“Yes, it was my fault,” she said meekly. “I am very sorry.” Then she asked, “Please, could you direct me? I am looking for Doctor Yamada. He lives near the Sumei-mon, I think.”
“You’re lost?” the monk asked, his eyes roaming over her shivering figure. “New in town? You look pretty young to be on the game.”
Confused, she backed away. He followed, smiling now. Even in the murk, she saw that his teeth were long and yellow and he was no longer young. She could smell onions on his breath and sweat and dirt on his body.
“Come, don’t be shy, girl,” he said, pushing his face into hers and reached into his robe. He brought out a few coins and rattled them in his hand. “It’s your lucky night. I’m in funds.”
She swallowed hard and took another step back, bumping into an empty barrel and losing her balance when it toppled. He caught her and tried to kiss her. His onion breath was hot in her face, and his fumbling hand was at her trouser bands.
“No,” she screamed, pushing at him. He laughed. “Please,” she begged with a gulp, “you’re mistaken . . . .” But even though he was a monk, she knew this was no mistake and felt the sour bile rising in her throat. She retched. He loosened his hold and eyed her suspiciously. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m sick,” she mumbled, a hand over her mouth.
“Sick?” He stepped away. “How dare you accost people in your condition?” He spat and abandoned her quickly.
Toshiko gulped in cold, wet air to settle her stomach, then limped away herself.
The alley opened into a road, and this road led to another where she could see lights and hear people. She saw light came from the gently swaying lantern of a wine shop. Customers were leaving. Rain still misted the night air, and across the street several women sheltered under the eaves of a house. When men left the wine shop, the women ran out to talk to them. Their luck was not good. One of the men pushed the nearest woman away so roughly that she fell into the mud. The women went back, calling rude and dirty words after the men.
Toshiko was desperate and by now felt safer with women than with men. Stepping from the shadow into the light, she started toward them, calling out, “Please, can you help me?” At that moment a drunk stumbled from the wine shop and threw his arms around her for support.
“I’ll help you, my precious,” he promised thickly.
For a moment, they swayed together like a pair of wrestlers. Then Toshiko squealed and, with more luck than design, rammed a knee into the drunk’s groin. He sat down hard, doubled over.
One of the women crossed the street, glaring at Toshiko. “What do you want here, bitch?”
Toshiko looked at her, shocked by such anger. The woman was no longer young and her face was plain and marked by smallpox. She wore clothes that were even stranger than her own costume, and much dirtier.
“I am lost,” Toshiko said. The woman balled her fist. “Please,” Toshiko cried, “all I want is directions.” Too late. The fist struck her painfully in the middle of the chest and knocked her back against the wall of the wine shop. Toshiko cried out and wrapped her arms around the pain.
The woman laughed. It was an ugly sound. “I know what you’re up to. Get away from here and don’t come back! Go on! Run, or we’ll teach you manners.”
Toshiko just looked at her. She could barely stand, let alone run, so she did nothing, hoping dimly that the woman would disappear and the pain in her chest would fade and all would be well.
Only nothing was well.
The woman seemed to think she was defiant. She called to her companions.
Thinking that they would surely kill her, Toshiko tried to take a step, but her feet would not obey. She sank to her knees and waited hopelessly as the other women crossed the street. The drunk staggered to his feet and looked on with interest.
One of the women came more quickly. “No, Kosue,” she said, putting herself between Toshiko and the pock-marked one. “She’s just a child.” She asked Toshiko, “What are you doing here? Where d’you live?”
The unexpected kindness brought tears to Toshiko’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I was looking for Doctor Yamada’s house.” Despairing of that purpose, she raised her eyes to the pagoda again. “That temple. I’ll go there in just a moment. As soon as I have a little strength.”
“Doctor Yamada, is it? You do look bad. Are you sick, poor girl?”
“Yes. No.” Toshiko stopped, not sure which answer was correct or useful in this situation.
The woman bent and put an arm around her. “Come, lean on me. I know where he lives,” she said, and to the others, “She was just looking for the doctor, you stupid sluts.”
The women stepped away then, guiltily, and let them pass.
Toshiko was not sure where they were going or how far. She concentrated on putting one foot before the other. When they stopped, she looked around dazedly. The dark shapes of trees and houses seemed to be doing a slow dance.
“We’re here,” her companion said, releasing her.
The ground began to sway and Toshiko saw it coming toward her. The woman caught her and propped her against a wall, then went to knock on the door. After a moment, she said, “Someone’s coming. Good luck!” and disappeared into the night.
In her black haze, the thought that she had been led into a trap crossed Toshiko’s mind, but she was too weak to save herself. When the door of the house opened, she did not bother to raise her head.
A man’s voice asked, “What is wrong? Do you need help?”
She took a step away from the wall and fainted.
From Lady Sanjo’s Pillow Book
Oh, the injustice of it!
It’s all because of that demon of a girl. Why did the fool have to run away? And where was that idiot of a maid? Asleep, she said. Well, she won’t sleep well where she is headed.
We searched all day, every nook and corner of our own building and then the palace grounds.
Eventually, I sent the stupid maid to the gates. When she came back, I could see the truth on her face. The misbegotten wench had dressed up in those clothes His Majesty gave her, and the dolts at the gate had taken her for a hired harlot and let her out. In the face of disaster, I was secretly amused: men always know.
But it anything but laughable, though I did not then, in my wildest imaginings have an inkling of the outcome. That night, I had to go to inform His Majesty.
He turned perfectly white at the news and then red with anger. “What?” He demanded in a terrible voice. “Are you telling me that one of my ladies left the palace after dark and on foot?”
I thought His fury was directed at the girl and replied, “I am afraid, Sire, that she was a most unsuitable person. A country-bred girl. Such people have no idea how to behave among their betters.”
He just looked at me. It occurred to me belatedly that my comment was thoughtless, given the fact that He had honored the wench with His favor. But before I could apologize, He said, “Did you not report to me only yesterday that Lady Toshiko was ill? How then could she walk away and leave the palace in the middle of the night?”
I had to confess that I did not know. “That maid must have been drunk,” I suggested.
“And who,” He snapped, “is responsible for the welfare of the ladies serving me? Who makes the arrangements for serving women and looks after the needs of every lady in my quarters?”
Ah, the unfairness of that!
I replied — by then in tears — that I had been busy with the move to the new quarters and could not be in two places at the same time.
“But you, Lady Sanjo,” He said in a tone that cut me to the heart, “left a sick young girl behind, alone and in the care of an unreliable servant.”