Watching him, she hummed as she removed the long pins in her hair and let it cascade to her waist. Now she loosed her obi and let it fall. A chuckle. Then her kimono and let that fall. All at once he was breathless, transfixed. The gold of her under-kimono shimmered with the candle flames, the sheer silk revealed but did not. Again the tip of her tongue toyed with her lips. Coquettishly she loosed the ties and let the under-kimono open slightly. No underclothes beneath. Only the narrow line of her body revealed, from neck to tiny feet. And all the time the enigmatic smile and eyes beckoning, compelling him to wait, promising, tantalizing. Wind rustled the shojis but went unheard.

His heart was pounding as never before. He forced himself to remain seated. Now he could see her chest rising and falling, the nipples of her small breasts hard against the silk. Then she sighed. With perfect grace she let this covering slowly slide away and stood there in all her purity.

For him time stopped. Hardly breathing he gloried in her gift, so unexpected and given so freely. When he could endure the waiting no longer he got to his feet. His arms were gentle and he kissed her with all the passion he possessed, strong against her, she limp in his arms. Easily he lifted her and laid her on the futons in the bedroom and tore off his clothes.

And knelt beside her, gazing at her in ecstasy in the light. "Je t'aime, je t'aime."

"Look, Furansu-san," she said, lying there with her lovely smile. Her fingers were pointing at the inside of her thigh. For a moment he did not understand. Then he saw the abrasion. His heart almost leapt out of his chest, bile flooding into his mouth.

"Look," she said again, so softly, smile constant, eyes so dark in the small light. "It has begun."

"It, it nothing," he said, his voice choked.

"Nothing."

"It is everything." She looked up at him.

"Please give me the knife."

His head reeled, his eyes blind but for the sight of the sore that filled the world. With a gigantic effort he shook his head to clear it. And forced his eyes to see. But this did not take away the vile, sick sour taste. "It's nothing, it is just, it's nothing, nothing at all," he croaked. The closer he looked the less important the blemish appeared. "Just a chaff mark that's all."

"Please? You must speak Japanese, Furansu-san, so sorry."

"It... it not illness. Not that. Just, just tight loincloth, nothing worry." He reached out to cover her and blow out the light but she stopped him.

Gently.

"So sorry, it has begun. Please. Give me the knife."

As always his knife was in the sheath on his belt.

As always. With his clothes, behind him. "No, please, Hinodeh, no knife, knife bad, no need knife. That, that mark nothing."

Through his nightmare, he saw her shake her head, kindly, and repeat the request that had become a command. His limbs began trembling, his head to twitch uncontrollably, no way to stop them or the mumbling incoherent litany of French and Japanese that poured out that begged and pleaded and explained that the little spot was a blemish, nothing more though he knew it was not nothing. It had begun.

She was right. It had begun, it had begun. His stomach heaved. He just managed to stop himself vomiting, mumbling on and on.

She did not interrupt, worse, only lay patiently, waiting for the fit to pass. Then there would be a resolution.

He said, brokenly, "Listen, Hinodeh, please no knife. Please. Cannot... That... it nothing. Soon go away. Look me, look!"

Desperately he pointed at himself. "Nothing, nowhere. That little, soon go. No knife. We live. No afraid. Happy. Yes?"

He saw a shadow cross her face, again her fingers touched the abrasion, again the same sweetly monotonous "It has begun."

He fixed a smile and did not know it was grotesque, and as much as he cajoled and twisted and turned, she kept asking the same question, gently, politely, infuriating him more and more until he was near exploding. "It nothing," he said hoarsely. "Understand?"

"Yes, I understand. But it has begun.

Neh?"

He stared at her, his face mean, then his rage broke, and he shouted, "For Christ's sake, yes! Yes, YES! Hai!"

Through a great silence, she said, "Thank you, Furansu-san. Then please, as you agree it has begun, as you have promised, please give me the knife."

His eyes were bloodshot, the corners of his mouth flecked with foam, sweat pouring off him and he was near madness. His mouth opened and his mouth said with finality what he always knew he would say: "No knife. Kinjiru! It-is-forbidden! Cannot.

Cannot. You too value. Forbidden. No knife."

"You refuse?" Gently asked, no change in her.

"Hinodeh, you sun, my sun my moon.

Cannot. Will not. Never never never. Forbidden. You stay. Please. Je t'aime."

"Please, the knife."

"No."

A long sigh. Docilely she bowed to him, a light gone out in her, and fetched a damp towel and a dry one and knelt beside the bed. "Here, Sire."

Scowling, sweat-stained, he watched her. "You agree?"

"Yes, I agree. If that is your wish."

He caught her hand. She let it lie in his. "Truly agree?"

"If you wish it. Whatever you wish," she said but sadly.

"No ask knife, ever again?"

"I agree. It is over, Furansu-san, if that is your wish." Her voice was gentle, her face in repose, different yet the same, shadows of sadness there. "Please stop now. It is over. I promise I will not ask ever again, please excuse me."

The weight came off him. He went weak with relief. "Oh Hinodeh, je t'aime, thank you, thank you," he said, his voice breaking, "but please no sad, no sad. Je t'aime, thank you."

"Please do not thank me. It is your wish."

"Please no sad, Hinodeh. I promise all be very good now. Wonderful. I promise."

She nodded slowly. A sudden smile washed her face and all the sad away. "Yes, and I thank you, and yes, no more sad."

She waited while he dried himself then removed the towels. His eyes followed her, feasting on her and his victory. She padded across the tatami to the other room and brought back their two sak`e flasks. With a sweet smile she said, "Drink from the flasks, better than cups. Mine hot, yours cold. Thank you for buying my contract.

A ta sant`e."

"A ta sant`e, je t'aime."

"Ah, so ka! Je t'aime." She drained the flask, choked a little, then laughed, wiped some off her chin. "That was good, so good. Come to bed." Gaily she slid under the covers. "Come to bed, Furansu-san, you risk a chill."

The grand-tasting drink cleansed his mouth and took away the death feeling he had had. Slowly he moved the coverlet off her, aching for her.

"Please, no more dark. Please?"

"If you wish it. No more dark. Except to sleep, neh?"

So gratefully, he bowed his head to the futon, reborn, and thanked her and lay beside her, loving her, craving her monstrously. His fingers reached for her.

"Ah, Furansu-san, may I rest first, please?" she asked tenderly, as never before. "So much passion has tired me. May I rest a little, please? Later we... later, neh?"

His flaring disappointment that almost turned to fury was difficult to contain. In a moment, as kindly as he could, he said, "Of course." No longer touching, he lay back.

"Thank you, Furansu-san," she whispered tiredly. "Please, can you reach the lamp? Turn the flame down, I wish to sleep a little, only a little while."

He obeyed and lay back, loins tormented with desire.

In the darkness, she was more content than she had been in years, content as in the days before her husband died and they lived in their little Yedo house with their son, the boy who was safe now, already with his grandparents, accepted, protected, and growing up samurai.

Bad of Furansu-san not to give me the knife as he promised. Despicable. But then he is gai-jin and not to be trusted. Never mind, I knew he would not keep his part of the bargain as I have kept mine--whatever Raiko promised.