The Way of the Warrior - Chris Bradford [16]
Jack struggled and kicked so much that the gardener had to help hold him down too, though the old man took great care to avoid Jack’s broken arm.
Jack felt like a baby as they scrubbed him down and then lowered him, still protesting, into the steaming bath. The heat was almost unbearable, but every time he tried to get out the woman gently pushed him back in.
Eventually they let him out, but only to wash him down again, this time with warm soapy water. By now, though, he was too tired to resist and resigned himself to the indignity of it all. The worst thing was that the water was scented. He smelt like a girl!
They dunked him back in the bathtub, his skin turning bright pink from the heat. After a while, they let him out, only to subject him to a final dousing of cold water before drying him and dressing him in a new robe.
Exhausted, he was led back to his room where he collapsed on his quilt and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
9
KIMONOS AND CHOPSTICKS
‘Ofuro,’ said the woman.
‘I had one yesterday…’ complained Jack.
‘Ofuro!’ she scolded.
Jack, realizing it was futile to resist, put on the fresh gown and wound his way through the garden to the bathhouse. This time, he almost enjoyed the experience.
Apart from the throbbing pain in his arm and a dull ache in his head, he had to admit that the bath had done him some good. He felt rested and his scalp didn’t itch with lice or sea salt any more.
When Jack returned to his room, garments similar to those that the samurai had worn were laid out upon his bed. What did these people want with him? They fed and bathed him and now clothed him, but otherwise kept their distance.
The round-faced woman entered.
‘Chiro!’ she called and the maid came hurrying in after.
The maid was petite, maybe eighteen years old, but it was difficult for Jack to judge, her skin was so smooth and unblemished. She had small dark eyes and a short bob of black hair and, though pretty, she didn’t compare to the girl who had nursed him through his fever.
So where was she? And, for that matter, the man with the scarred face? He had only seen two other men in the house so far – the old gardener, whom the woman called Uekiya, and the fierce-looking samurai – and neither of them bore scars. Perhaps the girl and the scarred man were both figments of his imagination, like the girl he’d seen on the headland.
‘Goshujin kimono,’ said the woman, pointing at the clothes.
Jack realized the woman meant him to put the garments on but, looking at the puzzling array of items, he wondered where on earth to start. He picked up a pair of funny-looking socks with split toes. At least it was obvious where these went, but his feet were too big to fit into them. The maid saw his predicament and giggled softly behind her hand.
‘Well, how should I know how to put these on!’ said Jack, not liking being ridiculed.
The maid ceased laughing, dropped to her knees and bowed apologetically. The woman stepped forward.
Jack put the socks down and submitted to the woman and young maid helping him dress. First, they pulled on the white tabi socks, which thankfully stretched a little. Then, they gave him some undergarments, a white cotton top and skirt they called juban. Next a silk robe was wrapped round him, the women carefully ensuring that the left side of the robe overlapped with the right side. All of this was tied off from behind with a wide red belt called an obi.
Stepping out on to the veranda, Jack felt awkward in his new clothes. He was used to trousers and shirts, not ‘dresses’ and ‘skirts’. As he moved, the kimono proved disconcertingly drafty, but he had to admit the smooth silk was far more pleasant than stiff breeches and the rough hemp of his sailor’s shirt.
The maid disappeared into another room while the woman led him along the veranda to another shoji. They entered a small room similar to his own, except this had a low oblong table and four flat cushions arranged on either side. On the far wall cradled upon a stand were two magnificent swords, with dark-red woven