within me, to a secure place where not even my own sadness could dislodge it.
But even though my ethereal eyes give me some small amount of faith, I cannot continue to ignore the one thing that has been eating away at that faith. It has been nearly three months since my last woman's blood. And it has been over four months since Misa's and Koi's. We all know what this means, but after so many years, it has come to be a habitual occurrence that is easily and quickly taken care of.
Asako went to fetch the midwife this morning, and we expect her any moment.
I have seen her many times before. She is known as Mayonaka, a small, gentle elderly woman who has studied the art of midwifery since her girlhood. She is a trusted ally to us, and an unfortunate necessity at times. For without her careful, wise hands and her basketful of herbs and tools, we would be left to our own devices, something each of us has only heard horror tales about.
My first visit with her was at her home, when Shingen took me there soon after my arrival in the capital. He never told me what the purpose was for bringing me to the small little house on the corner of our street that smelled of ginger and jasmine. But when I felt Mayonaka's warms fingers probing my most private of place as I laid on a pallet on her floor, I knew. He wanted to make sure that I was untouched by a man and that my maidenhead was still intact. As it turned out, I was. And the next night in the tavern, I was auctioned off for nearly two hundred gold coins to my first customer, the fumbling idiot who knew nothing of what to do with me. Apparently, as Asako told me many years later, my price would have been considerably much lower if I had not been a virgin. She had told me that I should be proud of earning such a staggering amount from my first client. I was disgusted. I never saw a single coin of that two hundred.
I have seen Mayonaka many times since then, both in her home and at the brothel. She comes once a month to administer a womb tonic, brewed from the brown rhizome of Dang Gui to cleanse our wombs of what she refers to as impurities and bring on our menstrual blood. But we are not fools. We know the true purpose of her tonic. But rather than having contempt for Mayonaka, we are more thankful for her than any other person in our lives. For it is the Dang Gui tonic that keeps our bodies free of the diseases that ravage women like us who have had far too many men to count.
And now we wait patiently for her to come and try to erase the most humiliating and sorrowful product of our immoral profession. I get up from my cushioned seat in front of my vanity table and leave the solace of my bedroom to venture downstairs into the kitchen where we will await Mayonaka's arrival. The other's are already there, their faces blank, their eyes dull. The smell of our dinner cooking fills our nostrils, helping to calm us with the scent of shrimp dumplings and steamed rice. Misa and Koi sit together on benches beside the wooden table in the center of the kitchen, watching with fake interest as Okichi chops water chestnuts. Asako keeps watch over the rice and dumplings, giving me a glance and a small smile as I enter the kitchen and sit next to Misa and Koi, my body tense.
There is a thought in the back of my mind, torturing me maliciously without remorse. I see Tasuki and I in my mind's eye, making love in my bed, behind the tavern, in his bed at the palace, and my mind screams at me relentlessly to allow myself to give thought to the one thing I dare not think about. But after so many long days waiting and begging for my woman's blood to come, I finally give in to what has been pressing on my heart so forcefully.
It has been close to three months since I last bled. Tasuki left me a little over two months ago. And as I count these weeks in my head, it slowly comes into light what I have been trying to repress for so long. Those painfully few, amorous, intrepid nights that Tasuki and I spent together fell where I should have noticed immediately-exactly two weeks after my last bleeding. Those wondrous, passionate nights when I made love to him coincided with my time of fertility. Almost goddamn perfectly. And, like the fool I was, I never even thought of my cycle one single time during our affair.
And now, as I sit here waiting for the midwife to come, I realize that I am paying for my foolish negligence. Shingen usually allows us one week off work for our blood time, and another week to allow avoidance of our fertile time. But sometimes, our careful tracking and counting of days is incorrect and Mayonaka must make a house call to the Black Dove brothel to take care of our problem-as is being done for Koi and Misa. Asako thought it best that she and Okichi take the tonic as well to cleanse their wombs even if they didn't hold what the other's might. But I wonder if she and the others suspect that I am in the same predicament as Koi and Misa. After all, they know of my affair with Tasuki. And as women living so closely together, it is almost impossible not to know each other's cycles. Could they know? Do they know that I may be.?
I don't like saying the word, even in the privacy of my own thoughts. It feels sacred; as if it is something holy that should not be slung around by the tongue and thoughts of a whore. So I don't even think it. Perhaps if I don't think it, then it won't be true.
