Sawarabi's scissors snip snip snip snip snip snip through a band of cotton. through a band of cotton.

'Before they slept, the knife-seller suggested that they pray to Inari-sama for his protection through the night in such a lonely spot. The ribbon pedlar agreed, but as he knelt before the abandoned altar, the knife-seller chopped off his head with a single stroke of his biggest unsold axe.' for his protection through the night in such a lonely spot. The ribbon pedlar agreed, but as he knelt before the abandoned altar, the knife-seller chopped off his head with a single stroke of his biggest unsold axe.'

Several of the Sisters gasp and Sadaie gives a little shriek. 'No!'

'Phut Sister,' says Asagao, 'you told us the two n nen were ph phriends.'

'So the poor ribbon-seller thought, Sister. But now the knife-seller stole his companion's money, buried the body and fell sound asleep. Surely nightmares, or strange groans, plagued him? Not at all. The knife-seller woke up refreshed, enjoyed his victim's food for breakfast and had an uneventful journey back to Osaka. Setting himself up in business with the murdered man's money, he prospered as a pawnbroker, and soon he was lining his robes and eating the daintiest delicacies with silver chopsticks. Four springs came and four autumns went. Then, one afternoon, a spruce, bushy customer in a brown cloak walked into the pawnbroker's shop and produced a box of walnut wood. From inside, he removed a polished human skull. The pawnbroker said, "The box may be worth a few copper mon mon, but why are you showing me this old lump of bone?" The stranger smiled at the pawnbroker with his fine white teeth and commanded the skull: "Sing!" And as I live and breathe, Sisters, sing it did, and here is the song that it sang: ' "With Beauty shall you Sleep, on Pleasure shall you Dine,By the Crane and the Turtle and the Goyo Pine . . ." '

A log cracks open in the hearth and half the women jump.

'The three tokens of good fortune,' says Blind Minori.

'So thought the pawnbroker,' continues Hatsune, 'but to the spruce and bushy stranger he complained that the market was flooded with these Dutch novelties. He asked whether the skull would sing for anyone or just the stranger? In his silky voice, the stranger explained that it would sing for its true owner. "Well," grunted the pawnbroker, "here's three koban koban: ask for one mon mon more, and the deal's off." The stranger said not a word but bowed, placed the skull on its box, took his payment and left. The pawnbroker lost no time in deciding how best to turn his magical acquisition into money. He clicked his fingers for his palanquin, and rode to the den of a certain masterless samurai, a dissolute sort of more, and the deal's off." The stranger said not a word but bowed, placed the skull on its box, took his payment and left. The pawnbroker lost no time in deciding how best to turn his magical acquisition into money. He clicked his fingers for his palanquin, and rode to the den of a certain masterless samurai, a dissolute sort of ronin ronin given to strange wagers. Being a cautious man, the pawnbroker tested his new purchase as he rode and ordered the skull, "Sing!" And sure enough, the skull sang, given to strange wagers. Being a cautious man, the pawnbroker tested his new purchase as he rode and ordered the skull, "Sing!" And sure enough, the skull sang, ' "Wood is Life and Fire is Time,By the Crane and the Turtle and the Goyo Pine!" '

'Once in the samurai's presence, the pawnbroker produced his new acquisition and asked for a thousand koban koban for a song from his new friend, the skull. Quick as a blade, the samurai told the pawnbroker that he'd lose his head for insulting his credulity if it didn't sing. The pawnbroker, who had expected this response, agreed to the wager in return for half the samurai's wealth, if the skull for a song from his new friend, the skull. Quick as a blade, the samurai told the pawnbroker that he'd lose his head for insulting his credulity if it didn't sing. The pawnbroker, who had expected this response, agreed to the wager in return for half the samurai's wealth, if the skull did did sing. Well, the crafty samurai assumed that the pawnbroker had lost his wits . . . and saw an easy fortune to be had. He objected that the pawnbroker's neck was worth nothing and claimed all his visitor's wealth as a prize. Delighted that the samurai had taken the bait, the pawnbroker raised the stakes again: if the skull sang, his rival must pay sing. Well, the crafty samurai assumed that the pawnbroker had lost his wits . . . and saw an easy fortune to be had. He objected that the pawnbroker's neck was worth nothing and claimed all his visitor's wealth as a prize. Delighted that the samurai had taken the bait, the pawnbroker raised the stakes again: if the skull sang, his rival must pay all all his wealth . . . unless, of course, he was losing his nerve? In reply, the samurai bade his scribe draw up the wager as a blood-oath, witnessed by the ward headman, a corrupt fellow well used to such shady goings-on. Then the greedy pawnbroker placed the skull on a box and ordered: "Sing!" ' his wealth . . . unless, of course, he was losing his nerve? In reply, the samurai bade his scribe draw up the wager as a blood-oath, witnessed by the ward headman, a corrupt fellow well used to such shady goings-on. Then the greedy pawnbroker placed the skull on a box and ordered: "Sing!" '

