A Woman of Edo

Historical Background

This story is set in the Edo period in Japan, in the year 1680 in the western calendar.

At that time, the Tokugawa shogunate ruled from Edo castle in what is now Tokyo, supported by its army of Samurai.

Society was then highly stratified into four classes: warriors, farmers, artisans, and merchants. The merchants, although strictly speaking the lowest class, effectively rose in status throughout the century, due to their increasing wealth, although class intermarriage and mobility remained out of the question.

Below these classes were a mass of "outcasts", including those whose livelihood included the slaughter of animals. Migrant actors, conjurors and casual labourers fell into the lowest stratum of this class, the hinin.

In 1638, the Edo Bafuku had quashed a bloody uprising of peasants, known as the Shimabara Rebellion. The rulers had blamed Christianity, which had many converts among the peasants. And so they decided to seal off Japan's commercial barriers to all but a few Westerners, notably the Dutch.

After the Shimabara Rebellion the surviving rebels retreated to the countryside, where they were hunted for many years by the police.

To help prevent further insurgence, the Shogun restricted travel in the land, to everyone.

But he granted an exception to the monks of the Fuke Buddhist sect. These monks, known as the "empty-headed" monks or komuso had petitioned him, telling him that their livelihood as itinerant beggars and musicians depended on their ability to roam the country.

The Fuke monks were a strange lot; while they gave their lives to contemplation and calm reflection, their teaching methods were unorthodox and often violent; many believed that shock and sudden pain could bring enlightenment.

The monks practiced a form of breathing meditation called Suizen. They applied this to their songs, which they developed to a supreme level of intricacy and complexity.

These "breathing songs" which they called honkyoku, were not sung: They were played on a bamboo flute; the Shakuhachi.

The game of Go is played today by millions of people. Its rules are simple enough for a child to learn, yet it is greater in complexity than chess. It is a game of territory, played on a nineteen-by-nineteen grid painted onto a small table of wood, the Go Ban. Players alternate playing black and white stones on this board. From traditional warfare to modern business, Go analogies and strategies permeate Japanese society.

The woman bowed low over the Go Ban. She had lost the game, by a single stone. The man ran a hand over his hair with relief; she had been a tough opponent. He bowed also, though it was not required of him; she was a woman.

"What now is my reward?" He asked her. Perhaps, he thought, she would allow him to fondle her breasts. But he doubted it; She was the famous "Chilli-Fire"; no mere courtesan like the rest Mrs Tadasuke's girls; he could hear them downstairs, singing and beating their drums.

"Your reward? This is your reward: I will tell you my story."

You know me as Chilli Fire, but my parents named me Akiko.

I am the daughter and only child of Riu Hideoshi, a merchant and businessman of Edo. My mother died while I was a child, and I was raised by the women of my father's house.

My father loved me with all his heart. He never showed any sign of regret for lacking a male heir. But part of him must have felt this lack, for he taught me boyish sport and even swordsmanship, even while my governess would read to me from the Onna Daigaku of the duties of a woman.

I will tell you first how I got my name, which fits me very well.

Four years ago, when I was fifteen years old, my father entered into partnership with the Dutch cotton exporter, Jordaens.

My father and Jordaens' business soon prospered, and my father became one of the richest men in Edo.

Many times Jordaens visited my father's house as a guest, where I would serve him sake and beer, and smile sweetly while he watched me with his eyes, grey and dead as a lizard's.

I detested both the sight and smell of Jordaens. His face and arms were covered with coarse yellow hair, like a monkey's. And he stank of rancid butter. He was a towering clumsy brute, crude in speech and gesture.

One evening he whispered a lewd comment to me as I was fetching in the meal. I feigned embarrassment, to hide my anger, and returned quickly to the kitchen. There I emptied two whole pots of our hottest chilli oil into his soup.

He took a mouthful, but was too afraid of offending my father's house to spit it out. He swallowed it, and began to choke and cough. A terrible wind rose up in his bowels; and soon he fairly rose into the air from his cushion at the force of its exhalation.

Jordaens ran from my Father's house in an agony of pain and humiliation.

