Last but one chapter of this unusual soirée. I hope you enjoy.
Kimigiku eventually retrieved the shamisen for the door, and gracefully walked to a cushion that faced us all. She bowed, then, and started pinching the cords. I listened raptly; it felt like a guitar, but without the full resonance behind it. A drier sound, not entirely agreeable to my foreigner's ears.
"Itadakimasu," Kondō said, his chopsticks raised between his joined hands. I repeated the traditional greeting, my attention divided between the delicious smelling meal, and the shamisen's performance.
Despite her unnatural presence, Kimigiku knew how to make herself scarce. I eyed at my meal with the enthusiasm of a beginner, not knowing what to start first. In the past months, I'd never eaten raw fish. We cooked and grilled it to avoid diseases, as Chizuru had explained that it took several hours to ride to Ōsaka port. Their fermented sushi – which smelt horribly, according to Heisuke – would have trouble making the road unscathed anyway. Fried rice and vegetables were more common, as well as pork and duck. My chopstick hovered over the plate; I just didn't know what to try first.
"The duck will cool faster than the rest," Hijikata slid to me.
His own plate was already half empty.
"Hai!" was my enthusiastic response before I picked up a piece of the lacquered meat. The explosion of savours in my mouth surprised me so much that I actually moaned at the taste. Kondō chuckled, and I blushed, once more. But damn, that combination of ginger and grilled duck was a work of art.
"It's a change from Sōji oversalted vegetables and Saitō's tofu," he told me, mindful not to cover the shamisen's playing.
Sanan smiled, digging into the rice with gusto. "You have to admit that the food is much better since Chizuru came to the compound."
The three commanders nodded, and I wondered what kind of fare they used to eat before the girl crashed into their lives, playing mother to men twice her age. As the Geiko started singing, I resolved myself to try and find some potatoes for a bit of Italian cuisine. They knew of pasta, since I had soba in my plate. What would they think of gnocchi?
As I savoured every little piece of fried vegetables and steamed rice buns, the strange notes washed over me. That music was so weird to me European; the minor scales felt almost wrong to my ears, and I couldn't find a pattern that linked the notes together. How did she learn something so … improbable?
When her voice trembled – on purpose – on a higher note, I almost winced. Cultural shock indeed, especially for someone who loved opera and heavy metal alike. My kingdom for Bruce Dickinson!
My eyes caught the grey ones of Sanan, and he offered me a gentle smile. But it was Kimiguru herself that addressed the elephant in the room when she set her Shamisen aside.
"Our music doesn't quite agree to your tastes."
Any other would have insulted me; especially in a country that struggled with the constant pushing of the western world. I was grateful that she didn't, and responded with the utmost respect.
"I, uh, it's very different from what I was educated to hear. I'm trying to see the patterns, and fail at finding them."
"You're analysing, Kitsu-kun," Sanan told me. "Allow the feel. Would you please oblige again, Kimigiku-san?"
The Geiko bowed to the Colonel and, picking up the shamisen, started a new song. I closed my eyes, adamant to follow the counsel I'd received with such little judgement. Food was forgotten, but not its delicious smell. I allowed the music to seep in, finding solace in its very simple arrangement. As the Geiko's voice rose and fell, my senses travelled to snowy mountains, and places untainted by men. There was sturdiness to her tones, a certainty that wavered, sometimes, to show vulnerability.
I still failed at finding it endearing to my ears, but the peacefulness infused me still. And her talent made no doubt, for she mastered that wavering of her voice. Like the vibrato of an opera singer, it penetrated my body and caused it to hum. When Kimigiku-san eventually settled, I allowed myself to indulge in the silence that followed.
"I believe my singing was so bad that Kitsu-san has fallen asleep now."
I opened my eyes to glare at her, finding a smile upon her lips that softened me. At once, Kondō rushed to assure her that she had performed beautifully; the geiko inclined her head to the Captain, but kept her eyes trained upon me. That woman was a tease! We shared a look of connivance before she went to the shōji, and claimed the sake tray that awaited behind it.
She proceeded to serve the men, enjoying a flirting moment with Hijikata by my side. His lips pursed in annoyance, but I was surprised that no scathing retort left his mouth when he set the rim of his cup to his mouth. I wondered, for a moment, if the infamous Oni no Fukuchō had a mistress. He trusted the geiko, but she seemed to annoy him to no end, bestowing flattery that, she knew, would fluster him.