The women's shadows are the uneasy shades of slanted giants.

Hotaru is the first to crack. 'What happened, Sister Hatsune?'

'Silence was what happened, Sister. The skull uttered not one squeak. So the pawnbroker raised his voice a second time. "Sing. I command you. Sing!" '

Housekeeper Satsuki's busy needle has fallen still.

'The skull said not a word. The pawnbroker turned pale. "Sing! Sing!" But still the skull was mute. The blood-oath lay there on the table, its red ink not yet dry. The pawnbroker, in despair, shouted at the skull - "Sing!" Nothing, nothing, nothing. The pawnbroker expected no mercy, nor received any. The samurai called for his sharpest sword whilst the pawnbroker knelt there, trying to pray. Off came the pawnbroker's head.'

Sawarabi drops a thimble: it rolls to Orito, who picks it up and returns it.

'Now,' Hatsune nods, ponderously, 'too late, the skull chose to sing . . .

' "Ribbons for kisses, from all the young misses!Ribbons for kisses, from all the young misses!" '

Hotaru and Asagao stare wide-eyed. Umegae's mocking smile is gone.

'The samurai,' Hatsune leans backwards, brushing her knees, 'knew cursed silver when he saw it. He donated the pawnbroker's money to Sanjusandengo Temple. The spruce and bushy stranger was never heard of again. Who knows that he wasn't Inari-sama himself, come to avenge the wickedness committed against his shrine? The skull of the ribbon-seller - if his it was - is still housed in a remote alcove in a rarely visited wing of Sanjusandengo. One of the older monks prays for its repose every year on the Day of the Dead. If any of you passes that way after your Descent, you may go and see it for yourself . . .' himself, come to avenge the wickedness committed against his shrine? The skull of the ribbon-seller - if his it was - is still housed in a remote alcove in a rarely visited wing of Sanjusandengo. One of the older monks prays for its repose every year on the Day of the Dead. If any of you passes that way after your Descent, you may go and see it for yourself . . .'

Rain hisses like swinging snakes and gutters gurgle. Orito watches a vein pulsating in Yayoi's throat. The belly craves food The belly craves food, she thinks, the tongue craves water, the heart craves love and the mind craves stories the tongue craves water, the heart craves love and the mind craves stories. It is stories, she believes, that make life in the House of Sisters tolerable, stories in all their forms: the Gifts' letters, tittle-tattle, recollections and tall tales like Hatsune's singing skull. She thinks of myths of gods, of Izanami and Izanagi, of Buddha and Jesus; and perhaps the Goddess of Mount Shiranui, and wonders whether the same principle is not at work. Orito pictures the human mind as a loom that weaves disparate threads of belief, memory and narrative into an entity whose common name is Self, and which sometimes calls itself Perception.

'I can't stop thinking,' Yayoi murmurs, 'of the girl.'

'Which girl,' Orito wraps Yayoi's hair around her thumb, 'Sleepyhead?'

'The ribbon-seller's sweetheart. The one he planned to marry.'

You must leave the House and leave Yayoi, Orito reminds herself, soon soon.

'So sad.' Yayoi yawns. 'She'd grow old and die, never knowing the truth.'

The fire glows bright and dim as the draught blows strong and weak.

There is a leak over the iron brazier: drips hiss and crackle.

The wind rattles the Cloisters' wooden screens like a deranged prisoner.

Yayoi's question comes from nowhere. 'Were you touched by a man, Sister?'

