With careful strokes Harume shaved bare her pubic area, brushing the cut black strands onto the floor. Then she set aside the razor and lifted the knife.
Reiko, her face still concealed beneath the white headdress, lifted the sake cup to her lips and drank. The process was repeated three times. Then the attendants refilled the cup and passed it to Sano. He drank his three drafts, imagining that he felt the transient warmth of his bride’s dainty fingers on the polished wood and tasted the sweetness of her lip rouge on the rim: their first, albeit indirect, touch.
Would their marriage be, as he hoped, a union of kindred souls as well as sensual satisfaction?
A collective sigh passed through the assembly. The san-san-ku-do- the “three-times-three-sips” pledge that sealed the marriage bond- never failed to arouse poignant emotion. Sano’s own eyes burned with unshed tears; he wondered if Reiko shared his hopes.
The attendant set aside the cup and filled the second one. This time Sano drank first, three times, then Reiko did. After the third, largest cup was passed and the liquor sipped, the flute and drum music resumed. Joy nearly overwhelmed Sano. He and Reiko were now joined in wedlock. Soon he would see her face again…
Touching the knife’s sharp blade to her tender, shaved skin, Harume flinched at the coldness of the steel. Her heart thudded; her hand trembled. She put the knife down and took another drink. Then, closing her eyes, Harume summoned the image of her lover, the memory of his caresses. The incense smoke steeped her lungs in the scent of jasmine. Ardor flooded her with daring. When she opened her eyes, her body was still, her mind calm. She took up the knife again. On her pubis she slowly cut the first stroke, just above the cleft of her womanhood.
Crimson blood welled. Harume let out a sharp hiss of pain; tears stung her eyes. But she wiped away the blood with the end of her sash, took another drink, and cut the next stroke. More pain; more blood. Eleven more strokes, and Harume sighed in relief. The worst part was done. Now for the step that would bind her irrevocably to her lover.
Harume opened the lacquer jar. The stopper was fitted with a bamboo-handled brush, its soft bristles saturated with gleaming black ink. Carefully she brushed the ink onto the cuts, enjoying its cool wetness, balm to her pain. With her bloody sash she blotted up the excess ink and stoppered the bottle. Then, sipping more sake, she admired her work.
The complete tattoo, the size of her thumbnail, etched in black lines, now adorned her private place: an indelible expression of fidelity and devotion. Until the hair grew back, she hoped she could keep herself covered, hiding her secret from the other concubines, the palace officials, the shogun. But even after the tattoo was safely obscured, she would know it was there. As would he. They would treasure this symbol of the only marriage they would ever celebrate. Harume poured herself another cup of sake, a private toast to eternal love.
But when she drank, she couldn’t swallow; the sake leaked from her mouth, running down her chin. A strange tingling began in Harume’s lips and tongue; her throat felt strangely thick and numb, as if packed with cotton. An eerie, cold sensation crept across her skin. Dizziness washed over her. The room spun; the lamp flames, unnaturally bright, whirled before her eyes. Frightened, she dropped the, cup. What was happening to her?
Sudden nausea gripped Harume. Doubling over, hands pressed against her stomach, she retched. Hot, sour vomit clogged her throat, shot up her nose, and spewed onto the floor. She wheezed and coughed, unable to get enough air. In a panic, Harume rose and started for the door. But the muscles of her legs had gone weak; she stumbled, scattering incense burners, razor, knife, and ink bottle. Lurching and limping, all the while struggling to breathe, Harume managed to reach the door and open it. A hoarse cry burst from her numb lips.
“Help!”
The corridor was empty. Clutching her throat, Harume staggered in the direction of voices that sounded distorted and far away. Ceiling lanterns burned as bright as suns, blinding her. She grabbed the walls for support. Through a haze of dizzy nausea, Harare saw winged black shapes pursuing her. Claws snatched at her hair. High-pitched shrieks echoed in her ears.
Demons!
Now the attendants served sake to Sano’s mother and Magistrate Ueda, honoring the new allegiance between the two families, then passed cups of liquor to the assembly, which proclaimed in unison, “Omedetō gozaimasu-congratulations!”
Sano saw happy faces turned toward him and Reiko. His mother’s loving gaze warmed him. Hirata passed a self-conscious hand over the black stubble on his head-shaved during their Nagasaki investigation- and beamed. Magistrate Ueda nodded in dignified approval; the shogun grinned.
From the table before him, Sano picked up the ceremonial document and read in an unsteady voice, “We have now become united as husband and wife for all eternity. We vow to execute our marital duties faithfully and spend all the days of our lives together in never-ending trust and affection. Sano Ichirō, the twentieth day of the ninth month, Genroku year three.”
Then Reiko read from her identical document. Her voice was high, clear, and melodic. This was the first time Sano had ever heard it. What would they talk about, alone together, tonight?
The attendants handed Sano and Reiko branches of saka tree with white paper strips attached, leading the couple to the alcove to make a traditional wedding offering to the gods. Small and slender, Reiko barely came up to Sano’s shoulder. Her long sleeves and hem trailed on the floor. Together they bowed and laid the branches on the altar. The attendants bowed twice to the altar, then clapped their hands twice. The assembly followed suit.
“The ceremony is successfully completed,” announced the priest who had performed the invocation.”Now the bride and groom can begin to build a harmonious home.”
Pursued by the demons, Harume somehow found her way through the winding passages of the women’s quarters, to the door leading to the main palace. There stood the castle ladies, dressed in bright, colorful kimonos, attended by servants and a few male guards. Harume’s strength was fading. Wheezing and choking, she crashed to the floor.
In a loud rustle of silk garments, the crowd turned. A flurry of exclamations arose: “It’s Lady Harume!” “What’s wrong with her?” “There’s blood all over her mouth!”
Now a shifting collage of shocked, frightened faces hovered over Harume. Ugly purple blotches obscured the familiar features of these women she knew. Noses elongated; eyes burned; fanged mouths leered. Black wings sprouted from shoulders, fanning the air. Silk garments became the lurid plumage of monster birds. Claws reached out to grab.
“Demons,” Harume gasped.”Don’t come any closer. No!”
Strong hands seized her. Authoritative male voices gave orders.”She’s ill. Get a doctor.” “Don’t let her disrupt the sōsakan-sama’s wedding.” “Take her to her room… ”
Panic infused strength into Harume’s muscles. As she kicked and thrashed and gasped for breath, her voice burst from her in a scream of terror: “Help! Demons! Don’t let them kill me!”
“She’s mad. Stay back-out of the way! She’s violent.”
Down the corridor they carried her, trailed by the screeching, flapping horde. Harume struggled to free herself. Her captors finally set her down, pinning her arms and legs. She was trapped. The demons would rip her to shreds, then devour her.