I never asked for this.
I feared for Nagihiko, hated him, bitterly loved him. I raged on Fujisaki-sensei's behalf. I raged at her, too, for forcing me to keep a secret on threat of fraud. If I had known that I was safeguarding anything more than a family tradition, would I have still agreed to do it? Did I ever have a choice?
My mother has a habit of commissioning a hut, and then demanding a castle. I, too proud to listen, had assisted its architect.
If I failed my duty—if Nagihiko was discovered to be male—and if word reached the enlistment office… I spiralled downward. Would he be drafted for the incident in China? The more I thought about it, the more it didn't make any sense! If Kouen Academy's graduating class was not yet called to colours, why would Nagihiko, an untrained seventeen-year-old? If Yamabuki was anything like his daughter, he was probably throwing around empty threats.
"Rima-tan?" Yaya whispered, frightened. Hearing the Major-General shout had shaken her.
"We need to hurry," I said, clambering down the narrow staircase.
"Why?"
All I could think of was that right now, there was nothing standing between Major-General Yamabuki and Nadeshiko but some social niceties. If he wanted to, he could catch Fujisaki-sensei in her bald-faced lie right now.
We burst into the ballroom, only to be greeted with the scene of a party winding down to a raucous boozefest. The pendant lamps hanging from the rafters had burned their oil down to a smoky orange. The teachers were nowhere to be seen, save Sanjō, who had a sake cup in her hand and a face redder than the Imperial flag. The translators and diplomats had raised their voices to obnoxiously drunk, bilingual volumes. Three of them were arguing. Seiyo and Kouen students were dancing and chatting in such a disorganized fashion that I couldn't tell who was engaged and who was sitting out. The band was wheedling out something that was distinctly not Strauss.
"What time is it?" I asked, numbly.
"How should I know?" Yaya said— but at that moment, she stifled a yawn.
"Mashiro-san!" two boys chorused, coming to find me through the throng. One said, "Your water!"
I downed it in one, handing the cup back to him.
"Something stronger," I said, frigidly.
"Right away!"
"I'm going to go find Nadeshiko," I told Yaya out of courtesy. To my surprise, she grabbed my arm.
"You're going to tell her what we heard?! About–" Yaya was still terrified. "About the b-brother who died? Rima-tan, you can't!"
I forgot that Yaya had an actual brother. Her lower lip shook, and I was overwhelmed with the urge to comfort her.
"I'm not telling a soul what we heard," I said, in a low voice. "And you shouldn't, either. Promise?"
Yaya nodded, and grabbed my pinky with her own. We shook and parted.
As I scoured the crowd for any sight of Nadeshiko, I noted two things.
One, despite Amu's bizarre absence, she was being excessively talked about. I felt better about being surveyed after that.
Two, I saw Amakawa visibly look both ways before slipping seamlessly into the same screen that I had earlier.
He didn't tell us the truth either, I thought angrily. How convenient, to leave out that Nagihiko's geisha mother was the mistress of an army general, sleeping with another man behind his back!
"Hell hath no fury," I muttered to myself. Before I could finish the quote, I realised I had circled the room twice. If Nadeshiko was here, she would have shown herself.
"Utau," I said, touching the girl's arm. She stepped off the floor from where she had been dancing with one of the diplomats. Her already heavy-lidded eyes grew heavier when she saw me. "Have you seen Nadeshiko?"
"No," she said. She pointed to a Kouen student's back. "Ask Amu. She just came back."
"Amu!" I cried with relief, descending on her. Amu handled her drink even worse than I expected. Her entire face and neck were flushed, clashing with her dress. She was missing a hairpin. No wonder I couldn't see her earlier.
"Amu," I said, interrupting her conversation with the glasses boy from earlier. Her marriage prospects could wait. How much time had I wasted, already? "Did you see where Nadeshiko went?"
"Wh-huh?" Amu said, slow on the uptake.
