Tale of the Warrior Geisha

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Authors: Margaret Dilloway
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to be cultivating relationships with better-connected women there.
Probably truly composing poetry for them and visiting them at night,
Tomoe thought. Wada had the reputation of a ladies’ man. Just like his hero, Genji.
    Besides, Wada had left without saying a proper good-bye to her, proving what Tomoe thought: she was merely a convenient village girl. Kaneto had a going-away dinner for him, their families both laughing and joking throughout. At the end, he had bowed to all of them, thanked them for their help, and gone on his way. He had not even waved to her alone.
    â€œMuch can be done with allies on the inside,” Chizuru said.
    â€œThe Taira are only hiring outsiders to placate the Minamoto supporters,” Tomoe said. “Our people will never have any real power in the Taira government.”
    â€œWhatever the reason, at least we can have a good feast tonight,” Chizuru said, finishing her third root. “It’s been too long since we had a celebration.” She smiled at Tomoe. “Which kimono shall you wear? The pink one?”
    â€œI don’t care, Mother,” Tomoe said, but relented at her mother’s disappointed expression. She knew her mother was worried about her. She was seventeen years old, and other girls—women—her age had already been married for a few years by now. Chizuru had not grasped the fact, as Kaneto had, that their only daughter was meant for a different life. “Yes, the pink. But I’m still going to wear my sword.”
    Chizuru rolled her eyes. She leaned forward with a serious expression. “It’s not too late for you and Wada-san.”
    Tomoe didn’t answer her. “Mother, who do you think Yoshinaka will marry?”
    â€œYoshinaka?” Chizuru stared at her daughter, suddenly alert. “A noblewoman, I imagine. He is a lord.”
    Tomoe attacked another lotus root. Of course. Not her. Who was Tomoe suitable for? No one.
    Chizuru put her hand on Tomoe’s. “I know you and Yoshinaka are not brother and sister,” she said gently, “but for your own sake, try to forget him. See Wada’s good points.”
    Tomoe nodded once.
    Chizuru placed all the roots into a pot and walked off.
    â€œGood points,” Tomoe mumbled to herself. She clanged the pot of vegetables down. “What good points are those? His poetry? His ability to ignore me?”
    Her father ambled over, stroking his beard thoughtfully. It seemed to Tomoe that more white hairs appeared by the minute, studding his hair like snowflakes on burned-out ground. “Did you say something?” His voice was contemplative, not stern.
    Tomoe hung her head anyway. “I was only talking to myself, Father.”
    He put a hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s difficult for you, Tomoe. If you wanted to marry Wada-san, I would help arrange it.”
    â€œWhat makes you think he wants to marry me?” Tomoe gathered up the shavings for the compost pile. Her parents seemed to think she had the pick of men. “I’m not cultured enough. Besides, can you imagine me at court? Bowing and scraping my head for the ladies? I’d be bored out of my mind. One of them would end up dead.”
    â€œTomoe, you are not like the other girls. You are better than they are. Higher-born, though we are only farmers now. Remember that.” Kaneto bent his head to look at Tomoe’s face. “I do not want to see your head hung low. Do you understand me?”
    â€œYes.” She looked at his eyes, now with wrinkles fanning around the edges.
    â€œThe world as we know it now is coming to an end,” Kaneto said, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “When it does, all those simpering rich girls at court who do nothing but read poetry and play music will perish. They don’t know how to survive. You do.”
    â€œBut when?” Tomoe said.
    â€œWhen the time is right. No sooner.”
    She considered this. Tomoe

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