With his looks, he could easily be a ladies' man. Had he kissed me to keep me in check, or just to satisfy his curiosity? Kimigiku seemed about to laugh when she turned to me, interrogating me with her eyes.
"I … I'm not overly fond of alcohol," I told her.
She lifted a perfectly drawn eyebrow – it was darkened with charcoal – and put her sleeve before her mouth as she laughed.
"I understand why Hijikata-san sits by your side, now."
I bit my lip to refrain from laughing; so the Geiko knew about his poor handling of alcohol. In front of me, Sanan drained his cup and smirked.
"Why do I see a pattern here?"
"Allow the feel, Yamanami-san," Hijikata retorted. "Stop analysing."
This time, we all laughed as he launched back Sanan's previous remark straight back at him. His cheeks were already tinted red by the drink, but his dark eyes sparkled with the warrior's spirit. Kimigiku excused herself, in search for something for me to drink, and the banter flew around the room just as much as sake flowed.
"You should really give it a try, Kitsu-san," Kondō exclaimed, louder than usual.
For a moment, I studied that strange rice alcohol that smelt so strongly when heated, and wondered how it tasted.
"Maybe I could take a sip in someone's cup, I don't want to waste."
Sanan gasped, while Kondō seemed properly horrified. I backpedalled at once.
"No! This simply is not done," the Captain exclaimed. But the Colonel settled back against one of the supporting timbers, his grey eyes sparkling with laughter.
"Many of our rituals involve sharing a cup of sake," he explained, crossing his legs nonchalantly.
I hid my hands in my long sleeves, ashamed by my own blunder. By my side, Hijikata still sipped at his cup, impassive. At least, someone didn't care if I failed at following the proper etiquette. Whether he was drunk, or didn't give a damn was yet to be determined. I bowed low to the Captain and the Colonel.
"Gomen nasai," I stuttered. "It's all right. I don't think I'll like it anyway."
While I straightened, a cup popped up before my very eyes. Blinking in disbelief, I followed the long arm who wore a familiar hakamashita, only to be pinned by Hijakata's serious gaze.
"There, he says, try it out, I'm done."
Gazes locked, we ignored Kondō's outright laugh, and Sanan's quieter chuckle. Was he so drunk that he didn't realise what he was offering? Or, on the contrary, pushing his luck and stating that our kiss wasn't so casual after all?
Stunned, I surrounded his cup with both hands, brushing his fingers in the process. And while his gaze softened at my acceptance, I barely heard the Colonel: "Toshi's drunk. Now all conventions fly through the window."
Well, believe it or not, I actually loved it when he was drunk. Perhaps I needed to loosen a bit, and I turned away from Hijikata to dip my lips in his cup of sake. The smell of alcohol – less strong than rhum or whiskey – assaulted my nose, and I swallowed a mouthful.
It tasted like very dry wine, with an utter lack of flavour and longueur except for the bitterness. My face scrunched in distaste, causing more laughter amongst my peers. I tried to cover a grimace by setting the cup on Hijikata's platter anew. Then I caught his gaze, and got lost in the intensity of it before I realised that my familiar gesture was akin to kissing him back … and announcing it to the world.
"Two more sips, and you'll find yourself married," Sanan exclaimed a little louder than usual.
"What?", I gasped, tearing my eyes from Hijikata to stare at the Colonel.
Was that the ritual he'd mentioned earlier! Marriage? I sent a panicked look to Hijikata who frowned at his friend.
"Baka !", he grumbled, his cheeks dusted pink. "There's only one cup."
Eyes round, I surmised that the ritual was way more complicated than that. Still … it was unsettling. In an attempt to dignify myself and ignore Sanan's chuckles, I cleared my throat and claimed a mouthful of rice to wash the umami taste away. I definitely hated bitterness.
"What do you enjoy drinking, Kitsu-san?" Kondō asked to set me at ease.
Ever the care taker.
I'd acquired quite a few good millesimes during my first professional years, but the decision was univoque when it came to my drinking tastes. I hated alcohol, hence stuck to good wines that didn't smell like it.
