Laura Rowland - The Concubine’s Tattoo

The leaky, sagging tile roof had been replaced, and the façade given a coat of fresh white plaster. A new, larger sign announced the academy’s name. The space had also expanded to fill two adjacent houses. Sano entered. Inside, rows of samurai dressed in white cotton uniforms wielded wooden practice swords, staffs, and spears in simulated combat. Shouts and stamps echoed in a thunderous cacophony, the background noise of Sano’s childhood. The familiar reek of sweat and hair oil permeated the air. However, the enrollment had increased from a handful of students to over three hundred, and the teaching staff from one to twenty.

“Sano-san! Welcome!” Toward Sano walked Aoki Koemon, once his childhood playmate and his father’s apprentice, now proprietor and chief sensei. He bowed, then shouted to the class: “Attention! Our patron is here!”

Combat ceased. In perfect silence, everyone bowed to Sano, who was embarrassed yet gratified. His own reputation had enhanced the academy’s status. Once only rōnin and low-class retainers of minor clans had studied here. Now Tokugawa vassals and samurai from the great daimyo families came, hoping to curry favor with Sano and acquire his famous fighting skills in the classes he sometimes taught.

“Continue as you were,” Sano ordered, sad that his rank set him above the place of his childhood, yet pleased to honor his father’s spirit by sharing his success with the academy.

Activity and noise resumed. “What brings you here today?” said Koemon, a stocky, pleasant-faced man.

“I’m looking for Kushida Matsutatsu.”

Koemon pointed toward the back of the room, where a group of students was taking a lesson in naginatajutsu-the art of the spear- from a short, thin samurai. His bamboo practice weapon had a narrow, curved wooden blade padded with cotton. “That’s Kushida,” Koemon said. “He’s one of our best students, and often acts as instructor.”

As Sano moved closer to watch, Lieutenant Kushida demonstrated strokes to the class. He appeared about thirty-five years of age, and wore ordinary white practice clothes. His face was creased like a monkey’s, with glowering eyes beneath a low forehead. A jutting jaw, long arms and torso, and short legs increased his simian appearance. He seemed an incongruous suitor for a beautiful young woman like Lady Harume.

Kushida arranged his twelve students in two parallel lines. Then he crouched, spear held in both hands. “Attack!” he shouted.

With blood-curdling yells, the students rushed him, spears outthrust. Originally used by warrior monks, the naginata had been adopted some five hundred years ago by military clans such as the Minamoto. Spearmen had scattered armies during Japan ’s civil wars; until Tokugawa law restricted dueling, bands of enthusiasts had roamed the land, training with different masters and challenging rivals. Now, as Lieutenant Kushida sprang into action, Sano gained a new appreciation for the power of the naginata and a respect for this man who wielded it.

In a dizzyingly fast circular dance, Kushida whirled amid his attackers, his spear carving the air. He used every part of his weapon, parrying blows with the haft, slicing opponents with the padded blade, jabbing the blunt end into chests and stomachs. As bodies thudded to the floor around him, Kushida seemed to gain stature; his monkey face acquired a blazing ferocity. The students cried out in pain. But Kushida continued fighting, as if for his life. Sano glimpsed in Kushida the type of samurai who kept his emotions under tight control and found release at times like this. By now he must know about Lady Harume’s death. Was this brutality his way of showing grief? Or the expression of murderous tendencies that had led him to kill her?

Within moments, every student lay defeated, groaning and rubbing their bruises. “Weaklings! Lazy oafs!” Kushida berated them. He was breathing hard; sweat dripped off his shaved crown. “If this had been a real battle, you would all be dead now. You must practice harder.”

Then he caught sight of Sano. His body tensed and he raised his spear, as though preparing for another battle. Glowering, he said, “Sōsakan-sama. It didn’t take you long to find me, did it?” His normal speaking voice was quiet and tight. “Who told you about me? That cow, Madam Chizuru?”

“If you know why I’m here, then wouldn’t you rather go outside where we can talk in privacy?” Sano said with a pointed glance at the curious students.

Shrugging, Kushida stalked to the door. He moved with a taut, wiry grace; the muscles in his thin arms and legs were like steel cords. From a wooden bucket he dipped a cup of water. Sano followed him onto the veranda, where they sat. A continuous parade of peasants and mounted samurai filled the street.

“Tell me what happened between you and Lady Harume,” Sano said.

“Why do we have to talk about it, when you must already know?” Kushida threw down his spear, drank deeply from his cup, then glared at Sano. “Why don’t you just arrest me? I’ve been suspended from duty; I’ve disgraced myself and my family name. How could things possibly get worse?”

“The penalty for murder is execution,” Sano reminded him. “I’m giving you a chance to tell your side of the story-and perhaps escape further disgrace.”

Sighing in resignation, Kushida put down his cup and leaned back on his elbows. “Oh, well,” he said. “When Lady Harume came to the castle, I was… attracted to her. Yes, I know the rules against improper behavior with the shogun’s concubines, and I’ve always obeyed them before.”

Sano recalled what Kushida’s commander had told him when asked about the lieutenant’s character: “He’s a quiet, serious one-he doesn’t seem to have any friends or much of a life beyond work and martial arts. The other guards don’t like his air of superiority. Until now, Kushida has controlled himself around the concubines so well that everyone thought that he didn’t care for women. He assumed his post at age twenty-five, when his father retired from it. We were a little uneasy about letting such a young fellow loose in the Large Interior; usually we choose men who are past their prime. But Kushida has lasted ten years-longer than many other men, who’ve been transferred because they got too friendly with some lady.”

“Never before had I ever allowed myself to be tempted by any of the women. But Harume was so beautiful, with such a lively, charming manner.” Kushida’s gaze softened in reminiscence. More to himself than to Sano, he said, “At first, I was content just to look at her. I listened to her talk to the other women and take her music lessons. Whenever she left the castle, I volunteered to be part of the military escort. Anything just to be near her.

“But soon I wanted more.” His voice gained intensity; he seemed eager for confession. “I found excuses to start conversations with Harume. She was pleasant to me. Yet I still wasn’t satisfied. I wanted to see her naked body.” Lust burned behind the gaze Kushida turned on Sano. “So I started spying on her. I’d stand outside her room while she undressed, and watch her shadow move against the paper walls. Then one day she accidentally left the bathchamber door open a crack. And I saw her shoulders and legs and breasts.” Lieutenant Kushida’s voice grew hushed with awe, his expression bemused. “The sight drove all caution from me.”

Had Harume really left the door open by mistake, or had she been playing the same game with Kushida as described in her diary? As yet, Sano had an incomplete sense of her character; he must learn more about her. But now, seeing on Kushida’s ugly face the haunted look of obsessive love, Sano felt his heartbeat quicken in excitement. Such obsession could lead to murder. “So you made advances toward Lady Harume?” he prompted.