James Clavell - Gai-Jin

"Oh ko!"

"The honor of the house is at stake."

"Oh! I understand. In that case... Somehow I will."

"I have every confidence, Ako-chan, after all you have almost thirty years experience in our Willow World."

"Is he like Frenchy in his tastes, do you think?"' "That he enjoys his back part tickled, and occasionally Pleasure Pearls? Perhaps you should be prepared but I asked Frenchy directly if the youth had leanings towards liking men and he assured me no. Curious that Frenchy chose our House to initiate a friend, instead of the others he now frequents."

"The House was not to blame, never. Please, don't think about it, Raiko-chan. I am honored that you have chosen me, I will do everything necessary."

"Of course. Eeee, when you think that the Steaming Stalks of gai-jin are usually much larger than civilized persons, that most gai-jin fornicate satisfactorily though without Japanese vigor, flair and urge to plumb the limits, except for Frenchy you would think they would be happy fornicators like normal persons. But they are not, they have so many cobwebs in their heads that somehow fornication is not our Most Heavenly Pleasure, but a some kind of secret, religious evil. Weird."

Experimenting now, Ako moved closer and caressed his chest, then shifted her hand lower and was hard put not to laugh out loud as the youth jerked with fright. It took her a few moments to compose herself. "Taira-san?"' she murmured.

"Yes, er, hai, Ako-san?"' She took his hand and placed it inside her yukata on her breast, leaned over and kissed his shoulder, forewarned to be careful of the wound in his arm that a courageous shishi had given him. No reaction. Moving against him closer. Whispering how utterly brave, how strong and manly, how fulsome the maid had described him and his fruit.

All the while patiently caressing his chest, feeling him shiver but still no passion. Minutes passed. Still nothing. Her concern grew. Fingers soft as butterflies and yet still he lay inert-- hands, lips, everything. Gently caressing, careful to circle, no real intimacy yet. More minutes. Still nothing. Her dismay mounted. Fear that she might fail overlaid her dismay. Touching his ear with her tongue.

Ah, a slight reward: her name spoken throatily and his lips kissing her neck.

Eeee, she thought and relaxed and put her lips around his nipple. Now it's only a matter of time to explode his virginity to the skies, then I can order some sak`e and sleep till dawn and forget that I am forty-three and childless, and only remember that Raiko-san rescued me from the sixth-class House that my age and lack of beauty had relegated me to.

Tyrer was idly watching the samurai in the Legation square, the sun touching the horizon, his mind increasingly beset by Ako, then two nights later, Hamako. Then Her.

Fujiko. The night before last.

He felt himself hardening and eased that part more comfortably, knowing that now he was inexorably caught in that world, the Floating World where, as Andr`e had told him, living was only for the moment, for pleasure, drifting with never a care like a blossom in the current of a calm river.

"It's not always calm, Phillip. What's she like, Fujiko?"' "Oh, er, haven't you seen her, don't you know her?"' "No, I only told Raiko-san the sort of girl you might like, the accent being on "sleeping dictionary." How was she?"' He had laughed to cover his complete embarrassment and disquiet at being asked such a personal question, so directly. But Andr`e had given him so much that he wanted to be "French" and forthright, so he put aside his misgivings that a gentleman should not discuss or disclose such personal information. "She... she's younger than I am, small, tiny in fact, not, not pretty in our terms but she's astonishingly attractive.

I think I understood her to say that she was new there."

"I meant in bed, how was she? Better than the others?"' "Oh. Well, there was, er, well no comparison."

"Was she more vigorous? Sensuous? Eh?"' "Well, yes, er, dressed or undressed, incredible. Special. Again I can't thank you enough, I owe you so much."

"De rien, mon vieux."

"It's true. Next time... next time you'll meet her."

"Mon Dieu no, that's a rule. Never introduce your "special" to anyone, least of all a friend. Don't forget, until you set her up in your own place, with you paying the bills, she's available for anyone with the money--if she wants."

"Oh. I'd forgotten," he had said, hiding the truth.

"Even if she's set up she could still have a lover on the side if she wants. Who's to know?"' "I suppose so." More anguish.

"Don't fall in love, my friend, not with a courtesan. Take them for what they are, pleasure persons. Enjoy them, like them but don't love them--and never let them fall in love with you..."

Tyrer shivered, hating the truth, hating the idea of her being with another, and bedding as they had bedded, hating that it was for money, hating the ache that was in his loins. My God she really was so special, lovely, liquid, a sweet chatterbox, gentle, kind, so young and only in the House for such a short time. Should I set her up? Not should, could I? I'm sure Andr`e has his own place with his special friend though he's never said, nor would I ever ask. Christ, how much would that cost? Bound to be more than I could afford....

Don't think about that now! Or her.

With an effort he put his attention on the garden below but the ache remained. Part of the Highland detachment were assembling around the flagstaff, the trumpeter and four kettledrummers already in position for the lowering of the flag. Routine. The motley group of gardeners were collecting by the gate to be counted and then dismissed. They grovelled their way through the gates and through the samurai and were gone. Routine. Sentries closed and bolted the iron gates. Routine.

Drums and trumpet sounding as the Union Jack was slowly lowered--no sun sets on the British flag was British law throughout the world. Routine.

Most of the samurai marching away now, leaving only a token force for the night. Routine.

Tyrer shivered.

If everything's routine why am I so nervous?

The Legation gardeners trooped into their dormitory hovel that adjoined the other side of the Buddhist temple. None of them met Hiraga's gaze. All had been warned that their lives, and the lives of all their generations depended on his safety.

"Beware of talking to strangers," he had told them. "If the Bakufu find you've harbored me your reward will be just the same, except you will be crucified, not killed cleanly."

With all their abject protestations that he was safe, that he could trust them, Hiraga knew that he was never secure. Since the Anjo ambush ten days ago, most of the time he had been at their Kanagawa safe house, the Inn of the Midnight Blossoms. That the attack had failed and all but one of his companions killed was karma, nothing else.

Yesterday a letter had arrived from Katsumata, the leading, though clandestine, Satsuma shishi, now in Kyoto: Urgent: in a few weeks, Shogun Nobusada will create an unheard-of precedent by coming here to pay the Emperor a state visit. All shishi are advised to gather here at once to plan how to intercept him, to send him onwards, then to take possession of the Palace Gates. Katsumata had signed his code name: Raven.

Hiraga had discussed what to do with Ori, then decided to return here to Yedo, determined to act alone to destroy the British Legation, furious that the Council of Elders seemed to have been bamboozled and neutralized by the gai-jin.

"Kyoto can wait, Ori. We've got to press home our attack on the gai-jin. We must infuriate them until they bombard Yedo.

Others can deal with the Shogun and Kyoto."

He would have brought Ori but Ori was helpless, his wound worse, with no help from any doctor.