Heart of the Matter

The moon, a far silver globe, shone down on the lotus pool. The frogs, singing by the pool, heard feet trip trap on the wooden verandah boards and silenced themselves. The night waited.

Hiroko came, slight as a new moon, gleaming with as much radiance, her pale powdered face reflected the moon's pearly sheen and her hair, elaborately raised into the summer peach style so becoming to her small face and features, shone blacker than the night. She trit-trotted on her wooden geta the entire length of the verandah, carefully balancing two large cushions in her arms. She paused at the verandah's end to inhale the different scents of her garden at night, and bent carefully to place the cushions, making a graceful moon shadow as she arranged them close to the verandah edge, yet not near enough to tip an unwary sitter forward into the Lotus pool. She straightened, listening for the frogs. They remained mute. Again she bent, pliant as a reed, smoothing the larger cushion for her Lord, her husband. She knelt, raising her arms to gaze at her kimono sleeves in the moon's beams. Short but full, of lustrous silk, they were a married woman`s, not the long flowing ones a girl wore. That showed all those neighbour nay-sayers, and the chattering obasans, those grannies, mumbling warnings through what few teeth age had spared. She was indeed a married lady.

Her Lord gave generously. Such an expensive gift this new summer kimono, in seasonal shades of lavender and lilac, with an enchanting, hand-painted design of lotus blossoms, perfect and appropriate for tonight's lotus blossom viewing. Her Lord was so good. She brushed her cheek against the silk which touched her skin gently as she moved. The obi, dark blue silk, woven with silver stars and moons, and last week's gift from her Lord, she had not let her mother bind tightly around her middle. Not now. And tonight she would celebrate the news with her Lord. Her heart sang with happiness for she knew how he looked forward to this day.

Captain Martin Langley stood on the steps of the British Officers' House and tugged his dress tunic straight over his developing embonpoint. Thank God the day's heat had cooled. June's moist and humid warmth was giving way to July's stupefying heat. God awful climate to wear a uniform in. Even this late evening's cooler air had a tangible feeling to it, as woolly warm as the tunic he wore.

He preened his moustaches, inhaled, made a ramrod of his spine and squared his shoulders. He had to tighten his stomach muscles and cursed. "Too much soft living here in Tokyo, Martin, m'boy," he told himself as he strolled down the steps, looking for a rickshaw. He was used to hearing himself described as a fine figure of a man, a common expression for those, like himself, over six feet. Here in Japan he stood a giant among men, his six feet six inches regarded with admiration, useful tonight, when he had to impress and overawe. He huffed his mustache, he felt sure his Kitten wouldn't make a fuss, sensible little things these Jap girls, born courtesans. Now where was that rickshaw boy? Bloody rickshaws for transport, not a hansom cab, or horse drawn carriage for hire in the whole of the city. He'd be glad to get home to a civilised Godly country.

Hiroko checked once more the cushion placement. It must be perfect. Was there enough light to see? The small lantern hanging high from the roof corner shed the gentlest of rays, so that the pool gleamed. She had always desired a pool like this, in a house like this. To have achieved both in her seventeenth year came truly as the goddess's blessing. Such fortune she had been given and now she had the greatest gift to offer her husband in return. The pond's water, ink block black under the night sky, shirred as a frog plopped in. Hiroko smiled. Soon they would call again, hoping to find a mate as she'd found hers. She gave a quick gentle nod, yes, she had chosen the perfect place to sit and watch. Here the reflections on the surface of the pool were clearest. Here the scent of those strange English flowers her husband made the gardener plant smelled strongest. And here the moon graced both water and lotus with its lustrous light.

Hiroko glided two neat steps backwards to allow her kimono to settle round her body, sighed contentedly, and sank to her knees on her cushion, as gently and silently as the clouds moving across the moon's face. Her Lord was due. She sat back on to her heels, the lamp light catching the white of her tabi socks, sending lightning gleams over the silk of her kimono. When she bowed her head, the gold on her combs and hair pins glistened where the light touched them. She was as perfect as she could appear for him, the night as perfect as it could be for them.

