The Concubine’s Tattoo

15

The baying of dogs echoed across Edo, as if a thousand beasts heralded the hour that bore their name. Night submerged the city in wintry darkness, extinguishing lights, vacating streets. Moonlight turned the Sumida River into a ribbon of liquid silver. At the end of a pier far upstream from the city rose a pavilion. Lanterns suspended from the upturned eaves of its tile roof illuminated banners bearing the Tokugawa crest and walls decorated with carved gilt-and-lacquer dragons. The water reflected its glittering, inverted image. Soldiers stood watch on the pier and in small craft anchored off the forested shoreline, guarding the safety and privacy of the pavilion’s lone occupant.

Inside, Chamberlain Yanagisawa sat on the tatami-covered floor, studying official documents in the flickering light of oil lamps. The remains of his evening meal littered a tray by his side; from a charcoal brazier, smoke drifted out the slatted windows. This was Yanagisawa’s favorite site for secret meetings, away from Edo Castle and any eavesdroppers. Tonight he’d heard reports from metsuke spies who’d just returned from assignments in the provinces. Now he awaited his final rendezvous, which concerned the most important matter of all: the status of his plot against Sōsakan Sano.

Voices and footsteps sounded on the pier. Yanagisawa tossed his papers on a cushioned bench and stood. Peering out the window, he saw a guard escorting a small figure along the pier toward the pavilion. Yanagisawa smiled when he recognized Shichisaburō, dressed in multi-colored brocade theatrical robes. Anticipation quickened his heartbeat. He threw open the door, admitting a rush of cold air.

Up the pier came Shichisaburō, moving with ritual grace as if entering a No stage. Seeing his master, his eyes lit in convincing delight. He bowed, chanting:

“Now I will dance the moon’s dance,

My sleeves are trailing clouds,

Dancing, I will sing my joy,

Again and again while the night endures.”

This was a quote from the play Kantan, written by the great Zeami Motokiyo, about a Chinese peasant who has a vivid dream of ascending the throne of the emperor. Yanagisawa and Shichisaburō often enjoyed performing scenes from a favorite drama, and Yanagisawa responded with the next lines:

“And yet while the night endures,

The sun rises bright,

While we think it is still night,

Day has already come.”

Desire spread warmth through Yanagisawa. The boy was a masterful actor-and so arrestingly beautiful. But for now, business took precedence over pleasure. Drawing Shichisaburō into the pavilion and closing the door, Yanagisawa asked, "Have you carried out the orders I gave you last night?”

“Oh, yes, my lord.”

In the lamplight, the young actor’s face radiated happiness. His presence infused the room with the fresh, sweet fragrance of youth. Intoxicated, Chamberlain Yanagisawa inhaled hungrily.”Did you have any trouble getting inside?”

“None at all, my lord, " Shichisaburō said.”I followed your instructions. No one stopped me. It was perfect.”

“Were you able to find what we needed?” Despite the fact that they were alone, Yanagisawa followed his usual practice of speaking in a circumspect manner.

“Oh, yes. It was right where you said it would be.”

“Did anyone see you?”

The young actor shook his head.”No, my lord, I was careful.” His mouth quirked in a mischievous smile. “And even if someone had seen me, they wouldn’t have guessed who I was, or what I was doing.”

“No. They wouldn’t.” Remembering their ploy, Yanagisawa smiled, too. “Where did you put it?” The actor stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, and he chuckled. “Superb. You’ve done very well.”

Shichisaburō clapped his hands with glee. “Honorable Chamberlain, you’re so brilliant! The sōsakan-sama is sure to fall into the trap.” Then doubt furrowed his childish brow. “But what if he happens to miss it somehow?”

“He won’t,” Yanagisawa said confidently. “I know how Sano thinks and acts. He’ll do just as I’ve predicted. But if for some reason he doesn’t, I’ll help him.” Yanagisawa chuckled. “How appropriate that my other rival should provide the tool for the destruction of them both. All we have to do is wait and be patient. Right now, I can think of a pleasant way to pass the time. Come here.”

Yanagisawa grasped Shichisaburō’s hand, pulling him close. But the boy playfully resisted. “Wait, my lord. I have a surprise for you. If you will please permit me?”

With a tantalizing smile, he unknotted his sash and let it drop to the floor. Ceremoniously he shrugged off his outer kimono, one sleeve at a time. He stepped out of his flowing trousers. Desire welled in Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s throat and groin. No one else undressed with such graceful flair. He couldn’t wait to see what new erotic delight the actor had in store for him.

Shichisaburō’s eyes glowed, reflecting his master’s excitement. Prolonging their pleasure, he paused for a dramatic moment in his white under-robe. Then he peeled the robe away from his shoulders and let it fall. Triumphantly he flung out his arms, displaying himself for Yanagisawa’s inspection. Yanagisawa gasped; his heart lurched.

Raw gashes marked Shichisaburō’s chest. Recent and unhealed, the cuts were red, caked with darkening blood, lurid against the fair, smooth skin. The crudest one bisected his left nipple. Another ran down through his navel, into his loincloth. He looked like the victim of a savage attack.

“I did it for you, my lord!” Shichisaburō exclaimed.”To show that I’m willing to endure pain and suffering for your sake.”

Ritual self-mutilation, performed with swords or daggers, was an age-old practice by which samurai lovers demonstrated their loyalty and devotion to each other. Therefore, Shichisaburō’s action didn’t really surprise Yanagisawa, now that the initial shock had passed. Amused by the boy’s eagerness to please, he laughed.

