A Snow, on Cherry Blossoms - 3
A novella
3
6 January 1905
Poles sprang from the sidewalk in a neighborhood of Tokyo, and a fine neighborhood because it was under the broad powers to remake samurai into Western military. But this was difficult – and one could see just looking at the collection of people on the street. Some could be out of another era – when Tokyo was still called Edo, and the dress was prescribed by law. Others were in the latest style: uniforms wearing blue, with everything just so, and a breach-loaded rifle on their back – and women wearing the latest style. There was no hint of a running group hanging up a severed head – this was not done.
Collections of war troops were led by an officer every now and again – bracing themselves with the fresh fog. Exercise was a key feature in the new military, with each part copied from the best of European, or North American, models. One of the hidden but key features was that there would be no more female samurai – instead, women were to be wearing long dresses, though the bustle was generally losing favor. But one could see some of the women wearing The traditional clothes of a geisha or oiran – the difference is that geisha entertained, and only partook of sex at their pleasure, whereas oiran consisted of highly refined coupling. This was different than mere yūjo, who only offered release from the monkey upon most men's backs. The difference between traditional and Western was striking most when the two were walking side by side – somehow the mixture of the two was more powerful. Especially when the flowing robes of the female, were next with the Western garb of a merchant. It showed how the old was still alluring, whereas the modern had power – thus the old was feminine, and the modern was masculine. One could almost see an ukiyo-e print with every glance, of the eyes, were fitted with a camera, that left behind an image. Was that image maintained through the rest of one's existence – in this new Metropolis?
Someplace specific, though I had never actually been there myself. It was a tea Shop, but a ritual tea shop. This was the essence of chawan – the tea bowl – and the rituals associated with it. Zen Buddhism remained supreme in this place, and all of the people wished for some form of forgiveness and spiritual awakening. There were more boisterous versions of the tea aesthetic – for conviviality was also encouraged, but those were in different places than this. When I was small, I used to reach high above me and take a cup of tea – from out of the tray that it was to be served out of – it was wrong, I should have waited for those who were visiting to drink 1st. But the aroma of the tea and the site of it mixing in with the water was magical as I held the cup below my mouth and drank that 1st drop.
If one did not know Tokyo or the leanings of the upper-class people of Japan, one would have wondered why a stone draped with willow branches was West of the turned in the river. In the street, with cherry trees along one side, it seemed quite ordinary to anyone foreign. This was because the stone represented the gate to the pleasure quarter. And within it, certain things were done but never discussed except very discreetly. It is not that they were done ornately – some were as boisterous as you can imagine – but they were within the walls with white sashes hanging from the 2nd floor, topped with lanterns which were also white with red and green decorations. This was the Yoshiwara, the entrance to the floating world. The world of business, save for that of pleasure, was on the outside. And things that could not be discussed with foreigners were done here: women; men; boys were all for sale. It is even said that for ecstasy one looks for a duck. Though the men did not talk about what would be done with them –there were sniggers that certain men exchanged.
The other thing that stood out was that there were no utility poles – in this place, such things were for the outside. No mountains behind it, because it was solely for itself. Messages were still carried by writing on a slip of paper, everything was done as it would have been done since the founding – which was close to the beginning of the Shogun era. In that time though the Emperor was theoretically the head of all of Nippon. Though actual power was through a dictator – and if he were noble the title was shogun – there are many who would like this era to come again, perhaps with a different name. I wandered down the boulevard, seeking a place where the pleasures of tea and company would be combined. This is different, you have to understand, than the pleasures of drinking and company – because in that case the senses are dulled, while in the case of tea, they are heightened to enter an order degree. I myself have not understood whether it was the actual tea or the imagining that the tea holds a fragrance, which in truth is not there. I had once tasted coffee, and the effect was quite different – a bolt of blue crushed into the front of my skull. It was an American who gave me this cup, saying that this was another form of consciousness. Perhaps it was, very different from tea. It would be a taste that one should have to grow accustomed to. The Americans obviously did.