My father caught me laughing at this, and, knowing my nature, became suspicious. The cook found the two empty pots and told my father what I had done. My father forced me to finish the broth myself. The entire household watched as I ate it all, and waited for my screams. But I never allowed them their revenge; I showed not the slightest sign of discomfort. I even refused to drink from the tumbler of water my father offered me, having been filled with remorse for his cruelty.

I became sick thereafter, and would have died, were it not for the strong purgatives the doctor had given me.

And although four years have now passed, I am still called Chilli-Fire, and I still feel a burning within my belly.

I will tell you now of my abductor, who called himself "Eternity", and how he defeated me in a game of Go.

Now it happened that my father was called by the Shogun to the palace at Edo. This summons was a great honour, and showed that my father, despite being of merchant class, had achieved the highest status in society.

I ran to my father then, and begged him not to go.

For I had often dreamed a dream wherein I had seen the head of my father upon a stake, slain by the Shogun's police. So vivid was this dream I took it as a portent.

My father laughed at my concern, and stroked my hair, and told me they would return within the year.

And so my father left his household behind, taking with a portion of his servants as bodyguards.

Two days I wept, for I loved my father, and feared for him.

On the third morning, my maidservants, who wished to console me, bade me accompany them to the river, where they would do the laundry and laugh and gossip. But I wished to remain alone with my thoughts.

It was a beautiful spring morning, and so I took my father's kaya-wood Go table from the house, and sat by the carp pond, idly playing with the white shell and black slate stones, placing them in ornate patterns on the wooden Go table.

I chanced to look up, and there stood an old beggar. I hadn't heard him approach; he startled me.

His head was encased in a straw cage like a beehive. He carried a big walking stick of bamboo. He was bent, with age I thought, or perhaps from the weight of the huge pack he carried on his back. Although I had never seen one before, I recognised him from the descriptions I'd read in books; he was a Komuso, a travelling beggar monk.

"Hello, young miss," he croaked, "is your master home?"

Still shocked by the suddenness of his appearance, I answered him angrily.

"Do you take me for a maid? Get away from here, before I fetch the dogs. My father is not home. I have no money for you."

"If you've no money for me," he said, "then we are equals, for I've no money for you either!"

He seated himself on the ground at the Go table. He dumped his backpack on the grass with a grunt of relief. He seemed in no hurry to depart. He gathered up some of the Go stones and rattled them rhythmically in his hands. I noticed that his fingers, though caked with dirt, were smooth and straight.

I could make out a pair of twinkling eyes behind the mesh of his hat. I thought then that he might be mad.

"You are on my property."

"Your rump squashes a thousand blades of grass. And yet you didn't ask their permission before you sat down."

I stood, agitated. I was now convinced he was a madman.

"Komuso, I will go and fetch some rice for you, if you promise to begone once I have given them to you."

I started to run towards the house in order to fetch some servants to eject him.

"Not so fast, little Fire-Belly!"

I stopped in my tracks. The name by which he called me was so like the pet name spoken only in my house, that I returned to him, curious.

"Young mistress, I would rather play you at Go. For coins and rice are to be had for a tune on my flute, but a game of Go with a young lady is a rare treat for an old empty-pate."

"Why did you call me- that name?"

"Your name is as plain to me as your face."

So burning with curiosity was I that I did not notice his insult.

"Who are you?"

"I? I am nobody. But you may call me Master Ko. Your father hired me. I am to be your tutor. I will begin by teaching you mastery of Go."

He kneeled and bowed across the table.

I laughed with a mixture of surprise and relief.

I kneeled opposite him at the Go table and bowed also.

Now I had already learned the game of Go from my father, who was a master, having been graded at the 6th dan by Master Kobusi himself. My father played Go in the same manner in which he conducted his business dealings; at once delicate and ruthless.

Some part of my mind was attuned to the living patterns of the stones, and it was not long before I became my father's equal in this most masculine of games. In Joseki, or skirmish tactics, I was daring and shrewd, and my father had learned to fear me when my stones encroached on his territory, no matter how secure he had walled it.

I drew a black stone from the cup. I was to start. I liked to play first. First on the board, first to attack.

"Master Ko," I asked, in the sweetest voice I could muster, "what sum has my father agreed with you as your salary?"