“You’ve done well,” he said.

Shichisaburō knelt. Taking Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s hand, he pressed it against the wound on his breast. His skin felt feverish. “With my blood, I pledge my eternal love for you, my lord,” he whispered.

His eyes blazed with passion-genuine, unfeigned passion. The laughter died in Yanagisawa’s throat. Stunned, he said, “You really mean it, don’t you?” Deep within him, something trembled, like the ground during an earthquake. “Everything you say about your feelings for me, it’s all true. You’re not just acting. You mean every word!”

The boy nodded. “At first I was acting,” he admitted. “Then I grew to love you.” His smile was full of yearning affection. “You’re so beautiful and strong, so intelligent and powerful. You’re everything I want, everything I could wish to be. I would do anything for you!” He raised Yanagisawa’s hand to his face, pressing his mouth to its palm.

A torrent of emotion flooded Yanagisawa. First came disbelief that anyone would make such a gesture of self-sacrifice for him. Into his mind flashed a vivid memory. On the day he’d achieved the post of chamberlain, he had hosted a lavish gala at Edo Castle, with music, dancers, Kabuki skits, the best food and sake. All the male guests were subordinates who wanted favors from him. All the women were courtesans bought with his new wealth. No family-he remained estranged from them; no friends-he had none. The guests with whom he’d celebrated cared nothing about him, except for the power he wielded. In the midst of insincere smiles and congratulations, Yanagisawa had experienced a feeling of complete emptiness.

Now that same emptiness opened into a vast, yawning cavern inside him. From it howled the voice of his soul, demanding the love he craved but had never known. Tears rushed to Yanagisawa’s eyes-tears he thought had been spent at his brother’s funeral, but had instead accumulated into a huge reservoir of loneliness. Shichisaburō’s tribute moved him to the core. He wanted to embrace the boy and sob out his gratitude, to feel tender arms around him while the armor shielding his heart crumbled.

Then, across the distance of time, he heard his father’s voice: “… lazy, unfit to be my son… pathetic, dishonorable…” Yanagisawa recalled the blows with the wooden pole. Again he experienced the feeling of sheer worthlessness, the feeling that he didn’t deserve love. Hating the awful sensation, wanting to make it go away, he forced himself to remember who he was: the shogun’s second-in-command. And who Shichisaburō was: just a little peasant, foolish enough to injure his own body for another person. How could he have the temerity to love the ruler of Japan?

Yanagisawa’s yearning and gratitude turned to rage. Jerking his hand away from Shichisaburō, he demanded, “How dare you treat me in this impertinent manner?” He slapped Shichisaburō’s face. The young actor gasped; hurt filled his eyes. “I never ordered you to love me.” Anyone capable of loving him was beneath contempt. “How dare you?”

The lessons of a lifetime filled him with a fear that increased his anger. Love made a person vulnerable, dependent; love could only lead to misery. Hadn’t his parents spurned his childhood efforts to please them and win affection? The rejection had hurt even worse than the blows. In Shichisaburō’s love, Yanagisawa glimpsed the terrible promise of future rejection, more pain-unless he did something to avert the threat.

“I’m your lord, not your paramour,” Yanagisawa shouted, his voice ragged as he fought to control his warring emotions. “Show some respect! Bow down!”

With a swipe of his arm, he knocked the actor off his knees. Shichisaburō sprawled on the floor. Horrified by his own cruelty, Chamberlain Yanagisawa stifled the urge to apologize, to give in to his craving for love. But the need for self-preservation outweighed all other needs.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Shichisaburō was sobbing. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I thought you’d be pleased by what I did. A thousand apologies!”

He raised himself on his elbows. Chamberlain Yanagisawa struck his jaw, and he fell again. By bringing Yanagisawa’s loneliness to the surface, by making him vulnerable, the actor had demeaned him, reversed their positions. Yanagisawa couldn’t tolerate the shift in the balance of power. It presaged suffering and ruin that he didn’t want to imagine.

Roughly he tore away the white cotton band that bound Shichisaburō’s loins and cleaved his buttocks. Then he stripped off his own robes. Shoving the young actor facedown on the tatami, he straddled Shichisaburō.

“I’ll show you who is master and who is the slave!” Yanagisawa shouted.

Trembling with fear, Shichisaburō wept. They’d often indulged in rough sexual play-but this was not play, and he knew it. “If it please my lord, I’ll never speak of my love again,” he cried. “Let’s forget what happened and go back to the way we were before!”

They could never go back; everything had changed between them; Chamberlain Yanagisawa pummeled Shichisaburō’s back with his fists. Shichisaburō moaned, but didn’t struggle. The lack of resistance further incensed Yanagisawa. He grabbed the boy’s hair and slammed his face repeatedly against the floor, while fumbling to liberate his erection from his loincloth.

“You can do-whatever you wish-to me,” Shichisaburō whimpered between anguished gasps. Sweat glistened on his skin; the reek of his terror filled the room, but he spoke up bravely. “I accept-the pain. Even if you-don’t want my love-I’m yours forever. I’ll-do anything for you!”

Before the violent fusion of pleasure and anger and need could over whelm him, Chamberlain Yanagisawa realized what he had to do. He must end his liaison with Shichisaburō-or face the ruin of his power- of his entire self. Yet for now, the young actor was too useful to drop. He’d successfully carried out orders. The stage was set for the destruction of Sano, and Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s other rival. But if the ploy somehow failed, Yanagisawa might require Shichisaburō’s services again before the end of the murder investigation.