I produced more silk than at any previous time of my life, and Madame began to spend long stretches of time away from the house. I didn’t know where she went or why she became such an infrequent guest. She didn’t speak to me of the reason. She made no demand for the volume of silk I had begun to produce, but the supply of materials continued, and in her absence, I had little else to do but weave.
I had not the same pleasure I had once enjoyed in my work. The best of my creation seemed to take something from my heart, and I often ached over it. I no longer thought of this pain as something to avoid, however. For the first time, I began to understand what Madame had meant when she described to me agony worth savoring.
While I grieved, a longing to hear news of Ansei grew into a constant melancholy. In some ways, I was more withdrawn and vulnerable than I had ever been. I had never let myself truly feel the pain of losing him. In Madame Ozawa’s mill, I habitually buried pain, along with other strong emotions, of a necessity. I was, after all, not quite human to Madame Ozawa. She had demanded my production as if I were one of her looms, and would not support me in grief or joy, but all that changed.
Madame Sato indulged my grief as well as other emotions. Until, at last, she didn’t.
“You’ve been crying, Furi.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“I think you have not stopped since I was last here.”
“I guess not.”
She paused, then pivoted.
“Would you like to come with me on a journey?”
“No, Madame.”
“I didn’t tell you where. Doesn’t it matter?”
“No. I don’t think I would like to take any journey anywhere, ever.”
“Hm,” Madame said, and seemed to change the subject. “You know, Furi. I think you have forgotten your mother.”
“How can I forget who I never knew?”
“You have one mother who can never be taken from you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Madame pointed to the full moon rising above the horizon.
I started, remembering the warmth of feeling I had experienced under the moon while staying with Yoshi and Eiko.
“The moon is a mother to all womankind. She is our model of dignity and compassion.”
“What can the moon do for a woman’s heart?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No, Madame.”
“To know your mother is to know your own worth.”
“I don’t—”
“Let’s put it this way: can you imagine a presence with greater dignity?”
I sighed. “Perhaps not.”
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“There is no finer lineage.”
“But if all womankind belong to the moon. Surely not all women are equal?”
“Only because so many have forgotten who they are.”
I bent my head aside. “Hm.”
Madame nodded slightly.
“To where are you journeying?”
“It’s only a little distance from the town. But I have been invited to a samurai daughter’s salon. She has summoned several fashionable people who trade in silk.”
“What samurai’s house?”
“He is called Nobu.”
The breath froze in my chest. It was some moments before I had composed myself enough to ask, “When shall we depart?”
* * *
I had not believed I would see Ansei again in life and couldn’t sit still with the thought of visiting the great house where he served. The thought alone terrified me. And yet, I would go. I dismissed the fear of harm I might do there, telling myself I had mastered my madness with discipline and ritual, and had more confidence in what good I might do.
In several days’ time, we might stand in the same room. I would confront him face to face. I didn’t know how I would breathe, much less remember the reigi to which Madame so constantly demanded my attention. But given the opportunity to only see him once more, I would be happier than I thought I might ever be again. I must be guarded, however. It wouldn’t do to let Madame know about Ansei, nor could I afford to lose the discipline I had only lately acquired.
Perhaps Ansei had changed toward me after my having run away from him in the Ozawa garden. I had turned away then, and since then, had changed so much, myself. It seemed improbable that he hadn’t also altered. But that didn’t matter. I needed only to see him, and, surely, as Madame’s personal servant, I would have occasion to mingle with other servants within the house.
* * *
“But Madame!” I objected to the silk kimono Madame held up for me. “It’s not lawful for me to wear silk.”
“You must wear a silk to be my companion.”
“I have no rank in noble society. I cannot be your companion.”
“No one knows you are not Junko Yamada, my personal companion who perished in the plague with everyone else.”
“But someone will discover the truth.”
“Why would they?”
“Because I know nothing about her. And have only the barest understanding of the rites.”
“You do very well. And I will tell you all you need to know about Yamada. You must be a noble to attend the salon. I do not need a servant. I need my friend, which you are.”
“But you want me to lie.”
“It is the only way you should ever be admitted as an equal in this society.”
“I have no wish to be admitted in this society.”
“Furi, do not be difficult. I can only bring you as a companion. You are not really my servant. You don’t even look like a servant. No one would believe it. Now come. You will look very well in this green brocade.”
But I was difficult. And I had resolved against going.
Madame breathed a sigh. “What is the difficulty? You do not wish to be my companion?”
“I do not wish to impersonate nobility.”
“Well, if it helps, you already are.”
“What?”
“I had to register this lease in someone’s name, and I did it in the name of my friend, Yamada Junko. I had to have a name you have no family name. Besides, Junko has no further use for hers.”
“Why did you not use your own name?”
“Quite frankly, you need a name. Yamada’s is a perfectly good name and rank. I thought you might have use for it someday.”
“But it isn’t true.”
“Please don’t badger me about what is true. You do not know who you are. You have been living a lie since birth. Anyway, rank is merely a label and some matters are more important than labels. You are a whole life, and as worthy of this name as anyone.”
“You are telling me people already believe I am this Yamada?”
Madame shrugged. “Furi, you had no family name. What was I supposed to do? You are a whole person and you require a whole name.”
“I could be recognized as your servant.”
“But that will not really do. You are not rightfully my servant. You were technically Madame Ozawa’s, and we do not know where she is.”
Thus, I became Yamada Junko, Madame’s companion and the fraudulent dead daughter of a deceased samurai.
* * *
I fretted about the rites, about assuming a strange name, about the risk of discovery.
Madame lifted her face in placid self-assurance. “You are very observant. And I do not think you will call attention to yourself. I will speak for you as much as is needful. You need only take tea as we frequently do, and make proper obeisance to Master Nobu, if he even appears at all. I do not know that he will. I will be always beside you and you need not worry about anything more.”
But, of course, I did worry about something more. It was the center of all I thought of. I was so distracted with memories of Ansei, that I gave no thought to probing Madame’s motives for bringing me out of seclusion.