Time passed. I retreated so far into sleep, death might have taken me without a cry. But in a lucid moment, I plucked an over-ripe persimmon, clinging to the tree. I tasted it and savored the subtle sweetness, and felt its wholesome strength. But it was finished too quickly, and it had been the only fruit not yet fallen and spoiled.

Once having eaten this, I remembered the food still preserved within Ansei’s shed. His stores had sustained me through difficulty before. They might do the same for me now.

I ate these and they seemed to do me immediate good, increasing my strength and lucidity. I needed warmer clothing, and went through my old trunk for something proper to wear. I washed at the well as best I could. As I washed, I caught my reflection in a shard of mirror and shuddered at the image of a ghost woman I scarcely recognized.

In my trunk, I found a rough-spun woolen robe and put it on, discarding the silken fibers I had once thought so important. I ate once more, and was about to lie down again to rest when the shuffle of geta on the veranda startled my attention. It was not the stealthy sound of trespassers. This sounded different—neither careful nor suspicious. I recognized the voice that followed.

The visitor was Madame Sato, much thinner than I had ever seen her, but still very much alive and apparently well. She gasped when she saw me.

“Then there is life within. I heard the old man say there was. But you are weak. Are you yet ill?”

I had not spoken aloud for so long, my vocal-chords wouldn’t respond on first command. I finally rasped a brief answer and she nodded, turned and left me.

Madame Sato’s appearance was perhaps the least likely of any I might have expected. She was a frequent purchaser of Madame Ozawa’s silks, but the Sato name was noble in our region. She had a large family, and her arrival within the plague-ravaged village, and by herself, seemed as strange as her abrupt disappearance.

I did not expect to see her again, but she returned later in the evening with a fish broth to feed to me. This was a luxury I had not tasted in many, many months, and my whole body trembled with energy in response to the sustenance.

When I finished it, she spoke.

“You are weak, but with proper care, you will soon be well, which is quite a feat of strength. Many heartier people than you have succumbed to this plague.”

“I have no news of Madame Ozawa.” I assumed this was her reason for calling.

Madame Sato nodded. “Nor has anyone else, and I do not expect her back. Over half the town has perished.”

I blinked in surprise. “So many?”

“Yes, and we cannot be certain it is past us altogether. So many young children are gone and there is much destruction and loss of property. It will be many years before we can rebuild, and many survivors are going elsewhere to begin anew—the young and strong.”

“Will you go?”

“I am not young,” she whispered. “And I am all that is left of my entire household.”

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Madame Sato had had a husband, three grown sons, a young daughter, besides a household of servants. If she had lost so much, then her own survival was as miraculous as her future was grim.

I was too weak to offer her solace, and so I nodded, and returned my head to my futon.

“I will nurse you back to strength,” Madame Sato said. “And then you will come to serve me in my house. You are yet a servant, and cannot expect to change that, but you will find me a kinder mistress than Madame Ozawa. I will provide you with a loom and in time, we will prosper together.”

I raised my head to object, for until today, I had not considered seriously my own survival.

Madame Sato silenced me gently. “You will live, like it or not. It is the duty of a survivor ofcalamity to take her gift and live it out fully. Will you think about my offer?”

I blinked my ascent, and she rose stiffly from her seiza kneel and shuffled out of the house.

Madame Sato returned the following morning with food and clean clothing. She helped me to wash. She was still quite weak herself, but her survival alone proved her resources of health. Each day brought me closer and closer to recovery. I slept well without any hint of the trances that had frequently overwhelmed me.

Slowly, my health returned, but my confidence was shaken. By now I no longer feared the discovery of the soldiers I had buried inside the garden. Too many lives had been lost and too much time had passed, but dark thoughts and visions of the strange woman of Ansei’s sketching, troubled my mind constantly. What I wanted most was a quiet place of refuge.

One morning, after a brief walk through the garden, Madame Sato led me back to Madame Ozawa’s parlor. I had not visited this room since my last beating. Shame and physical punishment were my most frequent association with the room, and I had to resist the impulse to recoil.

It was not a good place for Madame Sato to reveal her plans, but she didn’t know this, and her excitement flowed.

“Look at this. And this,” she said pulling silks of my former weaving from Madame’s private closet. “You made them?”

I blinked and lowered my eyes.

“Truly splendid! The name you will make for us!”

A flush of heat overcame me and I fought back to retain my composure.

“I am not like Madame Ozawa to torment and to hide a genius. You must be known! You shall be celebrated for your skill. You, my dear, shall dress the Empress herself!”

“No!”

I screamed aloud with such force Madame Sato froze.

“I cannot be known. I will not—enter into your service that way. There was a time I would have welcomed recognition for my work, but that time is well past. Please! I want only a safe place to create in solitude.”

“If you wish it,” Madame Sato said.

“Away from the village. I must have my own place where I can work in private. And you must never ask me to cultivate fame or following. You must promise!”

Madame Sato shifted and cleared her throat. “I do not like your terms, but if you insist upon them, then I will make the arrangements. I promise I will not force you or your name into the light. But your silk, I must promote, or I cannot bring you in.”

I agreed to this, and so the plan evolved. She would lease a farmhouse north of the village, and there, construct a large gate around the house. I would live there by myself, and she would come only periodically to retrieve my silk.

Madame Sato would manage all the expenses and provide me with all the raw silk I wanted. She also agreed to give me a tenth of all the raw silk she provided. This concession sent a thrill through my chest that surprised me. I did not know how well my creative self had survived my ordeal. But there it was, still eager to create—and still better, to possess a portion of my own work.

Madame would keep my name and whereabouts secret from her merchants. I would never need to leave the walls of the house. I need not fear. I would be safe—and others safe from me, and I could live and create freely. It was more than I had dreamed was possible.

We would execute the plan within the month. Madame Sato was determined, and she would not delay.

I had, at last, found a quiet refuge away from Madame Ozawa’s mill and the dreams I had known there. Relief flowed like a spring. I hoped to forget everything, including the brief moments of bliss with Ansei by my loom.

I still dreamt of him, and was haunted by the probability of his death. I would never see him again, and yet I still longed to hear how or whether he had survived.