Then from out of the haze, there was a sign just barely visible to the naked eye – but I knew instinctively that this was the place. Ceremony reigned everywhere within the eye, but here with special clarity, because everything we have in these walls was diverted to not just tea, but the tea ceremony – including the cups, the accouterment, the ladies who served – as well as the leaves and the refreshingly bright water. If outside the Yoshiwara, everything was to be business and family – and remember these were much the same thing – then outside this tea ceremony, everything was ordinary – but inside the sip of tea was distinctly refined to an ancient art form. But it was in the pleasure district, so it was not just beautiful, but exotic in its presentation. Very few women were here other than to arrange a night for some man in their purvey. If for men this was a district of pleasure, for the women it was a battlefield on the exotic field – where men stood on cushions, so as to reach that divine bliss.
Reached such pinnacles here, they were to be blunt in the field of combat – even combat with words. Until recently, when the Boshin war was on everyone's lips – and there were a host of rebellions – that was the only kind that most samurai actually participated in. It was the disintegration of the bakufu – the rule by the shogunate and its vessels. But here was the last stand of that religion, and it was a religion at its core. If Western religions preached the era of Christendom, here was the embodiment of a different kind of religion, where women were to serve the men, and all the men were supposed to serve their superior – up to and including the Emperor, himself. But it was not himself as others saw him – but himself as a God. And here was the God dispensing wisdom by reflection on the tea ceremony. It was in the shadow of the Yang Earth Dragon – as recognized by the Chinese long cycle – called the Stems and Branches – the shadow of the Boshin War named for that year in Japanese. So it is within this Elder date cycle that everything within the pleasure quarter was frozen in place of, the wars, the earthquake, and the manners were all part of a design pattern known only to the keepers of the Shang Oracle bones.
Fluttering in the breeze, was the white decorations – against the oak sill. It was calling with a ghostly presence of all that came before – tales of centuries past that still lived on in the faerie world. Within this world embroidered silks of tremendous exquisiteness were the stock and trade of the women who organized every step of the way – as a man was to a rifle and bayonet, a woman was to poetry and dance. Though which could be the more deadly was anyone's guess. I slowly slipped into the curtain, and found myself directly in front of the hostess – who it was obvious was sizing me up. She wanted to know whether I was here for the tea ceremony, the company that went with it, or whether I was looking for the unique kind of intimacy that went without saying. After a moment she had made up her mind and began:
“Like calls to like, would you like to be with the Naval people? They have just started a tea ceremony.”
At this point, I nodded my head “no”, and instead answered: “Madame, it is my pleasure to wait for someone who invited me.”
Details, at that time, were considerably different, because at no point would the Madame use paper, or writing implement. She also knew that the use of a name could be disastrous, and would not ask for it. The details of a tea ceremony are better explained elsewhere – because the nuances escape my limited grasp. Even as a description of an art form, it is hard for itself – writing a poem would not be too easy a feat, what the French would call the coup de grâce – ready about the texture of thinking through the substance of what it means to be at the ceremony – displayed on a scroll, called kakejiku, or more specifically gasan if left standing – a scroll about the tea ceremony. But that is beyond my scope – and beyond my limited facility with words. Left me then wave my hand at the greatest works, with every gesture illuminated – and let your mind wander through the calligraphy.
The master was, of course, one of my friends, and the 1st guest was called shokyaku – which was the lady, to helped him perform the tea ritual. This was an elegiac dance, and I wish I could enumerate all of the individual steps. But I watched as the main participants slowly performed Each movement of the tea ceremony. I suppose it was beautiful – but in truth, the joy was lost upon me. At this point the lady excused herself and let us talk privately – I assume that he had made this clear to Madame. And then I looked at him, in a way for the 1st time – because I assumed there was something different about him that he hoped that I would notice.
Officer – but of the Army. We had known each other for a very long time – since childhood. He was shorter time was, but broader in stature – and a perfect specimen that the Army looked for in its officers – broad, with great hands to wield either a rifle or launch a canon. He almost looked as if he was encased in his officer’s uniform. The face betrayed no expression, at any time – which was of course preferred in any sort of officer. Even towards a Japanese, he was blank of all feeling – he had to put into words what he felt.