"Four sacks of rice flour every month."

I placed the first stone at the four-four point. I wished him to take the bait and attempt to win the corner.

"Well," I said. "I will ensure he doubles it to eight if you beat me."

I waited for him to ask what his forfeit was to be should he lose. But he was already deep in thought.

He played like a coward. Perhaps, I thought, he had heard from my father of my prowess in the skirmish-play. I soon had secured three corners, and had him struggling for his life in the fourth corner. Eventually he passed his turn, signalling that he wished to end the game.

But I refused to agree to end it by passing also; instead I played on. Although I had already won the game by a wide margin, the recollection of his sudden startling appearance earlier had prompted me to punish him. I fought to gain the final corner as though it was I that was playing for my survival instead of him.

After a few minutes he attempted to cut my wall, but he had overlooked a weakness in his own crumbling defences. No sooner had he placed the stone on the table, than he looked up and said,

"The game is over. No more stones can be played." He bowed low.

I bowed also, but he added, "You need not pay me the extra bags. I do not require much in the way of food."

I began to laugh. I looked down at the table, and was amazed to see that far from being a clear victory for me, the territories were nearly equal. I had captured all the edges, but had left him owning most of the centre of the board. I had been blind! In my years of playing it had never happened to me. Yet it was not obvious who had won; the balance of territory was very close.

I was shaken. "We must count stones. It is too close to call."

"If you wish. But I win by one stone."

I counted our territories. He was right, he had won by a single stone. I opened my mouth to speak, unsure whether to regale him or congratulate him, when he raised his cane high above his head. I felt a sudden blow, and then I knew no more.

I will tell you now how I was raped, and met my captor.

I awoke in darkness. From the smell of donkey, and the jolting motion, I realized immediately that I was in a covered cart. My hands and feet were bound, and I had been gagged.

My forehead didn't hurt where it had been struck, though I felt a bump there. I was unafraid. On the contrary I felt a strange sense of excitement. For I felt that, captive though I was, I was embarked at last on an adventure some part of my soul had always known would befall me, and which I had been eagerly awaiting.

I saw the ground passing below through a knot-hole in the wooden floor of the cart. Then I became aware that there was something in the cart that glittered in the dim light. It was a Go stone.

I lay there. After many hours I could no longer see the ground through the hole; it had grown dark outside. I fell asleep to the sound of the donkey's hooves and the gentle rocking of the cart.

I was awoken by the silence and lack of motion as the cart stopped. I peered down at the knot-hole. Daylight shone through.

I heard a man dismount.

With an effort, I swept my legs across the floor, and managed to brush the Go stone out through the bottom of the cart onto the ground below. It was a desperate hope that perhaps someone would find it and thereby be alerted to my presence.

The roof of the cart was drawn back, and I was momentarily blinded by the grey daylight.

Before I knew it, a man jumped up onto the cart and hoisted me over his shoulder as though I were a bundle of straw. It was Ko. I marvelled at the strength of the old man.

In silence, he climbed a short slope up from the road, where there were a few caves. I recalled then that the komuso were said to live in caves.

I was dumped on a bed of rags in a dark corner of the cave. Ko turned to me and said, "I will return shortly and give you water. In the meantime, do not make any noise. There are bears in these parts!"

I did not believe him, but it any case I was unable to make more than the smallest sound through the gag.

He went out of the cave, and I was left to try and fathom the reason for my capture. I assumed that I had been kidnapped for ransom, as my father's wealth was well-known.

As I lay waiting for Ko to return, and thinking more and more of the water he would bring, I heard the thud of heavy footsteps outside the cave. They were not the footsteps of a man.

My heart froze as I saw, silhouetted against the entrance of the cave, a massive creature. A bear, larger than any man! I cowered against a wall, hoping he would not scent my fear and find me.

But it was no bear. For it lit a torch and I saw then that it was indeed a man, though barely so: It was my father's partner, Jordaens.

He held the torch and looked around. And then he spied me.

"Who's there?" He said. He drew his sword and approached. "Come out, before I run you through!"

But then he saw that I was bound up, though he still recognized me not.

