He followed her, the bemusement back because the situation was so odd. He found it easier to go along with it than to object. They skirted the stage and took a path up a tree-covered hillside. She walked very gracefully. From his viewpoint slightly below, he could not help guessing at the youthful body underneath the gown. The jacket fit closely to her back and waist. She was slender but had rounded hips and long, shapely legs under the rose-colored silk of her gown.
The wind had died down, and the night seemed uncomfortably humid. He ran a finger along his collar and looked back over his shoulder. What must people think? The other guests, men with one or two young women beside them, were entranced by the dancers on the platform. None of the women compared to his companion, he thought, though they were pretty enough. He recognized one or two of the men. They outranked him, and his only contact had been mutual attendance at some mandatory court gathering. He hoped they had not noticed him.
She stopped on a small knoll above the garden and gestured at the scene below. “You see? They will soon bring on the asobi. Have you seen an asobi performance before?”
He knew that they were specially trained entertainers among courtesans, but that was all. “No,” he said. “I’m sadly at a loss on occasions like this.”
She laughed softly. “You have missed much, my Lord.”
Perhaps he had. She was lovely in the half light. The torches below did not reach this far, but they cast a golden glow on her graceful head and that glossy hair. It occurred to him that they were not only alone together, but that the brightly lit scene below them meant that they were hidden from the eyes of others. A man might dare anything. He reached out to brush a wing of her hair aside to see her face better. “Yes,” he said with a sigh, “I have missed much, and you are very beautiful.” It was neither elegant nor poetic, and he cringed inwardly. A woman like this, experienced in the language of seduction and desire, must think him as awkward as a schoolboy.
But she turned to him and lowered her fan. Her eyes shone, and a smile parted her lips. Her teeth were blackened. He had never liked the custom, but now the darkness beyond those soft, red lips increased his desire powerfully. Mysteries were to be explored. He took a step toward her.
Sudden applause from below distracted him. The music had stopped and the stage was empty. A woman in brilliant red and white stood on it. She wore a man’s hat, but her long hair flowed behind her like a mantle, covering the red hunting jacket and the full white silk trousers. A sword was pushed through her sash, and she held a pair of small drums. He had heard of that style and thought it ridiculous and highly improper for a woman to dress in man’s clothing, but here the strangeness of her appearance, that unexpected twist on commonly held perceptions of the differences between men and women, was fascinating and part of the magic of this night. The woman below began a slow dance, beating the rhythm on her drums. The musicians joined in, softly and tentatively.
“The shirabyoshi Koro,” his companion whispered in his ear. She was very close to him; he could feel her breath on his cheek. “She is wonderful and much admired.” Her sleeve brushed his and he breathed in her scent.
“She will never be a charming as you,” he said gallantly and smiled into her eyes. A part of him wondered what he was about. It was not like him to pursue a courtesan, but on this warm and scented night, with the river plashing softly below them, this extraordinary and licentious gathering had worked a change in him. He suddenly felt that he had become a staid and joyless official long before his time. He was not an old man, but he had not really lived, had never tasted the pleasures that were available here. How could he be fully human without knowing this part of a man’s life also? Life was uncertain enough, and death waited at every turning of the road.
“Listen!” she said, her eyes bright with promise.
The shirabyoshi sang. She had a full, warm voice that carried on the sudden silence. “No bower of roses for me,” she sang. “I’ll never be a wife.”
He reached for the woman beside him and bent his head to kiss her.
“Oh, love in vain . . .”
Their lips touched. She opened hers and reached up to caress his cheek.
“ . . . naked breast pressed to naked breast.”
The blatant words of the song both shocked him and stirred his desire. Perversely, he was also moved by the sadness of the courtesan who made love to men who did not care about her.
Naked breast to naked breast.
His companion’s scent was in his nostrils, his tongue in her mouth, tasting sweetness. He wanted her desperately. “What are you?” he asked hoarsely into her hair. “Are you . . .?” How to ask this woman if she was available? The difficulties were immense. And how to handle the transaction? The only time he had experienced something similar, the woman had been an ordinary prostitute who had offered herself, and a piece of silver was all she had expected. He had no idea how much he should offer a woman like this one. Or if an offer would be insulting. Would she accept gold, or was he expected to give her gifts?
And where would they make love? Here among the trees, or in the river pavilion, or perhaps in that little boat he had seen tied to it? On cushions in the darkness under low branches overhanging the river while the boat rocked gently . . .” His hands explored her body through the layers of silk.
“Come,” said she, slipping from his arms and leaving him bereft. Below the applause died away and the asobi left the stage. For a moment, he thought that her mind was also on making love, but she said, “It is time to eat.”
Time to eat?
How unromantic an ending to romance!
How banal a response to his lust.
Ashamed of his passion, he followed her down the hillside. When she slipped once, he caught her arm. She laughed softly and leaned against him for a moment. Thoroughly aroused by now, he was glad that he did not have to walk far.
People were taking their seats as servants moved among them to pour wine and offer bowls of fragrant delicacies. His companion knelt close to him, directing the servants to bring him this and that. He looked at her lips and wished he knew her name. Refusing food, he drank thirstily of the wine. She made conversation, and he answered somehow. He was still too much aware of her body near his to know what they said. All the while, he hoped that she would tell him when it was time.
Only once he forced his eyes away from her and looked around. The serving women were pretty enough, and he saw some virile and handsome young men. Tora’s tale came to his mind, but why, he wondered, had his hostess invited him when she had so many more appealing males in her service? And why had she provided him with this exquisite companion?
He drank in her beauty and grace. She leaned forward to pour more wine for him. Then, looking into his eyes, she took a sip from his cup and turned it so his lips would touch where hers had been.
A promise.
“Where is our hostess?” he asked nervously, his eyes on the bead of moisture on her lower lip.
“Oh, she may appear later.” She let the tip of her tongue catch the trace of wine. “She’s probably watching us.”
Startled, Akitada looked toward the buildings, but the brightness of torches and lanterns made it impossible to see into rooms and galleries. Perhaps the lady of the River Mansion was like some men who enjoyed to watch others copulate? The thought cooled his ardor, and he gave the cup a slight turn before he drank.
“Did you ever meet a young woman called Akogi here?” he asked when he put down the cup. “I’m told she was still in training.”
She stiffened and her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask about other women? Am I not good enough? Have I offended?” Her lower lip trembled. “You hurt me deeply with your coldness. A little while ago, I thought you liked me. I was happy because I like you very much.” To his dismay, her eyes filled with tears, and she gave a small sob.