Orito is used to her friend's directness, but not on this subject. 'No.'

That 'No' 'No' is my stepbrother's victory is my stepbrother's victory, she thinks. 'My stepmother in Nagasaki has a son. I'd rather not name him. During Father's marriage negotiations, it was settled that he'd train to be a doctor and a scholar. It didn't take long, however, for his lack of aptitude to betray itself. He hated books, loathed Dutch, was disgusted by blood, and was despatched to an uncle in Saga, but he returned to Nagasaki for Father's funeral. The tongue-tied boy was now a seventeen-year-old man of the world. It was "Oy, bath!"; it was "Hey, tea!" He watched me, as men do, with no encouragement. None.'

Orito pauses as footsteps in the passageway come and go.

'My stepmother noticed her son's new attitude but said nothing, not yet. Until Father died, she passed as a dutiful doctor's wife, but after the funeral she changed . . . or changed back. She forbade me to leave our residence without her permission, permission that she rarely gave. She told me, "Your days of playing at scholars are over." Father's old friends were turned away until they no longer called. She dismissed Ayame, our last servant from Mother's time. I had to take over her duties. One day my rice was white: from the next, it was brown. What a pampered creature that must make me sound.'

Yayoi gasps slightly at a kick in her uterus. 'They're listening, and none of us thinks you were a pampered creature.'

'Well, then my stepbrother taught me that my troubles had not yet begun. I slept in Ayame's old room - two mats, so it was more of a cupboard - and one night, a few days after Father's funeral, when the whole house was asleep, my stepbrother appeared. I asked him what he wanted. He told me that I knew. I told him to get out. He said, "The rules have changed, dear stepsister." He said that as head of the Aibagawas of Nagasaki' - Orito tastes metal - 'the household's assets were his. "This one, too," he said, and that was when he touched me.'

Yayoi grimaces. 'It was wrong of me to ask. You don't have to tell me.'

It was his crime, Orito thinks, not mine not mine. 'I tried to . . . but he hit me as I'd never been hit before. He clamped his hand over my mouth, and told me . . .' to imagine to imagine, she remembers, he was Ogawa he was Ogawa. 'He swore that if I resisted, he would hold the right side of my face over the fire until it matched the left side, and do what he wanted to do to me anyway.' Orito stops to steady her voice. 'Acting frightened was easy. Acting submissive was harder. So I said, "Yes." He licked my face like a dog and unfastened himself and . . . then I sank my fingers deep between his legs and squeezed what I found there, like a lemon, with all my strength.'

Yayoi looks at her friend in a wholly new way.

'His scream woke the house up. His mother came running and ordered the servants away. I told her what her stepson had tried to do. He told her I I had begged him to my bed. She slapped the head of the Aibagawas of Nagasaki once for being a liar, twice for being stupid, and ten times for almost wasting the family's most saleable property. "Abbot Enomoto," she told him, "will want your stepsister had begged him to my bed. She slapped the head of the Aibagawas of Nagasaki once for being a liar, twice for being stupid, and ten times for almost wasting the family's most saleable property. "Abbot Enomoto," she told him, "will want your stepsister intact intact when she arrives at his Nunnery of Freaks." That was how I learnt why Enomoto's bailiff had been visiting. Four days later I found myself here.' when she arrives at his Nunnery of Freaks." That was how I learnt why Enomoto's bailiff had been visiting. Four days later I found myself here.'

The storm pelts the roofs and the fire growls.

Orito remembers how all her fathers' friends refused to shelter her on the night she ran away from her own house.

She remembers hiding all night in the House of Wistaria, listening.

She remembers her painful decision to accept de Zoet's proposal.

She remembers her final shaming and capture at Dejima's Land-Gate.

'The monks aren't like your stepbrother,' Yayoi is saying. 'They're gentle.'

'So gentle that when I say, "No," they stop, and leave my room?'

'The Goddess chooses the Engifters, just as she chooses us Sisters.'

To implant belief, Orito thinks, is to dominate the believers is to dominate the believers.

'At my first Engiftment,' Yayoi confesses, 'I imagined a boy I once loved.'

So the hoods, Orito realises, are to hide the men's faces, not ours are to hide the men's faces, not ours.

'Might you have known a man,' Yayoi hesitates, 'who you could . . .?'