He bent and undid my gag. And then he saw it was I.

"By heavens!" He exclaimed. "What have we here? It's young Akiko! This is a most curious thing."

With his sword he cut through my bonds. He bade me stand, but my limbs were numb and I could not.

"Tell me," he said, to himself it seemed. "How is it that the daughter of Riu Hideoshi winds up in here, with a bruise on her forehead?"

I told him then of my capture, what little I knew of it.

He paced about, his eyes afire. I heard him curse the name of Ko. I wondered at this. What connection had my abductor with this man?

After a while, he turned to me. He smiled; but his grey eyes gleamed in the torchlight.

"You must be shaken and feared after your plight. And thirsty."

I told him then I was nearly parched of thirst.

"Here, I have a pouch of water." He undid a leather water-pouch from his side and handed it to me. I went to take it, but he did not let go, but instead grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me to him. He thrust the spout of the water-pouch into my mouth and poured the liquid into me. It was not water, but a strong rice wine that burned my throat all the more.

"You like the feel of fire in your throat, don't you, little Fire-belly?"

He thrust the pouch aside. He lifted me by the waist and carried me towards a wall of the cave. He held me against the wall with one great hand, encircling my neck, while with the other, he tore off my garments, shredding them as though they were paper. When I was all naked, he stopped. He observed my body. So intense and hungry was his face that I felt violated by his stare.

He grabbed my hips and lifted me. I felt his huge fingers digging deep into my lower back. He pressed his putrid face onto my white breasts. He inhaled my scent, and his passions rose. He raised me high above him so that my hips were level with his head. He thrust his wide nose into my groin, and snuffled there like a pig.

He stood me back onto the ground. He removed his clothes and stood naked before me. He was so repulsive to behold that I screwed up my eyes. He cared not.

"Kneel."

I obeyed, for there was no way I could escape him.

"Open your eyes. See the sword that will claim your life."

His manhood grew, until it was a monstrous beast. It stank like rotting meat. The shaft was rippled and veined like a warrior's arm.

He pushed my head down onto it, until I nearly choked from the stench. He forced my mouth open with his thumb and forefinger, and pushed it inside my mouth.

"Move your quick tongue, fire-cunt. You'll get your drink soon."

He dropped his hands, closed his eyes and swayed slightly back and forth, rocking my head with him.

The swaying increased in speed, and then stopped. I felt his hot juice striking against the back of my throat, and jerked my head back and attempted to break free. Angered, he grabbed a handful of my hair and shoved my head back down onto him so that I choked.

When he had finished, I stayed on my knees. He ran his fingers over my mouth roughly and wiped his juice over my hair.

I thought then that my ordeal was over, but I was wrong.

He pulled me up by the shoulders, slowly, almost languidly. The wild flame in his eyes had changed to deep glowing coals, less bright, but hotter.

With one enormous hand he gripped my ass. He squeezed it, harder and harder. I howled with the pain, and felt his fingers would tear through me. I screamed as he pushed his writhing fat finger deep into the hole between my buttocks. His strength was inhuman; he lifted me thus impaled into the air.

"Now, let's see if we can put out that fire."

He lowered me down onto his manhood, which had grown once more, but now shone and glistened with my saliva.

I screamed as he entered me. He was too big, too big. I would die. I had never felt a man inside me, but knew that he was no ordinary man, and would kill me. I began to lose consciousness. I felt myself turn to a paper shell, as thin and insubstantial as the skin on a snake that he would soon slough off.

He remained inside me, rocking me back and forth, from behind his finger thrusting deep inside my bowels, from the front his manhood hammering against my womb. And soon I began to rock with him. And I began to burn. I felt I was nearing my end. He had set the fire within me astir, and the flames would destroy us both. I wept at the how short my little life had been. I heard him laugh, but already the sounds of the world were growing distant. I gave myself to the fire, and prepared to die.

Faintly, I heard him speak.

"What do you want, old man. Get you gone, before I hack you down."

I heard a strange, low whistle, and a loud crack. The rocking stopped. Dimly, I looked up at his face. He stared at me in surprise. Two streams of dark red blood issued from his nostrils. He fell back, I on top of him.