And then, as those very words echo inside my head, another thought bursts inside my mind in a blinding flash of pain and disbelief. I feel my mouth drop into a gape and my eyes widen even though I try to control my overflowing emotions.
Dear gods--What if I want it to be true.
A/N: I know, I know. I'm being cruel to you for making you wait (not to mention for making poor Tansho have to go through so much drama). As you have read, this chapter dealt with a very, very touchy subject (and the next chapter will deal with it as well). I'm letting all of my readers know now that just because I write about abortion in an indifferent manner, does not mean that I am for it OR against it. I'd rather keep my personal beliefs to myself if none of you mind, but I'd appreciate it if you left no flames concerning this. I understand that I'm seriously treading on touchy ground, but I felt the need to add this into my story to reveal a certain depth to Tansho's character later on. Thanks for being such great readers, and once again, please forgive me if I have offended you in any way. Oh, and if any of you are wondering, Dang Gui is an actual Chinese herb used by women all over the world as a contraceptive and a tonic to bring on menstruation.
Reply to reviewers:
Frenchiecangal: Damn girl, you've got it all figured out, Huh? ^_^ And thanks so much for being so open and sweet to me! You're a great reviewer!
Mary: I do hope college is more fun than high school was (though my senior year did kick ass! ^_^) And how many more chaps of "Tansho" you ask?! Whew!! There's a few left! ^_^ I'm currently beginning to write chap 43, and after it I'm guessing maybe four or five more at tops.
Zerianyu: No worries, hon! We've all got crazy schedules! ^_^ And I really didn't mean to make my chaps so short!! Guess I made it up to all of you with this one, huh?
Stariko-Tasuki no Miko: Thanks!! And you wannna make a voo doo doll of Shingen?! Hee Hee! What a good idea!! Well, he's really big, fat, and bald! I wouldn't say ugly exactly, but my description of him implies that, huh? ^_^
Nako-chan: Again, sorry that my last few chapters have been so short! I really didn't mean them to be. And you'll see what happens to Shingen- don't worry!
Kitty Lynne: Hey there, my dear e-mail pal!! ^_^ You know, I've herd of Stockholm syndrome before-I just didn't know its name. That's really interesting, huh? I didn't think about that while writing that last chap. Oh, and I got your e-mail. I'll reply as soon as I can, OK? Maybe tonight when I finish uploading this chap! ^_^
Thanks again to all my great, wonderful reviewers!!! I love you with all my heart!!! ^_^
** WARNING ** This chapter deals with some pretty heavy stuff, so please beware!! I basically reveal a little of what life has been like for the women at the Black Dove before the decree. I also deal with what some would call an extremely touchy subject (you'll find out what it is when you get toward the end), but I'd like all of you to read the A/N at the end of the chapter to kinda get an idea of what was going on in my mind when I wrote this (and for some explanations, too.)
Chapter 34
In The Days That Have Passed
It is utterly amazing to me how swiftly and calmly the hours bleed together, forming days that eventually group themselves into weeks. It all seems unrealistic, like a dream world full of everything that is real- people, words, feelings. I drift through them all like a ghost, cut free from the land of the living but still held fast to it because there is a part of me that remains there. So I linger on, waiting for that one thing that still connects me to this place to finally show itself, to finally return.
I wait for him, my eyes constantly searching through the days and nights. I look for the brilliant shine of his fire-red hair swirling through the masses of people that trap me, waiting for him to find me and carry me away. I see him in my mind's eye, grinning mischievously, his almost unnoticeable fangs peeking out from between his lips, teasing me. I see his emerald golden eyes looking back at me through the haze of smoke that lingers constantly in the tavern air.
But the weeks pass by empty of any part of him.
My life has been calm ever since Shingen's declaration that the women of the Black Dove brothel were to be unharmed by any man from there on in. By way of mouth, his order was spread among our clients, earning a few murmurs of annoyance and disapproval.
Our customers thought it customary to discipline an uppity whore when she needed to be reminded of her position. All five of us, myself included, had received what was though by our clients to be a rightfully earned bruised jaw or eye whenever we might voice our opinion on certain things, whether it be a sexual act we would have rather abstained from or a simple request for a an extra gold piece from a customer who liked to spend the night in our room.
We are defined as objects for rent. A few hours worth of pleasure and relaxation in exchange for a few coins. We are expected to perform and act as our customers see fit. Sometimes, a simple fuck is not what our men want from us.