"Nadeshiko," I repeated, urgently. How drunk was she? "She's not here. Where did she go?"
The desperation was creeping into my voice, rising with the well-water of emotion. I felt like if I wanted to, I could let go at any moment and succumb to my despair.
"I did," said the Kouen boy, surprising us both. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "She exited via the Eastern courtyard entrance five minutes prior."
I could have kissed him.
"But I would discourage finding her unless it is an emergency," he added, awkwardly. "She was with-"
"It's an emergency," I said, diving into the crowd to get to the screen. Five minutes ago? I was too late. He probably had a hand up her kimono. He was probably already ringing the military clerk call him up for a medical examination.
The one thing worse than this nightmare scenario happened: the courtyard was dark and empty.
I gazed hopelessly out at the concrete landscape. Dead in a ditch. Somewhere else. Off the property. Kidnapped? My eyes alighted on the soldier's memorial and the small shrine to the Emperor and Empress. Impossible. The shrine was reinforced concrete and padlocked at all times. Only a nutcase would break into it.
There was nothing behind the soldier's memorial. There was something behind the shrine. Not because I checked— but because I heard Nadeshiko's wild peal of laughter, and an admonishing, "Major-General!"
She's insane, I thought, as though a dose of insanity would improve the situation. It did not.
Where's the so-called princely Hotori now? I thought angrily, storming towards them—but when I thought about it, I realized that he was in no better position to do anything than I was. If Sāya was telling the truth, Major-General Yamabuki was a friend of Hotori's father, and his army superior besides. If I held every married man in this room tonight accountable for making advances on classmates young enough to be their daughters, I...
My stomach sank.
I would be here a long time.
From my vantage point behind the memorial, I was transfixed by Nadeshiko's laughing eyes and body language. Legs toward him, body away. Chin tilted forward, one shoulder up. His hand was firmly on her upper arm. Under the orange light, I was reminded once more of Yaya's festival goldfish: easy to touch, but slippery to catch.
She had it under control. She could fiddle and extort grown men to her liking and had done so before. I wished I had the self-control to keep away from her.
"You remind me so much of your mother, Fujisaki-san. Two blossoms from the same branch," Major-General Yamabuki was saying, mimicking a far more genteel nature better than Sāya could. Still, something about the pushy way he spoke reminded me of his daughter. For a minute, I almost felt pity, and wondered what living with this must be like.
"General Yamabuki has such a soft heart to think of my mother!" Nadeshiko said, deflecting to his ego like her life depended on it. Both her cheeks were dotted with an attractive plum-blossom colour, but his eyes were politely fixed on his left ear, hand braced behind him. I had seen this act before, but never quite this sloppy. Was he tipsy? I wondered if the sake was Yamabuki's idea, to get everybody's tongue – and reflex times – loose.
"I must say, I was lead to believe the gentleman-soldier was dead," he lamented, taking a dainty sip. "But, truthfully… hearing you say such things gives me hope for the character of our army. I hope you'll continue to work hard for our country's sake."
If I was in a better mood and the situation was less dire, I might have smiled at the way Nagihiko insincerely piled it on. As it was, I scowled. So did Major-General Yamabuki, who was evidently not getting the answer he wanted.
"I wonder," he said, coolly and drunkenly, "If you look the same as her, underneath?"
"Major-General!" Nagihiko said, shocked, but not enough. "You're drunk! I ought to deliver you safely back to Corporal Kusanagi."
"You would say that," he leered, thick fingers scrabbling at her kimono. As the fabric gaped, something hot pounded in my ears, angrier than passion, hotter than Hell.
"Major-General, I–" Nagihiko's voice crescendo in panic. The white of her underrobe flashed before my eyes like a blaze.
"Just like your f—"
"Nadeshiko-san!"
I shouted it as loud as I could. It echoed back at me across the courtyard, flat and angry. Coming into view, I wound my hands around Nagihiko's arm like an iron handcuff. I glanced at the Major-General like he was something on the bottom of my shoe.
