Chapter 11

At the building in the Ocean of Trees that the locals sometimes called a "church," which was something like a temple, but different in ways she didn't quite understand, Anko cleaned the Jizo. With her kimono sleeves tucked in and her skirt tucked up so she wouldn't get wet or soiled, Anko set to work on the last of the stone statues. It was one of the new ones, the man one. The chore had been imposed by her mother, as a form of service to their new community.

Anko found she enjoyed being alone in the clearing. She didn't believe in the ghosts, and ghosts find it much harder to act without belief, so she wasn't concerned with them. Cleaning was satisfying because she could see the actual results of her work. She brushed leaves off the statue and its base with her hands, and listened to birdsong from the trees. The woman Jizo, also new, was supposed to be this one's wife, and according to local tales, they were popular heroes, people who had actually lived in the village quite recently, the adoptive parents of two bird-children. These bird-children were supposedly real, not merely the stuff of tales. Anko had met people who claimed to have known them.

According to the stories, Hasegawa Genmai, the previous Sheriff, killed the man and stole the couple's bird-daughter, then killed the woman when she'd successfully rescued her. Neither of the bird-children had been seen since. Village gossip said the two new Jizo mysteriously appeared shortly thereafter. The man Jizo toppled, the legend continued, crushing Genmai. The woman Jizo supposedly boiled one of the Western leaders in the outdoor bath, until he agreed to withdraw to Dejima, or at least to Nagasaki, where the foreigners belonged if they belonged anywhere at all in Japan.

The whole story sounded like folktales and superstition to Anko, no matter how many people claimed to believe it and no matter how many strange things were happening in the world these days. Tales grow in the telling, she knew very well, despite her youth, so she took all of this with more than a grain of salt. She wiped down the Jizo's head. He certainly had an original face. Most Jizo looked similar. This one and the woman looked like real people. Maybe it was the stonecutter's skill in making these Jizo unique that formed the basis of the stories.

Genmai was certainly dead, though. Anko's father, Yamada Eitaro, was the new Sheriff. They'd moved to the village when they learned of the appointment, which would be officially proclaimed any day now. Eitaro's appointment wasn't considered controversial, but there was surprising opposition, chiefly in the form of Genmai's brother, Hasegawa Gengoro, Sheriff of a nearby district. That worried Anko, and she could tell it worried her parents, too. She dipped her brush in her bucket and scrubbed the statue's sides, green moss dissolving into the soapy water.

Gengoro, according to the reports her parents collected, wanted revenge for Genmai's death. Eitaro had popular support, for he was a good leader and administrator and therefore well-regarded, and that would help, but no matter what the Daimyo the feudal overlord said, Gengoro might still fight for control of the area. She scrubbed the last of the moss from the Jizo's shoulders.

Anko wasn't supposed to know any of this, but she'd long ago learned to listen. It was impossible to keep secrets in a village or a large household from anyone who truly wanted to find them out. Anko liked to know things, so she listened. She didn't eavesdrop, but she didn't call attention to herself either. One way or another, she found, she heard just about everything. Then it only remained to sort out the facts from the fictions, a skill her mother possessed in abundance, and one that Anko envied and tried to learn. She picked up her brushes, cloths and bucket. It was time to take care of Mary.

She was some Christian deity, as Anko understood things, maybe like Kannon, the Buddhist symbol of compassion, in that she was portrayed in female form, but different in ways no one even tried to explain. She'd heard of Christians. They had caused so much trouble in Nagasaki that they'd been expelled and the entire country closed to foreigners for a very long time, though some foreigners traded with Satsuma, a domain in the south. The Dutch, whoever they were, were allowed to stay in an enclave at Dejima in Nagasaki harbor. Now, all sorts of foreigners were about, going everywhere they pleased. The shogunate was crumbling and there was constant warfare as everyone tried to seize any and every advantage. There were even rumors that the Emperor himself might take over governmental power.

Benjamin peeked around the trunk of a huge cedar tree. The girl was called Anko. He didn't speak Japanese, but he was eager to learn if it meant he could talk to her. He'd felt an immediate attraction to Anko when he'd met her at her parents' Western house, where his survey party was lodged and entertained as it fulfilled its shore-side assignment. Now that everyone else had retreated, only Benjamin's group remained in the mountains.