"Burgundy wine. White, mainly, but I make exceptions for Gevrey Chambertin and a few Bordeaux. Why?"
"I understand why you wouldn't want to marry a farmer's son then…"
I glared at Sanan hoping he would stop teasing us altogether. But when Kondō's face morphed into a disgruntled expression, I stared nibbling at my lower lip; what had I done again?
"You must find us peasants, Kitsu-san. You sure are a woman of means."
That reflexion threw me into an abyss of misunderstanding. Peasants? The Shinsengumi commanders? With their manners, their control, their beliefs and ideals? Where did that even come from? I frowned, scanning Kondō's sheepish features.
"Not at all, why should I?"
There was a short silence, and I wondered how I was going to fix that particular blunder if I didn't know what I'd done wrong. As usual, Sanan-san was the one who provided the much-needed information.
"French wines are the Emperor's favourite."
Wow, really? Then I understood. My favourite drink was that of his emperor, who paid for bottles of French wine to cross the ocean. This must have looked very snobbish.
"Oh! No. It doesn't cost us that much, you know, since we live nearby Burgundy. My parents were teachers, and my grandparents both worked in the same factory. We're not high born at all."
But my manners were drilled by elves and Kings, so I had to pick up a thing or two. But instead of appeasing the Captain, my explanation caused his eyebrows to knit in a grimace.
"Do you mean to say that our emperor's wine is low class?"
Damn, damn, and damn! Hoist me out of that hole please, anyone? Now, instead of insulting them, I had insulted their emperor.
Well done, Frances, you're getting better at diplomacy.
"All right," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Let me set this straight. You see, my father is from Burgundy, he's got friends in the vineyards. The wine is more of a legacy to us, like Hijikata's family medicine. We don't get to drink some often, but when we do, we'd rather for it to be a good bottle."
I chanced a desperate look to my left, finding the vice commander – no, Toshizō – studying me. I hope he wouldn't be pissed I had used his family name as an example but damn, Kondō has cornered me fair and square. Fukuchō, though, was smirking at me, challenging me to find a way out by myself.
"Hai, I think I understand," the Captain eventually said. I would have kissed him, in this moment, for not letting me sink deeper. Seeking to disperse the unease, I chanced a joke.
"It just means that Emperor of yours has good taste."
Sanan caught the opportunity and sent it back at once. "Then so have you, Kitsu-san."
I bowed my head to the Colonel, but my gaze remained locked on Hijikata whose expression, right now, resembled that of a deer caught in headlights.
Well, he looks good, right? Too bad he doesn't want me.
After the wine blunder, I poured the sake for both Sanan and Kondō, as was the tradition. Crawling around the place in a kimono was much less convenient than with my usual clothes, so I took my time. Then, I returned to my seat, and turned to my neighbour.
"Shall I pour for you, Hijikata-san?"
The man seemed to hesitate for a moment; his cup had been used by myself, for one. And he had said he was done drinking for the night. Yet, the gesture of pouring for someone else was a great symbol; it won over reason, and the Oni no Fukichō allowed himself to contradict one of his principles.
As the men became more inebriated, they spoke of younger days. Stories were traded, and I found myself regaled with tales of the Shinsengumi's creation, when they all struggled to find their path under Serizawa-san's influence. I learnt about how they got the support of the Aizu domain, and how Saitō had caught the eye of a certain Takagi Tokio – the flower of Aizu and Matsudaira-dono's assistant.
"Do you think he knows?", I asked to a slightly inebriated Kondō.
"Saitō may act oblivious, but he is usually very aware," Hijikata responded.
Kondō's eyebrows rose as he waved his cup. "Except when it comes to women."
"Isn't that pretty common to men, in general?" I quipped.
"Shinpachi is literally drawling over you," Hijikata growled by my side. Sanan was feeling in a particularly devious mood as he bent forward, his eyes catching that of the commander.
"Jealous, Hijikata-kun ?"
"No!" Hijikata exclaimed, his anger surfacing so fast that I was almost startled. My hand shot up by reflex, grabbing his sleeve to prevent him from setting loose his infamous temper. It was little wonder his friends enjoyed teasing him so much when he exploded like black powder at the slightest provocation. After all, I was the subject of said teasing, and kept my head cool … sort of.