"You still owe me a dance," I said, in a voice I reserved for Amu. "The orchestra's playing its last song of the night. Why did you leave it this long!"
I was conscious of Nagihiko staring at me with an impenetrable expression. The mask was off, but what was underneath it was no less readable. He hates me, I thought, still dizzy from adrenaline. I sank my fingernails into his arm, hoping it hurt. Hate me, then, even though I'm saving you!
I added casually, "Who's this?"
"How rude of me," Nagihiko said from his reverie. His arms were clamped to his chest. "This is Major-General Yamabuki, Yamabuki Sāya-san's father."
"I have Yamabuki-san's daughter's acquaintance," I said.
"Do you, now?" said the Major-General, looking highly confused and suspicious.
"Yes," I met his eyes mockingly. "You must be proud."
I did not say a single word to Nagihiko the whole way back to the pavilion. As we walked into the empty hallway, he turned to me, about to say something. Ignoring him, I shoved him back-first into the golden-screened great room, storming after him with my meaty little fists clenched.
"Rima," he said, as the violins started. Major-General Yamabuki was speaking to Corporal Kusanagi in the corner of the room, still watching Nadeshiko with red-rimmed eyes. Watching him back, I wound my hands around his neck. Nagihiko followed my gaze, confused. He could probably waltz in his sleep. Absently, as though taking a stroll, he took my hand and box stepped me backwards.
"Rima," she tried again, wincing like she had a headache. The plum was fading from her cheeks.
"You spineless worm," I said, savagely.
Nagihiko sighed. I felt sorry, before it was replaced by something louder, howling through me like wind through a tunnel. My hands dug into his back, and I forcefully matched his waltz-steps, refusing to look down.
"The word no needs to get in your vocabulary," I said in a hiss, just under the sound of music. "What are you, a doormat? That was reckless endangerment. What kind of naïve fool leaves herself alone with a man? Do you know what could have happened? Do you care?"
"Do I?" Nagihiko answered, with mild interest, backing me up. He went very still, for a moment, staring at me, before swinging me to his left. "Let go."
"What?" I said, angrily.
"Of my hand. You're dancing it wrong."
Still glaring, I let go. He caught me with the other one and brought me back in close. Though I was furious, I wondered if I could trick my brain into stretching this out as long as I could. To have his eyes on me alone was blissful.
"You know that I don't have any virtue to guard," Nadeshiko said, appealing to my logic. "I can defend myself against drunken advances."
"Some job you were doing of it," I said sarcastically, moving under his arm and twisting his wrist vehemently.
Nagihiko gasped in pain, and then let go, seizing my hand the right-way up. The cellos sighed. Displeased, I noted that Nagihiko had not lost his sense of grace to impairment. For a blissful musical measure, I saw our feet line up, and I found myself turning to fluid water in his hands, dancing in matched unison.
"Well done," he said in a low, menacing voice. "You weren't trying with others. This is the best your dancing's been all night."
I could have boxed his ears. I happily fantasized about open-handedly slapping him across his face. The second we were back in our dormitory room, I would grab him by his hair, force his head back and devour his mouth.
Oops. I shuddered, and the synchronization broke.
"There's something you're not telling me," Nadeshiko observed, misinterpreting my shudder as disgust.
"I don't tell you anything."
"Ah," she sighed. "If you say so."
She waltzed a few more measures, watching me with worry. Ironic. She ought to be worrying about herself. I wondered if I should ask him if he knew what his family register looked like, but I decided against it.
"It was kind of you to come and find me," she finally said, but she sounded sad. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," I said, feeling like my heart was getting run through a meat-grinder. "I am holding up my end of the agreement."
Nadeshiko fell silent at this, maybe because she knew I was right. But as the song ended and she walked me to the other side of the room, she said:
"You protect those few you count as your friends with everything you have."