Some desire to be fooled, purposefully tricked into thinking that the woman they are paying for truly loves them in some way. They want to be sung to and kissed, touched in a way that makes them believe they are desired just as hungrily as they desire. These men are the lovers who pay for lovers, not just a whore to be used and discarded.
And then there are the men who come to the brothel for the simple pleaser of being entirely different people. At this place, they morph themselves into whatever their hearts desire. A shy, mild farmer becomes a mad beast with the heated touch of a talented whore. A cold-hearted slave merchant transforms into a gentle soft-handed lover.
And then there are the others, the ones who lust after pain more than pleasure. The ones with the demands that make us blush even though we have been fucking men for money for years. These are the ones that revel in seeing us in pain, cracking under the brutality of their hands and masculine desires. They grin when they hear us beg for them to stop. They laugh when we cry out. These are the ones we fear. The ones who could slit our throats if we anger them enough. Each of us has known one of these men, and each of us has cried ourselves asleep after our nights with them. We have cleaned each other's bleeding faces, caressed each other's bruised skin, and mended the torn and mutilated flesh between each other's legs.
And, of course, it is these men who mumble among themselves upon hearing our pimp's order. They don't like being inhibited of what they view as their necessities, their rights. But, apparently they still desire us, for they come as often as they did before Shingen's declaration. They are harsh with us, and they go as far as they can without physically harming us, pushing us to the edges and leaving us there. But they do not harm us, and so we cannot speak against them. They are numerous at the Black Dove, and I suspect that Shingen is pleased that he didn't lose his highest paying customers. As a matter of fact, I doubt that we have lost even one client.
How goddamn fortunate for Shingen.
Tokizo visits often-at least twice a week or more. His first visit to the tavern to check on me and the others made me so nervous I could hardly speak to him. Perhaps it was his intimidating presence that was both unnerving and comforting at the same time, or perhaps it was the constant burning of Shingen's curious and fearful eyes on my back as the imperial soldier and I stood on the veranda. I spoke in low tones during our first conversation, making it very obvious to Tokizo that I was uncomfortable being within earshot of my pimp. And so that is how we got into the habit of taking walks during his frequent visits.
Feeling free to talk about whatever I wished, and knowing that someone was listening intently, I quickly befriended Tokizo. His delicate eyes that contrasted so strangely with his muscular build gave me the most wonderful feeling of security. Of course, we made an odd pair to look at as we strolled through the marketplaces, temples, gardens, and streets of the capital. Him with his fire-red breastplate and helmet decorated generously with golden trim; and me with my flimsy silk gown, brazenly left open at the top of my breasts far more than any honorable woman would allow. Simply by taking a glance at us, passers-by would be able to tell as to what our occupations were. We were often awarded with the unabashed stares and hushed whispers of people wondering what in the name of Suzaku a palace soldier and a prostitute were doing strolling through the city together. But it happened so often that we eventually became immune to it.
And even though the purpose of Tokizo's visits is to make sure the emperor's order is being obeyed, our conversations more often than not veer off in completely different directions. If we begin by discussing how myself and the other women are adjusting to the new and very appreciated rules of the brothel, by the time he escorts me back to the tavern, our talk has turned to the interesting gossip of the palace.
But one day, he seems indifferent to the gossip I try to pry from him, and as I beg him to tell me the latest rumors circulating through the seraglio, he slows his pace until I have to slow mine in order not to lose him among the throngs of people in the street.
"Tansho," he replies softly, yet with an unmistakably firm tone, "Would you mind if I asked you something personal?"
His request makes me a little skittish, but he has become a trusted friend in the amount of time we have walked and chatted together. He is my protector, and I understand that he would never inquire into my unorthodox lifestyle without my permission. And I want him to know that I trust him; but mostly, I'm just curious as to what he will ask me.
"Of course I wouldn't mind," I answer truthfully, although I doubted my ability to give a truthful answer for fear of losing his friendship if I happened to offend him.
"Why did you decide to remain at the Black Dove instead of accepting the emperor's offer? You could be in a palace apartment now if you wanted to. Why are you still a." I knew he would ask that last question sooner or later, but I knew he would never be able to say the word-just as Tasuki was never able to truly say it.
"Why am I still a whore?" I inquire gently. Our walking pace has returned to normal, and I slip my arm into his as we continue to walk down the street in no direction in particular.
"Yes."
