Into the Haze

ch 3.

Settled across the tatami mats were the knees of those who were stubborn enough not to bend them. Faces of age were a stricken few, fossils of the past no less as the youth sprung from the vein of a peaceful era.

Takeyoshi's fingertips danced among the assortment of fans and paper, pursing his lips. People of the lower class were children when it came to luxury. Their lives were modest so their tolerance to entertainment was humbler, entertainers were the bridge between mediocrity and fantasy. They were also the proprietors of the shogunate, bought and paid their praises to keep the prospect of happiness alive.

The higher caste were of the dismal and weary. Cast an insult, no matter how small, and your life was forfeit. They could not be sold a show of novice mistakes or talent-less waste, their eyes and ears came from the educated. War was not the only art after all.

He took a folding fan from the pile, handcrafted from sturdy rice paper and painted by a loving hand. It could compliment coy eyes and a mysterious face or a dozen eyes standing high in judgement's place.

In his sleeves he slid flowers bloomed from washi, painstakingly slipping the skin off his fingers. By the time he'd planted them in his arms, the silence fermented in passing time, growing bitter. He straightened his back but stayed docile as a willow.

Stand firm but bow low.

Takeyoshi began to dance, not from memory descending from a teacher or a path down history. It was a manifestation of whimsy, an innate feeling that invoked curiosity. Because only would curiosity excite the nobility, the ecstasy of hidden pleasure would quickly be coveted by those who could afford to find the source.

His performance included the use of deception, a skill he was renowned for in much irony. He would twist his fans and fan origami flowers in air before they'd flutter into fragrant petals at his feet. By the time he had ended, he was awarded bright eyes and slack faces. They were children again.

"My! What a performance, Lord Akisuke didn't disappoint," One called, holding his ochoko up to him. Akisuke politely smiled but his lips were cutting through his cheeks.

"It was not me, but my dutiful samurai I could provide such praise for. He was enamored by his performance before," He said.

"It is true. I know of his teacher and he spoke highly for him," Shojiro spoke in the tone of a death sentence, his face did no favors to his voice.

"What a strange yet compelling performance. My eyes have really betrayed me now."

They rejoiced in their mutual festivities, lips kissing the rim of their cups as Takeyoshi held a rather refined looking tokkuri, refilling their lovesick reunion over and over.

He soon met the eyes of a demon adorned in what embers was left of his formality. In his hand, he thrust out the sake under his nose, "Drink."

Many would anger at another challenging his own life but Takeyoshi was not of that many. Instead, he took the challenge with not a whisper of contempt, savoring the disbelief with the aftertaste of mild sweetness. Whether seen as a fool or a man of submission, he could tell their approval had been unanimous.

"How strange. I thought you could hold your liquor well, Toyohisa!" Hiromasa remarked, his grin could not be contained between his fingers.

Toyohisa scowled, "Poison is everywhere, Tachibana. Especially between the allure of your humorous words."

"Spare me," he laughed, beckoning Takeyoshi forward. His confusion was justified but rationality was not a common practice of Hiromasa as he approached him, kneeling beside him.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"It is Rikisaburō, my lord."

He snorted, "Not your entertainer name, your birth name."

It would be insolent to question his motives, he had no right to. "It's Katsura," he lied.

Hiromasa set down his cup, "Can you spell it?"

Takeyoshi used his finger, drawing out the characters on the mat. Hiromasa watched beside him, nodding.

"So you can read and write, correct?" His line of questioning was reaching far from what Takeyoshi could comprehend. He knew he was a man of absurdity but there had to be sight where there was obscurity.

"Yes, my lord."

It would not be strange for an entertainer to be versed in languages both formal and primitive to suit the stage and audience. The privilege of literacy was starting to broil over to the middle class though not of much language that could be considered to converse with dignity.

"The makings of a page, it would seem," he said, looking towards him. Takeyoshi tilted his head up though his eyes remained at the curve of his chin.

"I cannot say. Your judgement supersedes mine, my lord."

He waved his words off, "Please lose the platitudes, I know the life of an entertainer. You're all flies dancing around the rotting corpse of your jobs. Most of them are migrating out of the country."

Takeyoshi nodded hesitantly, "We are not so easily bought."

"But you are, aren't you? Most of our entertainers will soon be amidst the streets while the famous ones are eaten up as smiling faces for the emperor," he explained, the words did not digest well for Takeyoshi.

"If I am on the streets, let it be as it will. If I go to serve at the emperor's will, I am content," Takeyoshi said.

"A shame. I would've convinced you to be my page."

Takeyoshi froze. So quick to decide?

"If I may ask you, why me?"

Their eyes ultimately came in eclipse, two divisions struck at one precise point where the line had blurred. It was then that Hiromasa had given him his true face, a question that elicited an answer—one that would strike true beyond flattery.

"Because I know your obedience would be a virtue."