Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [48]
In the quiet they caught their breaths, trying to hide their surprise. It had been over so quickly.
The boy had arched an eyebrow in wonder. “Were we inept, Kiku-san? I mean, everything was so fast,” he whispered.
“We did everything he wanted,” she said.
“He certainly reached the Clouds and the Rain,” the boy said. “I thought the house was going to fall down.”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“I’m glad. At first I was very frightened. It’s very good to please.”
Together they dried Yabu gently and covered him with the quilt. Then the boy lay back languorously, half propped on one elbow and stifled a yawn.
“Why don’t you sleep, too,” she said.
The boy pulled his kimono closer and shifted his position to kneel opposite her. She was sitting beside Yabu, her right hand gently stroking the daimyo’s arm, gentling his tremored sleep.
“I’ve never been together with a man and a lady at the same time before, Kiku-san,” the boy whispered.
“Neither have I.”
The boy frowned. “I’ve never been with a girl either. I mean I’ve never pillowed with one.”
“Would you like me?” she had asked politely. “If you wait a little, I’m sure our Lord won’t wake up.”
The boy frowned. Then he said, “Yes please,” and afterwards he said, “That was very strange, Lady Kiku.”
She smiled within. “Which do you prefer?”
The boy thought a long time as they lay at peace, in each other’s arms. “This way is rather hard work.”
She buried her head in his shoulder and kissed the nape of his neck to hide her smile. “You are a marvelous lover,” she whispered. “Now you must sleep after so much hard work.” She caressed him to sleep, then left him and went to the other quilts.
The other bed had been cool. She did not want to move into Yabu’s warmth lest she disturb him. Soon her side was warm.
The shadows from the shoji were sharpening. Men are such babies, she thought. So full of foolish pride. All the anguish of this night for something so transitory. For a passion that is in itself but an illusion, neh?
The boy stirred in his sleep. Why did you make the offer to him? she asked herself. For his pleasure—for him and not for me, though it amused me and passed the time and gave him the peace he needed. Why don’t you sleep a little? Later. I’ll sleep later, she told herself.
When it was time she slipped from the soft warmth and stood up. Her kimonos whispered apart and the air chilled her skin. Quickly she folded her robes perfectly and retied her obi. A deft but careful touch to her coiffure. And to her makeup.
She made no sound as she left.
The samurai sentry at the veranda entrance bowed and she bowed back and she was in the dawning sunshine. Her maid was waiting for her.
“Good morning, Kiku-san.”
“Good morning.”
The sun felt very good and washed away the night. It’s very fine to be alive, she thought.
She slipped her feet into her sandals, opened her crimson parasol, and started through the garden, out onto the path that led down to the village, through the square, to the tea house that was her temporary home. Her maid followed.
“Good morning, Kiku-san,” Mura called out, bowing. He was resting momentarily on the veranda of his house, drinking cha, the pale green tea of Japan. His mother was serving him. “Good morning, Kiku-san,” she echoed.
“Good morning, Mura-san. Good morning, Saiko-san, how well you are looking,” Kiku replied.
“How are you?” the mother asked, her old old eyes boring into the girl. “What a terrible night! Please join us for cha. You look pale, child.”
“Thank you, but please excuse me, I must go home now. You do me too much honor. Perhaps later.”
“Of course, Kiku-san. You honor our village by being here.”
Kiku smiled and pretended not to notice their searching stares. To add