"Because I could not leave the other women here alone. They have been the only family I have known for the past five years, Tokizo; and although they are not honorable women, they are nobler in my eyes than any lady of Konan. And I owe them my life for protecting and loving me the best they know how."
He does not answer for a long time, and I can't help but wonder what he is thinking. It is true I could be living quite comfortably right now, safe in the arms of the palace, waiting to be turned over into Tasuki's arms once he returns. But I chose the harder road, and I am walking it with my head held high nonetheless.
He only smiles at me, and we both understand our conversation is over. In silence, he escorts be to the veranda of the Black Dove and kisses my hand gallantly before I return into the darkness of the tavern. Perhaps if I had lingered downstairs for a few more minutes, or gone to my window in my room, I would have seen Okichi walk onto the veranda just before Tokizo turned in the direction of the palace. And perhaps I would have heard bits and pieces of their soft conversation and caught a few of their curious glances at each other that seemed to be more flirtatious each time they dared a look.
It has been nearly two months since Tasuki left and the women of the Black Dove were put under protection. And in those torrid two months my life has changed drastically. For the first time in all my years of living within the Black Dove brothel, I am able to sit at my vanity table and not see a contusion-littered face staring back at me.
I sit in front of my vanity table now, looking at my reflection in the mirror. My face is clear of all blemishes, proof that the Imperial decree that Shingen claimed for himself has been effective. Nothing but gently tanned skin from my afternoon walks with Tokizo is evident on my face. But I see a dying woman in front of me. I see a forlorn girl-child still searching for a savior. I see despair. Sorrow. Fear. It is all still so obvious on my face. Even though my skin is as smooth and clear as it was the day I left my home for the capital, I am blind to it. I still see the face of a harlot. I cannot find a trace of beauty anywhere-but one single place.
My eyes. I glance at my eyes and I see hope buried so deep within them that I wonder if it could ever be dug up. And I proudly realize that I did this to myself. I inflicted this miraculous thing upon myself. Tasuki gave it to me, and I plunged it deep within me, to a secure place where not even my own sadness could dislodge it.
But even though my ethereal eyes give me some small amount of faith, I cannot continue to ignore the one thing that has been eating away at that faith. It has been nearly three months since my last woman's blood. And it has been over four months since Misa's and Koi's. We all know what this means, but after so many years, it has come to be a habitual occurrence that is easily and quickly taken care of.
Asako went to fetch the midwife this morning, and we expect her any moment.
I have seen her many times before. She is known as Mayonaka, a small, gentle elderly woman who has studied the art of midwifery since her girlhood. She is a trusted ally to us, and an unfortunate necessity at times. For without her careful, wise hands and her basketful of herbs and tools, we would be left to our own devices, something each of us has only heard horror tales about.
My first visit with her was at her home, when Shingen took me there soon after my arrival in the capital. He never told me what the purpose was for bringing me to the small little house on the corner of our street that smelled of ginger and jasmine. But when I felt Mayonaka's warms fingers probing my most private of place as I laid on a pallet on her floor, I knew. He wanted to make sure that I was untouched by a man and that my maidenhead was still intact. As it turned out, I was. And the next night in the tavern, I was auctioned off for nearly two hundred gold coins to my first customer, the fumbling idiot who knew nothing of what to do with me. Apparently, as Asako told me many years later, my price would have been considerably much lower if I had not been a virgin. She had told me that I should be proud of earning such a staggering amount from my first client. I was disgusted. I never saw a single coin of that two hundred.
I have seen Mayonaka many times since then, both in her home and at the brothel. She comes once a month to administer a womb tonic, brewed from the brown rhizome of Dang Gui to cleanse our wombs of what she refers to as impurities and bring on our menstrual blood. But we are not fools. We know the true purpose of her tonic. But rather than having contempt for Mayonaka, we are more thankful for her than any other person in our lives. For it is the Dang Gui tonic that keeps our bodies free of the diseases that ravage women like us who have had far too many men to count.
And now we wait patiently for her to come and try to erase the most humiliating and sorrowful product of our immoral profession. I get up from my cushioned seat in front of my vanity table and leave the solace of my bedroom to venture downstairs into the kitchen where we will await Mayonaka's arrival. The other's are already there, their faces blank, their eyes dull. The smell of our dinner cooking fills our nostrils, helping to calm us with the scent of shrimp dumplings and steamed rice. Misa and Koi sit together on benches beside the wooden table in the center of the kitchen, watching with fake interest as Okichi chops water chestnuts. Asako keeps watch over the rice and dumplings, giving me a glance and a small smile as I enter the kitchen and sit next to Misa and Koi, my body tense.
