The Last Concubine Read Online Free PDF Page A

crab, pushing a damp cloth, until the pale tatami matting gleamed and the silken edges were spotless. They polished the wooden floors in the corridors and entranceway one last time until there was not a speck of dust anywhere. Then Sachi ran to the edge of the village with the other children to watch for the procession.
    By the time they reported back to Jiroemon, everyone could hear the jangle of the iron rings on top of the guards’ staffs, the crunch of approaching feet, the clatter of hooves and the neverending cry – ‘ Shita ni iyo! Shita ni iyo! On your knees! On your knees!’
    ‘I’m going to hide under the eaves and watch the procession go by,’ hissed Genzaburo. ‘Why don’t you come, Sa? It’ll be fun. Nobody will know!’
    But Sachi had a more pressing duty. Whenever a procession passed through, Jiroemon had to go to the entrance to the village to greet the daimyo. Then he would run back to the inn to welcome him again at the porch where the palanquins drew up. But the princess presented a problem. For a start, she was a woman. Not only that, she was the highest, most important woman in the land. It was unthinkable for any man, let alone a lowly innkeeper like himself, even to cast eyes on a woman of such high station. But it was equally unthinkable not to welcome her to the inn. As the day approached, Jiroemon grew more and more worried. The transport commissioners had not deigned to give him any advice. Finally he made up his mind: he would greet her palanquin in the usual way, but accompanied by his wife and daughter. His family had, after all, once been samurai; they were a cut above the other villagers.
    Sachi put on the new indigo-blue kimono which Otama had been saving for her for New Year’s Day. Granny had spun the yarn and Otama had woven the fabric in a design of lighter and darker checks and stitched a charm bag containing Sachi’s protective amulet into a corner of the sleeve. Sachi tucked her special comb into the same sleeve and wrapped a red crepe obi around her waist. Then she took her place on her knees next to her mother, beside the entrance reserved for important guests.
    Jiroemon’s inn was in the middle of the village but set back from the road, well away from all the noise and rowdy bustle, hidden behind a high wall. There was a second wall inside the entrance to shield his high-ranking guests from the vulgar gaze of villagers and travellers. Sachi could hear feet tramping along the road outside, making the ground shudder, and could see the tops of lances, banners and great red parasols bobbing along in statelyprocession above the wall. Apart from the thunder of feet and hooves and the insistent shout of ‘ Shita ni iyo! Shita ni iyo! Shita ni . . . Shita ni . . . ’, there was utter silence. No one said a word.
    Suddenly some men appeared around the inner wall. Sachi twisted around a little and lifted her head just enough to peep at what was going on. There was a line of bare-buttocked porters, their faces shiny with sweat, lugging buckets of water, baskets of food, shiny lacquered trunks and an ornate gold and black chest, big enough to hold a bathtub, around to the back entrance. Burly men in multi-layered short kimonos and leggings, with conical straw hats and wear the two swords of samurai, took up positions around the porch, along with bearers carrying shiny black benches.
    Then a palanquin drew up at the entrance porch. A woman stepped out, slipping one tiny foot, then the other, into a pair of clogs that had been set on the bench. More and more palanquins began to pull up. Women emerged from each, greeting each other in high-pitched coos. To Sachi their voices sounded no different from the trilling and warbling of birds and they were every bit as impossible to understand. The porch was awash with fabrics as fine and soft as flower petals and as colourful as a meadow in spring. Scents filled the air, so sweet and powerful that she felt herself growing dizzy. She grew