The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old JapanWingfield, Lewis
History
The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old Japan
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Hojo family -- Fiction; Japan -- History -- Kamakura period, 1185-1333 -- Fiction
The bewitching O'Kikú when, rosy and wreathed with smiles, she flew
from her bower in the most becoming of costumes to embrace her love,
was considerably disconcerted by her reception. She had carefully gone
over details, and planned within her mind exactly how it was all to
be. He would be a little upset, possibly, on his arrival, to hear of
the sudden and mysterious end of his icicle. He would pretend concern,
and probably show anger, relieved all the while by her flitting. She,
O'Kikú, would condole, clasp her husband--all her own now--in white
arms, and, breast to breast, divulge the delicious secret. He would be
enchanted, of course. She would make herself so agreeable bringing
forth the entire armoury of her blandishments for his behoof, that
memory of O'Tei would speedily be relegated to the limbo prepared for
the ghosts of marplots. This point reached, she would summon all her
skill and tact, wheedle and cajole and flatter, so as to achieve the
desired prize.
By making herself absolutely necessary to No-Kami, then turning on the
tap of tears, the living wife would advance a step, be lifted to the
dead one's place. And he should never have cause to regret the signal
favour. His interests would then be hers completely. No prospect in
the future, then, of being put away,--compelled, like Masago, to
assume the crape. She would take her lord in hand,--be a long-headed
little counsellor, chide his faults with gentleness, teach him to curb
his passions, help him to replace on the neck of struggling Japan the
yoke that was ominously-loose. And lo! how quickly did her toy palace
tumble! No-Kami looked twenty years older than when he went away.
There was a haggard wildness in his face--an expression, as he glanced
at the enchantress, curiously akin, if it were possible, to aversion.
His hands twitched; foam gathered on his lips. When, cooing, she laid
her head upon his bosom, her hair new dressed with fresh camellia oil,
he pushed her so rudely from him, that, reeling, with bruised arms,
she tottered against the wall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account