I didn't know what to say.
"It's something I've always tried to emulate," she added, simply. "And admired."
An apology? A confession? Or simply another cryptic, Nadeshiko observation, designed to mess with my head? No matter how much I wondered, I would never find out, so it was useless to obsess.
I wasn't sure when or how we all piled out into rickshaws, hugging our shawls around us. I remember being wedged between Utau, wide awake, and Yaya, fast asleep on my shoulder. The Winter Triangle was rising to the northeast, heralding the frost. I wondered where the Tanabata lovers were now, pining for each other somewhere below the horizon.
The blissful thing about spending time with Utau was that she didn't speak unless there was something to say. The stars blurred and stretched dreamily, and I felt like I would never be warm again. It was so cold, but the rickshaw moved back and forth, as though rocking me into a stupor.
I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment I fell asleep. I woke up at some point in the middle of the night, still in my slip and underthings, but without my dress or shoes. It took me a terrifying minute to realize that I was back at Seiyo Girls' School – in the East Wing – in my bed with no knowledge of how I had gotten there. Like a zombie, I got out of bed and picked my way over to the other bed.
Was Nadeshiko in it? It was pitch black, with only vague, fuzzy grey shapes to guide me. In my stupor, I stretched out a hand to pat the coverlet, only to feel something warm and alive under it. My hand stopped, resting.
"Oh," Nadeshiko sighed.
Reassured, I stumbled back to bed. When I woke up, the bed was empty. All was normal.
Maybe things will go back to the way they were. I had long stopped believing prayers could reach the ears of the gods, but chance rolled your number one time in ten.
The mood in the next coming weeks was a tired nostalgia. The diplomat's ball was just the sort of tension-releasing event that would sustain most people through November. Yaya's father had returned to his post in Taihoku and sent pages upon pages of letters and photographs, talking about what fun they would all have when Yaya returned to the colonies for the summer. I did my best not be envious. The army was days away from taking Shanghai. The Chinese conflict would be over by the New Year. My spirits rose. Amu was suddenly breathing easier, laughing more, and stopped snapping at Nadeshiko, who in turn perked up considerably.
I hated that part.
School was tempered by the giddy knowledge that by summertime, I would be done forever. I would never have to dance another step or hold another tea ceremony. Best of all, I would only have to keep Nagihiko's secret for eight more months. It couldn't come a moment too soon. I wanted to be rid of my now-dangerous responsibilities, and I wanted to be rid of them now.
I hummed through literature class, swinging my legs happily and terrifying the younger girls. You'll see, I thought, smugly. You'll learn to hate this place, too!
I didn't suppose I would ever see Nadeshiko ever again once I left. He knew where I lived, but Hiroshima to Tokyo was an overnight train and a transfer, and I doubt he wanted to visit again. He'd be too busy teaching dancing lessons to the younger twits at Seiyo.
With time and distance, I was certain my feelings would dry out. If they didn't… I gnawed my lip, staring at the glossy sheen of Nadeshiko's ponytail, swinging with every tilt of her head.
I might run into Utau and Amu, who both lived in the city. They might move away from central Tokyo when they got married, but I could live with that. I was used to being alone.
"Mashiro-san," my literature teacher said, looking over the desk at me. "Read the next passage."
Yaya had The Tale of Genji open and was staring at me. Ugh. She pointed to the top of the passage, and I read it out in a monotone.
"Gladly would I show the world…"
"Mashiro-san," the literature teacher interrupted. I normally liked him well enough, but today he was irritating me. "With some ladylike sweetness in your voice, if you please."
This was my ladylike, sweet voice! I put on the saccharine tone I used when I was trying to wheedle something out of a man.
"Gladly would I show the world this dianthus' beauty, if I did not fear that men would ask me for the hedge on which it grew."
The class giggled. At first I thought it was because I was doing a hilarious job. Then everyone turned round in their seats to crane their heads at Nadeshiko.