Ogawa Uzaemon, the midwife thinks, is no longer my concern is no longer my concern.

Orito banishes all thought of Jacob de Zoet, and recalls Jacob de Zoet.

'Oh,' says Yayoi, 'I'm as nosy as Hashihime tonight. Pay me no mind.'

But the Newest Sister slips from the warmth of their blankets, goes to the chest given her by the Abbess and takes out a bamboo-and-paper fan. Yayoi sits up, curious. Orito lights a candle and opens the fan.

Yayoi peers at the details. 'He was an artist? Or a scholar?'

'He read books, but he was just a clerk in an ordinary warehouse.'

'He loved you.' Yayoi touches the ribs of the fan. 'He loved you.'

'He was a stranger from another . . . domain. He scarcely knew me.'

Yayoi looks at Orito pityingly, and sighs. 'So?'

The sleeper knows she is dreaming because the moon-grey cat pronounces, 'Someone carried this fish all the way up this mountain.' The cat takes the pilchard, jumps to the ground and vanishes beneath the walkway. The dreamer lowers herself on to the Courtyard, but the cat has gone. She sees a narrow rectangular hole in the foundations of the House . . .

. . . Its breath is warm. She hears children and summer's insects.

A voice up on the walkway asks, 'Has the Newest Sister lost anything?'

The moon-grey cat licks its paws and speaks in her father's voice.

'I know you're a messenger,' says the dreamer, 'but what is your message?'

The cat looks at her pityingly, and sighs. 'I left through this hole, beneath us . . .'

The dark universe is packed into one small box that slowly opens.

'. . . and reappeared at the House gate a minute later. What does that mean?'

The sleeper wakes up in frosted darkness. Yayoi is here, fast asleep.

Orito gropes, grapples, fumbles and understands. A conduit . . . or a tunnel A conduit . . . or a tunnel.

XX.

The Two Hundred Steps leading to Ryugaji Temple in Nagasaki

New Year's Day, the Twelfth Year of the era of Kansei The holiday crowds throng and jostle. Boys are selling warblers in cages dangling from a pine tree. Over her smoking griddle a palsy-handed grandmother croaks, 'Squiiiiiiiiid on a stick-oh, squiiiiiiiiid on a stick-oh, who will buy my squiiiiiiiiid on a stick-oooh!' Inside his palanquin Uzaemon hears Kiyoshichi shout, 'Make way, make way way!' less in hope of clearing a path than to insure himself against being scolded by Ogawa the Elder for laziness. 'Pictures to astound! Drawings to amaze!' hollers a seller of engravings. The man's face appears in the grille of Uzaemon's palanquin, and he holds up a pornographic woodblock print of a naked goblin, who bears an undeniable likeness to Melchior van Cleef. The goblin possesses a monstrous phallus as big as his body. 'Might I proffer proffer for Sir's delec for Sir's delectation a sample of "Dejima Nights"?' Uzaemon growls, 'No!' and the man withdraws, bellowing, 'See Kawahara's Hundred and Eight Wonders of the Empire without leaving your house!' A storyteller points to his storyboard about the Siege of Shimabara: 'Here, ladies and gentlemen, is the Christian Amakusa Shiro, bent on selling our souls to the King of Rome!' The entertainer plays his audience well: there are boos and yells of abuse. 'And so the Great Shogun expelled the foreign devils, and so the yearly Rite of a sample of "Dejima Nights"?' Uzaemon growls, 'No!' and the man withdraws, bellowing, 'See Kawahara's Hundred and Eight Wonders of the Empire without leaving your house!' A storyteller points to his storyboard about the Siege of Shimabara: 'Here, ladies and gentlemen, is the Christian Amakusa Shiro, bent on selling our souls to the King of Rome!' The entertainer plays his audience well: there are boos and yells of abuse. 'And so the Great Shogun expelled the foreign devils, and so the yearly Rite of fumi-e fumi-e continues to the present day, to weed out these heretics feeding off our udders!' A disease-gnawed girl, breastfeeding a baby so deformed that Uzaemon mistakes it for a shaven puppy, implores, 'Mercy and a coin, sir, mercy and a coin . . .' He slides open the grille just as the palanquin lurches forward a dozen steps, and Uzaemon is left holding a one continues to the present day, to weed out these heretics feeding off our udders!' A disease-gnawed girl, breastfeeding a baby so deformed that Uzaemon mistakes it for a shaven puppy, implores, 'Mercy and a coin, sir, mercy and a coin . . .' He slides open the grille just as the palanquin lurches forward a dozen steps, and Uzaemon is left holding a one mon mon piece against all the laughing, smoking, joking passers-by. Their joy is insufferable. piece against all the laughing, smoking, joking passers-by. Their joy is insufferable. I am like a dead spirit at O-bon I am like a dead spirit at O-bon, Uzaemon thinks, forced to watch the carefree and the living gorge themselves on Life forced to watch the carefree and the living gorge themselves on Life. His palanquin tips, and he must grip the lacquered handle as he slides backwards. Near the top of the temple steps a handful of girls on the cusp of womanhood whip their spinning tops. To know the secrets of Mount Shiranui To know the secrets of Mount Shiranui, he thinks, is to be banished from this world. is to be banished from this world.