There is a thought in the back of my mind, torturing me maliciously without remorse. I see Tasuki and I in my mind's eye, making love in my bed, behind the tavern, in his bed at the palace, and my mind screams at me relentlessly to allow myself to give thought to the one thing I dare not think about. But after so many long days waiting and begging for my woman's blood to come, I finally give in to what has been pressing on my heart so forcefully.
It has been close to three months since I last bled. Tasuki left me a little over two months ago. And as I count these weeks in my head, it slowly comes into light what I have been trying to repress for so long. Those painfully few, amorous, intrepid nights that Tasuki and I spent together fell where I should have noticed immediately-exactly two weeks after my last bleeding. Those wondrous, passionate nights when I made love to him coincided with my time of fertility. Almost goddamn perfectly. And, like the fool I was, I never even thought of my cycle one single time during our affair.
And now, as I sit here waiting for the midwife to come, I realize that I am paying for my foolish negligence. Shingen usually allows us one week off work for our blood time, and another week to allow avoidance of our fertile time. But sometimes, our careful tracking and counting of days is incorrect and Mayonaka must make a house call to the Black Dove brothel to take care of our problem-as is being done for Koi and Misa. Asako thought it best that she and Okichi take the tonic as well to cleanse their wombs even if they didn't hold what the other's might. But I wonder if she and the others suspect that I am in the same predicament as Koi and Misa. After all, they know of my affair with Tasuki. And as women living so closely together, it is almost impossible not to know each other's cycles. Could they know? Do they know that I may be.?
I don't like saying the word, even in the privacy of my own thoughts. It feels sacred; as if it is something holy that should not be slung around by the tongue and thoughts of a whore. So I don't even think it. Perhaps if I don't think it, then it won't be true.
And then, as those very words echo inside my head, another thought bursts inside my mind in a blinding flash of pain and disbelief. I feel my mouth drop into a gape and my eyes widen even though I try to control my overflowing emotions.
Dear gods--What if I want it to be true.
A/N: I know, I know. I'm being cruel to you for making you wait (not to mention for making poor Tansho have to go through so much drama). As you have read, this chapter dealt with a very, very touchy subject (and the next chapter will deal with it as well). I'm letting all of my readers know now that just because I write about abortion in an indifferent manner, does not mean that I am for it OR against it. I'd rather keep my personal beliefs to myself if none of you mind, but I'd appreciate it if you left no flames concerning this. I understand that I'm seriously treading on touchy ground, but I felt the need to add this into my story to reveal a certain depth to Tansho's character later on. Thanks for being such great readers, and once again, please forgive me if I have offended you in any way. Oh, and if any of you are wondering, Dang Gui is an actual Chinese herb used by women all over the world as a contraceptive and a tonic to bring on menstruation.
Reply to reviewers:
Frenchiecangal: Damn girl, you've got it all figured out, Huh? ^_^ And thanks so much for being so open and sweet to me! You're a great reviewer!
Mary: I do hope college is more fun than high school was (though my senior year did kick ass! ^_^) And how many more chaps of "Tansho" you ask?! Whew!! There's a few left! ^_^ I'm currently beginning to write chap 43, and after it I'm guessing maybe four or five more at tops.
Zerianyu: No worries, hon! We've all got crazy schedules! ^_^ And I really didn't mean to make my chaps so short!! Guess I made it up to all of you with this one, huh?
Stariko-Tasuki no Miko: Thanks!! And you wannna make a voo doo doll of Shingen?! Hee Hee! What a good idea!! Well, he's really big, fat, and bald! I wouldn't say ugly exactly, but my description of him implies that, huh? ^_^
Nako-chan: Again, sorry that my last few chapters have been so short! I really didn't mean them to be. And you'll see what happens to Shingen- don't worry!
Kitty Lynne: Hey there, my dear e-mail pal!! ^_^ You know, I've herd of Stockholm syndrome before-I just didn't know its name. That's really interesting, huh? I didn't think about that while writing that last chap. Oh, and I got your e-mail. I'll reply as soon as I can, OK? Maybe tonight when I finish uploading this chap! ^_^
Thanks again to all my great, wonderful reviewers!!! I love you with all my heart!!! ^_^