A questing mew made Hiroko raise her head. Behind her came the quietest thump, soft pad padding, and a muted call. "No, Little Cat, you cannot hunt frogs tonight. Tonight we must be serene, at peace, as we wait for the opening of the lotus blooms."

The half grown tabby cat, another gift, came mewling to her, butted her head gently into Hiroko's thigh and then under her hand. "Ah, Little Cat, will you be good and sit with me or do I take you inside?"

The cat mewed again, the faintest sound from her round pink mouth, sat erect beside Hiroko, wrapping her tail around her front paws, then throbbed with a gentle purr. Hiroko laughed, as softly as Little Cat's purr, and they sat side by side, in contentment, waiting.

Captain Langley strode up the street looking for a rickshaw. Heads turned, everyone stared as he passed. Appearance counted in Japan. He knew his dress uniform, all that gold braid, the ornate, jewelled sword with its golden dagger sheathed in the filigree scabbard, impressed, walking this street he had proof of it. Ah, at last, he'd found a rickshaw. He whistled loudly, and the rickshaw turned. He hoped there would be a good meal after they'd finished this traditional nonsense of watching the lotus flowers open tonight. His stomach rumbled; it was empty, he'd missed dinner, been organising the sending off of his trunks and crates. He smiled to himself, little Hiroko would look after him tonight. He'd a healthy appetite, and not just for food. These Jap girls knew how to please a man.

The rickshaw arrived and he climbed in. He'd never shaped his tongue round more than a few words of their godforsaken language, a good bellow worked best for heathen peasants, but he could say 'Shrine road'.

"Yes, Captain." The rickshaw set off at a steady jog trot.

Little Cat's purrs ceased. She gazed into the lotus pool, ears twitching. Hiroko looked at her, then at the pool. She cocked her head and heard soft rustling. Which lotus was unfurling a blossom? Oh, please not the pure white, scented one, let that lotus wait for her Lord.

Further rustles, silence, then the soft plop of an opening blossom. The moonlight touched the petals and Hiroko saw a pale quivering bloom transformed by the silver light. She thought it was a pink one. Where was her Lord? He must not miss this special time, one, when she told him her news, he would remember for ever.

"Here, Captain? Yes, Captain, as Captain rishes."

The Captain snorted with laughter. Rishes, Ha! Stupid Japs, couldn't even speak the Queen's English. He waited, impatient for the rickshaw man to turn the wheels against the high wooden kerb and let him out.

"Here, Captain." The man supported the shafts, steadying the rickshaw as the Captain lowered his bulk down to the gravel path. He felt in his pocket and found a large denomination coin. He tossed it to the man, sniggering at the earth scraping bows and grovels. Monkeys, he thought, they're all monkeys. He waited until the rickshaw had turned and trundled back down the road before crossing and walking to his house. The outer gate swung inwards, opening easily as he slid the bar and dropped the latch, stirring the air, teasing his nose with garden scents.

Ah, he could smell the Night Scented Stock and Nicotiana, a reminder of home that had sustained him over his eighteen months here. Not long now before he would smell them in his own English garden in civilized Sussex. This wooden house smelt too, he'd had it built of the best local materials, but that sawn cedar smell lingered yet, pleasant, but recalled English summerhouses, play houses and gazebos rather than a proper home. He'd been careful to spend money well here, determined to be comfortable during his tour of duty, and it had been little enough to spend after all.