I forgot that Nadeshiko and the dianthus shared the same word. I hunched my shoulders up.
"You are Genji, speaking to your beloved ward," the teacher reminded me. If he liked Genji so much, why didn't he just marry him? Genji's standards were clearly low enough; he collected wives like stamps. "Your voice must be loving and gentle."
Nadeshiko was three seats over, whispering to Amu. I took a modulating breath and tried again.
"'I have kept you hidden away like a chrysalis in a cocoon.'"
Nadeshiko looked up.
"Good. Continue," said the literature teacher, who I still was not forgiving. Eight more months, I chanted. Eight more months.
"She answered with the verse:
'Who cares to question whence was first transplanted
a nadeshiko that from the peasant's lowly hedge was hither brought?'
"Great question. I wouldn't," I added, smarmily.
There was a smattering of laughter this time. My classmates were desperate for jokes of late. I refused to make eye contact with Nadeshiko.
"If Lady Murasaki wanted your running commentary, Mashiro-san, I believe she would have asked for it," the literature teacher said, not even looking at me. "Since you have so many opinions on Tamakazura's conduct, you may tell us what this exchange of poems means."
It was not often that I knew the answer to a teacher's question. I stayed rooted to the spot.
"Mashiro-san," the teacher said, in a voice that indicated now was not the time to be stubborn.
"Genji wishes to hoard his adopted daughter all to himself," I said, blandly. "Because he's possessive and crazy. But the adopted daughter knows that men are shallow, and care nothing for a woman's origins and inner longings. They care only that, like a flower, she exists in the moment for their pleasure."
I sat down.
The teacher stared at me as though I had set my own father on fire. So did Amu. Utau, however, looked on the brink of smirking.
"I think it is more likely that Genji is worried about her parentage being speculated over, as she is the illegitimate daughter of his rival," he said, slowly. "That being said, a uniquely cynical take on an oft-neglected passage. I look forward to more of your insights."
The class laughed. Nadeshiko did not.
"You go ahead," I said to Yaya and Nadeshiko when class finished. "I need to ask sensei something."
"Is it about men being shallow?" Sāya said obnoxiously, bumping Amu's shoulder on the way out. Her ho-ho-hoing echoed down the corridor.
"It's actually about you," I longed to say, more than anything else in the world. "Given that you are shallow and care nothing of people, I'm concerned that you're secretly a man?"
Instead, I turned my head, gritting my teeth.
"Sensei," I said, hanging around his desk. "I wanted to know if I could borrow a book, if you have it."
The literature teacher regarded me judgementally. Women who read for pleasure were regarded as unattractively bookish at best and bluestockings at worst.
I winced at what was about to leave my mouth.
"Do you have a copy of the Penal Code?"
"The Penal Code?" he repeated. "Are you worried you are breaking the law, Mashiro-san?"
"Uh," I hesitated. I found it a little insulting that his first assumption was criminal activity.
"You're still a young lady. It doesn't sit well with me to have you reading about every disgusting crime known to man." He shuddered. "It would frighten you terribly. Why not borrow something nicer?"
"It's not for me," I blurted out, attempting false tears. Perhaps he would take pity on me if I pretended my family was bankrupt.
"I'm not a lawyer," he said testily. "And neither are you. I don't have one."
My crocodile tears stopped short in my throat. My head fell forward onto my chest. Where else was I supposed to find out what crime I was accessorizing? I was an uneducated woman in the mountains of Hyōgo Prefecture, at least one hour's train from any given city. What, then, was the point of literacy if my reading list was cultivated by some man?
The teacher rifled in his desk and handed me a little gold-bound book.
"Here, this is a nice read," he said, kindly. "It's about traditional courtship. Girls like it."
"I hate it here."
I looked around in surprise. My eyes landed on Utau, sitting across from us. She was staring at the two strips of dried cherry salmon on her rice with an unhappy expression.