Space between organizing festivities, and the tea ceremony – in this world of pleasure – was the latitude to engage in a real conversation. One difference is that establishing the level of politeness is far more ritualized than even in the most rigid of European languages – for example, French or Russian. French is the best example because there is a mechanism for establishing the exact degree that the 2 sides are talking, about Japanese, is even more formal than this. And this is the case even in the pleasure world – and though he was my friend, we still needed to know whether we were talking to family members, or something quite more intimate. And in the pleasure world, that could be very intimate indeed, everyone else would pointedly not notice if we were to engage in homosexual behavior – indeed one of the points of the pleasure world is to be cast off from the boundaries. Boundaries that had grown harder because of the Western view and the Japanese view were so different. In the Edo period – Homosexual liaisons were absolutely permitted, though in different degrees and different ways. There was a hierarchy attached to the allowable ways of showering attention, but in all cases, in all periods, such forms would be known about – and celebrated in tales that could be told. In the military caste – in the Edo period – Such roles were strictly formalized. The penetrative partner was called nenja while the feminine partner was called wakashū. The reason I say this is because my brother and my friend were engaged in such a relationship – though I did not know the exact details. But it made the discourse fluid until someone had said something – and I was not going to be the one to set the conversation level.
In that roundabout way before lines were fixed, and alcohol was not part of the mix – this had been part of my purpose – he told a story that I listened to intently. It began by describing a woodblock print by Ishikawa Toyonobu, with 2 actors portraying an open homosexual love affair – the wakashū was on the left, and he was on the right. This did not mean that he wanted me in that particular way, but he was describing the boundaries that he intended to use. In essence, he was saying that I was to be the subordinate partner in our relationship. However, what the relationship was, was not implied yet. Though I imagine that would be the conversational heart of the matter. He was using old terms – the new one was Shōnen, But that had the implication of a young boy and was depicted in various kinds of comic art he was using the older terms because he wanted to convey a different meaning entirely.
He began with the turning to his effeminate partner: “You have done and asked to visit job with your hair.” At which point it was replied: “I learned from a geisha the secret of making an art of seduction.” There was a pause: “The bed must be just out of sight, with only an edge of a pillow gracefully peeking playing site.” For my friend, this was an elaborate disguise, because as said he normally needed to speak promptly about his inner torment. The blurrings of meaning danced across my skull – but I did not understand what he was getting at – though it had to be something.
A different story about 神奈川沖浪裏 – the Great Wave, by Hokusai. I intimated that the mountain was also the amount of desire – that is the mountain of male desire and another male, and the wave had just been withdrawn out. My purpose was to note that the feminine partner was not in the relationship for erotic attachment – but to please the masculine partner. This please do quite a good deal – meaning while I did not know what he was getting at, I knew that it was in the area conveying a parallel between the masculine/feminine in homoerotic attachment and what he was getting at. At this point, the level of politeness was set, and was set very low – and he finally, got to the point: “I need a man to go into that foreign country which we are invading, and note the movements of both our enemy and ourselves. I want both because we are worried that the direct instructions are not being followed.” I noticed the “we”, meaning that he was instructed by higher-up individuals. And probably individuals who shared his leaning towards men, and wanted someone who understood their meaning and would be conscious of the choices which my friend would make. This was part of the Japanese conversation pattern – choose a subject who would understand what is being done. Thus sometimes one needed to engage a female to extort another female – and so on. This time select a willing partner who would understand there is a parallel between samurai and daimyo, and wakashū and nenja. It was not a normal way of doing things, but then there were multiplicities of ways of going about this. Clearly, his superiors had a vision in mind, perhaps because he was the most persuasive – but then I realized, he would be watching me – and so both of us were part of a larger scheme. The scheme which was concocted by a group that sat close to the Emperor, but not too close. They have been given an assignment, by some officer of the Cabinet. So the order came from 2 levels down the scale, no more than that. And that was the way that I became introduced to the wider level of scheming.