Because my hand was currently tightened around his kimono sleeve. The contact, unbidden, caused Hijikata to tense and I inwardly cringed at my forwardness. And, even though last time, he had initiated the contact, I wondered what he would think of it. His eyes settled upon my hand, a swirl of emotions running in his eyes. I retracted it, and cleared my throat to make my point.
"I am not oblivious to it. That's why I keep our conversations strictly professional, and don't spend alone time with him."
"Smart woman," Kondō exclaimed. "He would never assault you, but he can be sour about female conquests."
I beamed at the praise, glad to be doing something right, for once.
"I doubt Saitō has reached this level," Sanan snorted, his manners loosening with alcohol. "He probably isn't aware that he watches the girl as if she hung the moon."
"Well, he's young," I murmured. Albeit he acted like a grown man, Saitō only was twenty-two.
"Are you not?" Hijikata asked.
This was real curiosity, and the others perked up, eager to her the response to a question someone should never have asked. Trust Hijikata to put his foot in his mouth without even feeling sorry; that man put damn conventions to shame more often than not, and I enjoyed that forwardness more than I should.
My age, though…
"I'm not. And I'm not going to make you ask, so allow me a moment to count…"
Fortunately, no one asked me the technicalities, or why I felt the need to actually perform mathematics to determine my own age. Even though Sanan's expression of curiosity told me he'd probably ask later, without sake flooding in his veins.
"I've been here for 8 months, and I was 27 when I left in November going on 28 when I left."
Kondō's raised eyebrows told me he didn't expect it; people aged faster in this world. Responsibilities, duress and lack of nutrients carved those lines deeper. Kondō behaved like a man in his forties, while I knew that he was barely 33.
"That's ten more years than Chizuru…", the Captain mused.
But the magic of the necklace reconstructed me from head to toe every time I travelled back and forth, erasing scars, recreating skin and organs. I was, somehow, like a baby expect with a grown body. Fortunately, the return of Kimigiku prevented them from asking why I did look so fresh at nearly thirty.
"I bring some tea and sweets," she announced.
Four groans responded to this statement; two, disgruntled, from Sanan and Kondō. Two, relieved, from us both. A quick peek at Hijikata told me he wasn't as sober as he hoped. I gave him a fond smile – always nice to see the man behind the commander – to which he responded with a roll of the eyes. Yet, a smile tugged at his lips, and I found myself rather transfixed by his expression.
Until Kimigiku set the tray before us rather forcefully, interrupting my staring.
"My apologies, I may have tripped."
None of us were fooled; the falseness of our statement, doubled with the grin upon her face, sold her out. She didn't seem to care at all as she poured me a cup of steaming tea, pointing at the rounded sweets upon the platter; eight of them. I eyed them warily – I had a different tolerance to texture than they – before bringing the tea to my nose. At once, its fragrance rose I paused; of all the green teas Chizuru had brewed in the past, this one smelt different.
Enthralling. I took a deep whiff, and my body relaxed at once.
"What is this?", I asked, transfixed by the yellow liquid that danced in my cup.
The Geiko seemed genuinely pleased by my reaction.
"Jasmine tea."
"It smells wonderful."
"Another tea lover. How peculiar," she only said, sending a pointed look to Hijikata before she proceeded to serve the sweets around the room. She returned to me later on to explain how the mochi were made. Rice flour and water, something infused with matcha tea – which was way more brutal than the usual sencha – surrounded a core of azuki beans mixed with sugar. My imagination started running; the fifth century was altogether devoid of any sugar, except from fruits and honey. The fact that sugar was an item, here, gave me a few baking ideas.
Too bad I couldn't hit the internet to find recipes.
I picked up a mochi, and tried biting it. The strange, bouncy paste avoided my teeth cunningly, and I regarded the sweet with little mercy. This thing was about to die, and I, would be the executioner. My second attempt sectioned the rice flour envelope, allowing me to taste the sugary azuki paste; the anko. By my side, Kimigiku battled her eyelashes at Hijikata.
"More sake?" she asked sweetly. He grunted a no, and I couldn't help but inwardly rejoice that he had accepted my offer earlier on. At last, the Geiko left us to our own devices. This time, her exit was pretty discreet; the men were far gone into their banter now. And I, nose buried in that cup of jasmine tea, enjoyed every minute of it.