White pebbles crunched beneath his feet as he walked up the path to the house entrance. He knocked, called out, then waited for the servant. The door slid opened and he shed his shoes in faint lantern light. The servant took them and placed them, with exaggerated care, on the shoe shelves, gave him his slippers, and bowed him up the steps, pausing once to allow him to admire the new arrangement of flowers in another marvellous vase in the alcove. The Captain made approving noises, Hiroko really was a clever little puss with flowers, and this must be a new vase from her father's shop. He'd bought some good Japanese ceramics from her father to take home, along with all the silks and painted bamboo umbrellas he'd purchased for his mother, fiancée and sisters.

He padded across the tatami mats, his straw slippers squeaking, scuffing up the tatami's smell of freshly thatched roofs. Not what he preferred in a house, but he'd let Hiroko and her mother arrange things here, kept them happy so they'd keep him happy.

The servant slid each shoji screen wall open for him and bowed him through until finally he saw Hiroko, a statue in the moonlight, kneeling beside the Lotus pool, her tabi socks shining bright white in the lantern light. Beside her sat that absurd little cat he'd found and given her last month. He chuckled. Damn me, if it hadn't got markings just like white tabi socks on its front paws.

Hiroko heard and looked up, awe and admiration in her face as she observed the Captain's splendour.

"Two little tabbies," the Captain said. He pointed to Hiroko's divided socks and laughed again. "Your tabi socks, that tabby cat, it's funny, don'tcherknow?"

Eyes, velvet black, suddenly shone, a liquid brillante collected at each corner and slide down the side of the tiny nose. "I am not cat. I am not funny. I am wife, your wife."

The Captain harumphed. She never could remember those indefinite articles. "Just a joke, my dear, come, don't cry. You know I call you, Kitten, my little Kitten."

Hiroko immediately bent forward in a bow of obedience. "As my Lord wishes." Her voice, a little husky, lilted sing song style.

The Captain cleared his throat again, looking down at Hiroko and her cat. "Move Cat," he nudged Little Cat with his foot, "you're in my way." He pushed harder until the cat mewed, got up, and stalked round the other side of Hiroko, tail upright, tip vibrating like a violin string. The Captain sat down heavily on his cushion.

He boasted in the mess that he could manage to sit cross legged for twenty minutes. Well, he could when the cushion was large and soft like this one. Hiroko remained bowed down until he settled and he noticed that the coral centres to her gold hair pins shone blood red. He'd like to pull them out right now, along with those huge tortoiseshell combs, Hiroko had long lustrous hair, and he could think of better things to do with it and her than watch the lotus bloom.

"Come, Kitten, you can sit up. Shall we go inside and..." he stilled his voice when he saw her face. After all it was their last night, though he had yet to tell her that. "Very well, we will watch one blossom open then you and I are going to eat, and you can dance and sing, and entertain me in other ways."

Hiroko sat back on her heels, and directed his eyes to the lotus plants. I made a good job of teaching her English, he thought, it sounds much better now after a year of my tutoring, but her voice still sounded like a child's. He smiled and patted her hand.

"Listen," she said.

The frogs created such a din he couldn't hear another sound. Then, in a lull between croakings, something papery rustled and she touched his hand. Something went plop and she sighed with pleasure.

"See, my Lord, to the right, one of the flowers has opened."

He could just make out a pale shape. Then another rustled and slowly unfurled with that plopping sound. Nothing very impressive, but he gave it five minutes before he rose. "Now, my dear, your Captain went without dinner and needs feeding."

Hiroko bowed and rose. "As my Lord wishes." Little Cat remained, staring into the night.

"That's my Kitten. Now, what have you got for a hungry man to eat?" The Captain marched along the verandah, each stride making the boards boom, and all the frogs fell silent, plunking into the water like stones in their haste to escape.

How fine he was, her Captain, such a Lord as the Emperor knew. He had land, much land, and a house as big as the Emperor's summer palace, in England. Their son would be lord of all that. She almost shook her head, bewildered by her good fortune. She watched him, kneeling the correct distance behind him, as a wife should. Look how clumsy he was trying to feed himself with eating sticks. Hiroko hid her laughter behind her hand, coughed daintily, and came forward on her knees. "My Lord?" She gently removed the sticks from his hand and began to feed him. It was a game he had played with her and she knew how to play it. He smiled and pulled her to him with his huge arm, holding her so close that she could snuggle against his side, to hide her face against his chest if she wished.