Intricacies of dealing with this came forth as he decided to tell me things – even if they were not true – about what my responsibilities were. Key to all of this was, of course, finding my brother, in the loose fields of combat. He explained that “we” - myself unincluded – were afraid that the opposite number had cast an eye on him, and they were suspicious that he was more than an officer. This was true – he managed the intelligence operation and reported back to his superiors on its progress. But now he was missing, in the wilds of Manchuria. It would be my job to find him – and get him to report what he was doing. Casting my mind back over the story – it seemed likely that they no longer trusted him to do his duty, though why was not told to me? I sat silently while this was explained – and realized that in a way I was superior, in that I controlled whether I was to go. The sense of power almost crackled in my fingertips. Normally, he would give me a precise view of the mission – on paper. But this was too secret for any sort of writing down.
Pause – because he too was in an awkward position. Just as I would be speaking of what I had done – he would be listening and interjecting short orders. The reverse of this was uncomfortable for us both. He continued: “There is another officer, of military intelligence, employed by the Russians. I want you to execute him, even if it means your death. Here is a picture.” Then the picture was handed to me, and it was not a good likeness – he was extremely blonde, with a grace to his movements, one could guess at its height. But that was essentially it, save for the scar along his left cheek.
Again, he spoke because there was another part of this mission – having to secure the cooperation of the United Kingdom before the mission was started – without explaining the real details. The Empire of Japan had to convince the representatives of a different mission, one that would align closely with our détente. 大日本帝國 - The Greater Japanese Empire - was new to the world stage, and Britain was the master. Had to do more than just learn what was to be a great power – we had to see how policy was the prerogative of the dominant center. Which unfortunately was not Japan. One had to understand the layers which policy took, because while we were engaged in containing Russia – Russia was a willing partner in containing Germany. It was a dance, with the conductor residing in London. He can explain what he wanted me to know, though I only believed a quarter of what he told me. Before I went out, I had to go back to the center of the Englishman's cabal. I should go back to the lady’s household, and talk to a man which I had only briefly met – because he was the nexus of intelligence for Britain. He would have to be enamored of this story – a cover story was the word that he used. He recited it as if he had learned it from his superior – which he almost certainly did.
While intelligence was certainly part of Japanese politics, we had to learn the phrases that Britain used. This is why the structure of government was changed to a constitutional monarchy only 15 years before – we wanted everything to be along European lines.
This is why he knew that Akahi Motojiro was behind this – the man with a secret plan fight also gifted as a painter and poet. Originally he had traveled to St. Petersburg, but now he was somewhere about the continent – though his base was reputedly Helsinki. Wherever anti-czarist sentiment welled up, he was often there, himself, to gather forces that were ravenously opposed to the current regime – a hero of the Japanese love of the secret, for now, and all time. He had a wide range of loyal operatives, including some who would die for him. He was hunted by many in the Russian government – but most particularly by the Department for Protecting the Public Security And Order – also known as the Okhrana, in order which was notorious for its agent's provocateurs against left-wing and foreign nationals. They might have been behind the writing and dissemination of the Protocols Of The Elders Of Zion, as well as other notorious activities – there was little outside their purview including a reading of private correspondence. They were rabid about assassinating Akahi – but while they had many attempts, they were unable to strike, a very rare feat for such a powerful organization. He, on the other hand, had many victories, among them reputedly was the assassination of the Russian Interior Minister – Vyacheslav von Plehve, hated for starting the war on the Russian side – though people who followed it admitted that the war would come in any event – there were too many people on Japan's ruling elite who also desired a clash of armies.
The story that I had to believe in was that I was to report on the subdural of Chinese and Russian domination – that Manchuria was becoming a Japanese province, though not formally. He also explained how the government was in the hands of 2 elite bodies, and they were fighting for control of the nominal constitutional mechanisms. He explained that this was too sensitive to talk about and that I should only report to him. He was talking of course about the extraconstitutional body – Genrō. It was certain men who had been influential in starting the restoration – and it was behind all of the machinations of government. All that was contained in the Constitution, was only this façade to this reality. Understood only the barest outlines of the structure which he now laid bare. It was not the Emperor who ruled – the shogunate had been replaced by a council, with no name – the Genrō were the real power, and the Emperor merely picked who was to run it.