"I know," I said placatingly, wedging the courtship book between my knees.
"I should have gone to Manchukuo with Ikuto," she said, bitterly.
"You don't mean that," Amu said, finding her voice. "Manchukuo is far. You'd miss us. And your mama..."
"I was a coward," sneered Utau, jabbing at her rice. "I thought I could find a powerful husband and kick Director Ichinomiya out of the company, but it's no use. Even the military is too cowardly to go up against him. Marriage would just give me another man to answer to. What's the point?"
"Hoshina-san!" Nadeshiko said, either scandalized or sympathetic— I couldn't tell which.
"Some women will never be made for marriage, no matter how hard the teachers try," I said, thinking about my own situation self-pityingly.
"– Why is the army too cowardly to go up against Hoshina-san's company?" Nadeshiko asked, surprising everyone at the table, especially me. "The army has been at odds with the major companies for years. They want to dissolve them."
Utau looked up, menacing.
"Not dissolve them," she said. "Nationalise them."
"No," I said, in a low voice. Viscount Hotori's tour—
"Our factories have been seized by the Ministry of War," Utau said, viciously. "Who d'you think is paying for the invasion of China? Manufacturing one-quarter of their warships and aircraft?"
"The invasion of China?" Nagihiko asked, in an are-you-sure-that's-what-it-is kind of voice. I glared at him and resisted the urge to kick his leg. Not the time!
"Yes," Utau replied sharply. "It's not mine anymore– if it ever was. It's the Emperor's, now."
The table fell into a gloomy silence.
"They say," I said, clinging onto the shred of hope I had left, "That the fighting will all be over by the New Year."
My eyes fell on Yaya, who was just poking the rice around her bowl. Utau gave me a pitying look that I didn't like.
"No!" a girl screamed from the other end of the table. Yaya jumped. There was a clatter of dishes; several girls dropped their chopsticks on the floor, and one of the younger girls yelled in surprise.
Only one girl had a voice of that magnitude.
"Watarai-san!" Kichiga-sensei scolded, almost outdoing her in volume. "It is unladylike to roar like a wild tiger!"
Misaki Watarai staggered to her feet, cheeks shining with tears. Watarai never cried. We watched, paralyzed, as she stormed over to Yamabuki Sāya. A damp piece of paper was clutched in her hand. Like an automobile accident, I could see the collision before it happened, but was helpless to stop it.
"Your father did this!" Watarai cried, shaking the letter in her face. "I know he did–! You know Father's too old to serve in the army, and he got called up anyway! Wh-why! A man his age can't go to Nanking, it's a d-d-d-death sentence– I hope the demons in Hell punish your whole family for six generations– all because Papa printed that thing about him in the paper? Or is it because you're so afraid of losing Hotori-san? You're a no-good who–"
"That's enough, Watarai!" Sanjō bellowed, appearing out of nowhere. She grabbed Misaki by the back of her naval collar. Watarai continued to lunge against her leash, knowing that when one is poisoned, they might as well eat the whole plate.
"Headmistress's office! It is a lucky thing your parents aren't here to hear these obscenities, or they'd die of shame!"
It took both Sanjō and Kichiga together to wrestle her away. Sāya raised an eyebrow. She took no pleasure from seeing men punitively drafted. She took no displeasure from it, either.
The minute Watarai vanished through the doors that I knew led to Fujisaki-sensei's courtyard, the dining room buzzed alive with the sound of girls whispering.
"Poor thing–"
"But how…"
"What was printed…"
"How ugly, to shout like that!"
"Rima-tan, are you OK?" Yaya asked, tentatively. "That was horrible."
I stared into Nagihiko's sweet, placid eyes. He stared back at me for the first time in what felt like months. You're next, I thought. My blood froze in my veins even as my heart continued to valiantly beat. If Major-General Yamabuki can take an old man, he can take a young boy.