"Ah," he said, "that's better."

He preferred to hold her close, dutifully she remained still although his uniform tunic was hot to touch, and the braid scratched.

"Shall I fetch your Japanese silk jacket, my Lord?" He shook his head and clamped her to his side until he finished eating.

When the feeding game was over and he claimed to have eaten enough, he demanded other games. Her Lord had a great appetite for sex.

"Now, Kitten, you little hussy, you may undress me."

She led him to the inner room where the shoji were closed to give them privacy. Futons arranged on the tatami mats formed their bed. She slid her hands up under his tunic, carefully undoing each fastening. He quivered as she did so. Hiroko knew this mood. Her Lord would be rough, eager and impatient the first time. Afterwards they would rest then she must tease and tantalise him in every way she knew for the remainder of the night.

The Captain rolled onto his stomach. Wonderful how these Jap girls like his Kitten knew how to satisfy a man and keep him at it again and again. Perhaps he'd establish a new record tonight, spurred on because it was his last night. He'd like that. "Massage my back, Kitten. Right across the shoulder." He waggled his left shoulder blade to show her exactly where. Roger her seven times tonight, that would be a good memory to keep of his Jap experience. Jap girls must be born sluts, though Kitten told him it was proper for Japanese girls to study the arts of pleasing a man. Taught to be whores as far as he could see. He wouldn't like that to happen to English women, well, certainly not English ladies like his sisters. "Down my spine...further. That's it. Kneel on my shoulders. Excellent, keep working just there."

"As my Lord desires."

He felt her fingers stroke and sooth, her breasts brush his back, he sighed, a long satisfied sigh.

"Is my Lord content?"

He buried his face into the softness of the down covers, allowing his whole body to relax. Yes, he was. "With you, Kitten, I am."

"You are gracious, my Lord."

Ah, now the time had come, Kitten was in the right frame of mind, that perfect mood of obedience and gratitude.

"Empty my trouser pockets, Kitten. Fetch me the contents." The faint draft as she moved away chilled his skin. He rolled over and sat up, pulling the bed covers round him.

"Here, my Lord." She returned, her cupped hands holding a full purse, loose change and a small fat envelope which balanced across the top of her hands.

"Open it." He watched her puzzled face as she unsealed the envelope and removed the vellum deed.

"What is it, my Lord?"

"It's a paper giving you the house." She stared, uncomprehending. "This house, it's yours. That paper says so. The paper is yours."

Her face, usually so carefully devoid of strong emotion, filled with gratitude. "Oh, my Lord." She dropped the money onto the futon and flung herself behind him and began to massage his head and neck.

"Ah, I shall miss this. I'm going home tomorrow." He felt her hands falter.

"Home?" Her voice trembled. "What do you mean, home?"

"I leave for England tomorrow, at noon. Shall you come and wave me off, Kitten?"

Her hands fell away from his head. "For England? I don't understand. How long? When will you return?"

He didn't like the sound of panic in her voice. "Now, Kitten. You knew I wasn't here to live for ever. My eighteen months are over and I'm going home." He reached across and picked up the purse. "The house and this," he chinked the money, "are my farewell gifts to you."

"Then I must come with you."

"You can't."

"But I'm your wife." Hiroko began to tremble. I carry your child." She burst into tears, body shuddering sobs which she smothered in the futon covers at his feet.

The Captain gritted his death. Damn it all, he hoped she'd have been careful. Jap girls protected themselves, so the chaps in the Mess said. He didn't want complications. And, by God, if she fussed any more he'd lose his temper.

"Listen, Kitten, I paid your father good money for you. You'll find another man."