It had been at least 2 hours, and I realized that there was another factor – why not go to one of their own? This had not been touched upon. And it would never be touched upon, so secret was it in its form that even expressing it would have been only touched upon if one were to commit seppuku. It was that hidden. Think about it – the workings of the real government were enunciated, but other things were unspeakable.
Then there was another pause – and my eyes snapped to his face, having wandered to the details of every other point in the room. But he had not been looking at me until the pause occurred. It was draining – I had not been so bored with a recitation of detail in all of my life. But now my eyes looked at his – and it was my turn to pronounce that I would go. If there was no way for me not to go – and he knew it. That is why the answer was almost as if the explanation had engaged my mind fully.
“Of course, I would like to be assigned to this.” Though my head was filled with detail, much of which was nonsense or extraneous information – the chance to get out of the home islands was 1st and foremost in my mind. “Where will I go to make arrangements?” He just slept on a piece of paper. And on taking it - just to be at sea, was almost enough to engage everything. And obviously, it would be on a secretive ship – a freighter of some kind. The disguise was obvious – which again exacted a thrill.
“This gives a great pleasure.” he was back to uttering simple phrases. The silence from the room eventually called the lady.
Pleasure quarter is not simply for erotic pleasure, but the pleasure of doing business in ways that are not explained. There is the Constitution, and then there is the real form of government.
While standing in the street, I realized that some hand of destiny had plucked me, I wish I knew whose hand it was and whether it had been for good or ill. The white flags did not have any clue which they which to share, and the faces were on their ecstasies.
It was later that evening, or rather the time which changes into morning but not the time was fog rolls in from the harbor; in a place a long way from the ritualized pantomimes of courtly indulgence, when forces within call. They call to men to wield sake and shake violently with the stories that they can tell. It is unfortunate that I have so few. We pitched and rolled along the waterways of the night feint pools of liquid mixture, the walls that stood out between the rivers and canals that girded the city into corridors and quarters. Inside there were petty lights the men and the waitresses who were at their beck and call attended the every wish – from low-down dock workers up through noblemen, each according to their station. Up in the sky, there were only stars, for the moon had gone from old to young over the nights, I looked up from time to time, but these were different stars, more suited for spring.
Then I looked over at my companion and realized he was going to quake.
“You seem restless.”
But instead of replying, he only obliquely said: “We will be there in a moment, where I will amuse you with tales of comic interest.” And his lips grew shut.
But it was half an hour, long since out of the floating world with its avenues long behind us, I did not know which place this was, though the rank stench of the sea grew strong and the streets tightening down to alleyways crowding over us.
At last, he waited to open a sash, within which was a bleeding light. He floated to a pair of plain chairs away from the other few customers, who were watching a serving wench on the table doing a slow dance for their entertainment. He took on a seat and motioned men to take the other. A differing serving woman came over with a pair of pottery quench drinking cups and a large bottle of sake. It had made her, though I doubted that the grains were chewed by virgins. She then moved away, like men retreating from a battle.
Of course, we drank. Not imbibed, as we would do in other places, but drank, for the local alcohol was made here for only one purpose. And then we drank again.
Beginning, he belched and began.
“You were too young to have gone out for the last war.”
I quiesced the boiling in my abdomen because I knew that the gas within his stomach would exude a morsel of information – when someone needs to divulge, do not stand in their way to the bottle.
“How do you think it went?”
In my mind were conjured the white and black of ships formed for battle, and the many pictures of Chinese in the old garb bowing to our men in sleek white trousers with brass buttons. I vomit out some series of images.
“It was not like that at all, ten years ago, in our war with the ancient enemy. The future against the past.” His face had been in combat and seen things that had no utterance.
“How was it?” Delicately raising an eyebrow.
“Each force had different strengths, we just happened to have the right ones.” His face turns sober, almost dejected.
I looked at his visage and saw some thinly stretched lines, there were none on mine. He looked back at me and laughed. “Be careful out there.” And then he told of many incidents from girls to ships, each with a name that was her own. This stretched through four or five bottles of sake.
It was not quite dawn when we slunk back through roused by the morning-forgotten twilight. He stopped and formed a picture with his hands.