A lumbering ox obscures Uzaemon's view of the girls.

The Creeds of Enomoto's Order shine darkness on all things.

When the ox has passed, the girls are gone.

The palanquins are set down in the Courtyard of the Jade Peony, an area reserved for samurai families. Uzaemon climbs out of his box, and slides his swords into his sash. His wife stands behind his mother, whilst his father attacks Kiyoshichi like the snapping turtle he has come, in recent weeks, to resemble: 'Why did you allow us to be buried alive in that -' he jabs his stick towards the thronged steps '- in that human mud?'

'My lapse,' Kiyoshichi bows low, 'was unforgivable, Master.'

'Yet this old fool,' growls Ogawa the Elder, 'is to forgive you anyhow?'

Uzaemon tries to intervene. 'With respect, Father, I'm sure--'

' "With respect" is what scoundrels say when they mean the opposite!'

'With sincere respect, Father, Kiyoshichi could not make the crowd vanish.'

'So sons now side with menservants against their fathers?'

Kannon, Uzaemon implores, Uzaemon implores, grant me patience. grant me patience. 'Father, I'm not siding with--' 'Father, I'm not siding with--'

'Well, doubtless you find this silly old fool very very behind the times.' behind the times.'

I am not your son. The unexpected thought strikes Uzaemon.

'People will start wondering,' Uzaemon's mother declares to the backs of her powdered hands, 'whether the Ogawas are having doubts about the fumi-e fumi-e.'

Uzaemon turns to Ogawa Mimasaku. 'Then let us enter . . . yes?'

'Shouldn't you consult the servants first?' Ogawa Mimasaku walks towards the inner gates. He rose from his sickbed a few days ago only partially recovered, but to be absent from the fumi-e fumi-e ritual is tantamount to announcing one's own death. He slaps away Saiji's offers of help. 'My stick is more loyal.' ritual is tantamount to announcing one's own death. He slaps away Saiji's offers of help. 'My stick is more loyal.'

The Ogawas pass a queue of newly-wed couples waiting to breathe in incense smoke curling from the bronze Ryugaji dragon's mouth. Local legend promises them a healthy baby son. Uzaemon senses that his wife would like to join them, but is too ashamed of her two miscarriages. The temple's cavernous entrance is strung with twists of white paper to celebrate the forthcoming Year of the Sheep. Their servants help them out of their shoes, which they store on shelves marked with their names. An initiate greets them with a nervous bow, ready to guide them to the Gallery of Paulownia to perform the fumi-e fumi-e ritual away from the prying eyes of the lower orders. 'The Head Priest guides the Ogawas,' Uzaemon's father remarks. ritual away from the prying eyes of the lower orders. 'The Head Priest guides the Ogawas,' Uzaemon's father remarks.

'The Head Priest,' the initiate apologises, 'is busy with te-te-te -'

Ogawa Mimasaku sighs and stares off to one side.

'- temple duties,' the stutterer is mortified into fluency, 'at present.'

'Whatever a man is busy with, that is what, or whom, he values.'

The initiate leads them to a line of thirty- or forty-strong. 'The wait should,' he takes a deep breath, 'n-n-n-nnn-n-n-not be long.'