She raised her head, he shuddered at the wet miserable mess her face was. "You paid my father the bride price. I am your wife. I am not your whore." She hid her face in her hands. "I am not your whore."

He'd never seen his Kitten upset. He didn't know she could be angry. "Yes, well..." She was a bloody whore now wasn't she? And there were other officers coming for a year's spell of duty. She'd do well with her English and her pretty face. She was still pox free, and had been his mistress, his name counted for something. He'd leave a message for the new officers.

"But you have always said you wanted a son."

"Of course I do...

"Then I shall come to England when he is born."

Right. That was it. "Now you look here, Kitten. I did everything as you wanted. I even went through that stupid Shinto ceremony. I've given you money, a house and looked after you all the time I've been here." The Captain rose to his feet and towered over her. "That's enough. This is my last night, I am sailing for England in the morning and there's an end to it."

"But our child, he needs a father. How will we live without you?"

"You'll find another man or even," he chinked the purse, "with this, your father can buy you a husband."

Kitten's face showed only bewilderment. "But I am your wife."

"Oh, for God's sake, you stupid girl. In Japan, yes, so you could square your gossiping neighbours. But a Shinto wedding ceremony is not legal in England. You would not be my wife in England unless we had an English wedding ceremony."

Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, like the cat's when it wanted food. Her eyes turned ink-black.

The Captain felt anger. Damn and blast the girl. She was spoiling his last night's fun. He bent down and picked her up, gave her a shake, then set her on her feet."Now, you listen to me, Kitten. You are the daughter of a Jap shop keeper. You are not an English lady. In October I will be marrying an English lady. I am an English gentleman. We don't marry foreigners. My sons won't be half breed mongrels and my wife won't be the Japanese girl who has been my mistress. We don't marry whores."

Hiroko sank down at his feet again.

At least her dreadful sobs had stopped. "I thought you Japanese girls understand these things. I am a man. I couldn't spend eighteen months in Japan without a woman." He wasn't going to tell her he'd come with the intention of finding out about Japanese girls, and those the tricks and practises they knew. "Listen. I didn't want a Jap whore with Jap pox so I looked for a nice clean girl, and I chose you, and made you a home here. We've had a good time haven't we?"

Thank goodness she'd stopped crying.

"What about the child?"

"Look I'm sorry, but can't you get rid of it? I thought you Japs had methods. Don't you use oriental herbs or something?"

Her hands, raised in supplication, fell. She hung her head. "As my Lord wishes."

Sense at last. He knew his Kitten would see it his way if he just stood firm. He'd go and be firm with her mother and father before he left too. Absolutely. He was not supporting any half breed Jap bastard.

"That's my good girl." He patted her shoulders. "Now what shall we do?"

Hiroko rose, turned her back on him and bowed her head. "Would you like to unpin my hair, oh Captain."

The moon, a far silver globe, shone down on the lotus pool. The frogs, alarmed by the splash, silenced themselves yet again. The night waited. Hiroko stood, slight as a new moon, her body gleaming, her hair falling over her shoulders, tumbling down her back in a sheen of black, to reach her bare buttocks. She stepped back from the edge of the verandah and combed out her hair with her tortoiseshell combs. At her feet Little Cat pat patted the ornate gold and coral heads of her two long hair pins. Their needle sharp points did not glisten in the pale lantern light. The long shafts did not reflect the moonlight. Little Cat sniffed the dark stains on them and sneezed.

A faint rustling heralded the opening of another lotus blossom. Hiroko paused, waiting for the plop to tell her which lotus it was. The scent reached her first. It was the emperor of her lotuses, the scented, pure white blossom. She was sorry the Captain could not enjoy his water level viewing. She would weep when they found him, weep and bewail that the Captain had not waited for her, but ventured out when she was fetching him refreshments. She had not been there to help the Captain when he slipped, and fell into the lotus pool. Such a tragedy for herself and their child.