She was a lovely girl, Benjamin thought as he watched her scrub, delicate and slender, yet strong and capable. Her clothes showed off her body in ways Western clothes did not, and she revealed more of her arms and legs than any respectable Western girl would, pushing things up and tying things back so she could clean without getting soaked. She was the new Sheriff's daughter, not to be trifled with, Benjamin knew, even if she was immodest by his standards. Probably everybody was here. This was a very different place.

Benjamin was an officer, albeit a young one of low rank. His education at the new Naval Academy and his service on the brand-new steam ships led the Captain to put him in charge of the survey. He was a hard worker and ambitious, with hopes of captaining his own ship in the not-too-distant future. He didn't think he was the sort of short-sighted fellow to be captured by a pretty face, though there was no denying that Anko was pretty. He liked her. They laughed as they showed each other new and exciting things, each trying to learn the other's toys, tools and foods. If they could only speak in words! Benjamin looked at the flowers dotting the clearing. He'd pick her a bouquet. All girls liked flowers that was universal.

Anko wrung out a cloth to wipe down the statue of Mary. Mary's clothes were foreign, with their draping lines, the loose veil, and the cord belt. She wore sandals that looked almost familiar. She was Western, but the other women from the West Anko had seen didn't dress like this. They wore complicated gowns with tight sleeves and huge skirts. Even when they rode horses, they wore these, sitting sideways, draping their skirts prettily and crooking one knee over a special rest on top of the saddle. Anko thought that was just showing off. It looked much harder than riding astride as one could in trousers.

Western-style fitted trousers captivated her with their convenience. She didn't understand why the Western women didn't wear them all the time, like the men did. And boots! Oh, boots. She loved Westernboots. She'd even talked her mother into letting her get a pair. They kept one's feet warm and dry much better than leg wrappings and geta! If only the Western people would remove them before coming in the house, she thought. Sometimes they were downright uncivilized. She rinsed her cloth, wrung it out again and finished her cleaning.

Anko put her brush down for the last time, and cocked her head. That sound didn't come from a bird. Someone was whistling, someone walking in the woods. Anko listened as she packed up her supplies to hear where the whistler was going. The notes were unfamiliar, the tune sounded Western. She turned to find that young sailor, the handsome one with the quirky smile, walking toward her bearing a nosegay of wildflowers.

"Konichiwa," he said. Anko could barely understand him, his accent was so bad. Politely, she covered her mouth as she giggled and ducked her head.

"Good afternoon," she replied in her halting, beginner's English.

"For you," he said, extending the flowers.

Anko longed to take them, but she knew her mother would scold her if she did. This wasn't the way proper young people behaved! She shook her head and drew away, but smiled to show she wasn't offended.

"Please," Benjamin said. He decided not to pursue her; he didn't want to frighten her. "I'm Benjamin," he said, pointing to his chest.

"Benjamin-san," Anko repeated, adding the polite title one never used for one's self. She knew quite well who he was and what he was called. Perhaps he'd forgotten her. That was sad. She'd enjoyed laughing with him when he tried the salty umeboshi plum and nearly spit it out, and the way she'd winced at the heavy scent of brandy when she breathed it in from the glass like he did. She touched her nose. "Anko desu."

"Anko," Benjamin said, with a tilt of his head and that appealing smile. He didn't mean to be rude, she thought. He doesn't know he's supposed to say, "san."

Benjamin extended the flowers again. "For Anko."

Anko shook her head. He didn't understand anything! Her mother would banish him forever if she showed up carrying flowers from what Mother would call a clandestine rendezvous in the woods! He ought to know that!

She grabbed her bucket and called "Goodbye" as she ran down the trail.

Benjamin watched her go, bemused. Why did she run? There was nothing improper about speaking to a girl chance-met, or offering her flowers as far as he knew. He laid the flowers at Mary's feet. Mary understood love. Mary didn't understand Japanese, though, Benjamin was fairly sure, and neither did Benjamin at least, not enough and not yet. Whistling again, Benjamin headed back to his lodgings and the translator who was his tutor.

Neither he nor Anko saw another pair of eyes watching from the woods.