The Blessing 

Haruka had no time to rest. With every deep, reverent bow from the beautiful woman, he had to lift the heavy iron sword and wave it over her head, a slow, solemn motion. Only when she was finished did he lower the sword, its weight a strain on his arm, and say, the words feeling hollow and absurd on his tongue, “The bad luck has been dispelled.”

With that, he took the white jade porcelain bottle from the table, uncorked it, and caught the faint, unmistakable scent of alcohol. So, the so-called holy water was just ordinary sake.

What a charade, Haruka thought, a wave of profound weariness washing over him. But he had no choice but to say, his voice a flat monotone, “Receive this blessing.”

“I beg the Young Master to bestow his blessing,” the beautiful woman said, her face upturned, her eyes shining with a pleading, fanatical light.

Haruka took a sip of the sake, held the warm, sharp liquid in his mouth, and then sprayed it all over the woman’s face. The fine mist dripped down her cheeks and onto her pale, elegant neck. But far from being disgusted, she let out a soft, contented moan, her body trembling slightly as she let the sake run down her skin and into the collar of her expensive kimono.

Haruka put down the porcelain bottle and intoned, “May your lucky star shine brightly.”

The woman knew she could now rise. Unwilling to wipe her face and ruin the sacred blessing, she stood up joyfully, her movements light, feeling as if a great, invisible weight had been lifted from her. “Thank you for your blessing, Young Master,” she said with a final, deep bow.

But Haruka felt as if he had done nothing at all. The absurdity of the situation grew, a bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the sake.

Beside him, the old miko’s voice droned on, a relentless, ancient sound. “Let the next one come forward.”

Haruka had no choice but to gather his spirits and continue his great, ridiculous “work” of bestowing blessings.

Many of the women were deeply religious, but most were somewhere in the murky space between belief and skepticism. Still, they were all eager to receive the good omen of a “blessing” from the family’s new heir. They respectfully performed dogeza to Haruka, accepted the spray of sake on their faces, and stood up laughing and chattering, each of them feeling as if their bones had grown several pounds lighter.

Sakuya stood next to Kiyohime, the line growing shorter. It was almost their turn. She couldn’t understand why the other guests were so happy. She, too, found the whole “blessing” ridiculous, a foolish, primitive display. Especially since the person bestowing it was the boy she disliked so intensely. The mere thought of having to kneel before him and be sprayed in the face with his spit and sake made her skin crawl. “Young Mistress,” she whispered, “could I perhaps receive my blessing later?”

“Sakuya,” Kiyohime said, her own face troubled, “everyone in the household has to be blessed, not even my mother is an exception. There is no ‘later’. It has to be now.” Although she didn’t believe in it either, it was still a good omen, and since the one giving the blessing was Haruka, she had no objections at all. In fact, a secret, fluttery excitement was building in her chest.

“What I mean is,” Sakuya said, “could I go after you, Young Mistress?”

“That’s fine,” Kiyohime said. They were the last few anyway; no one would notice if they quietly switched places. And besides, she was eager to be in front of Haruka again.

And so, the two of them switched. Sakuya looked ahead and saw that the line was now much shorter. It was Fujiwara Hitomi’s turn. She was prostrated on the ground like a dog, her bottom high in the air, and she had added an extra, deeply obsequious dogeza to the required three. The others, not wanting to seem less sincere than Hirashima, had all performed five bows and three dogezas. Now, Hitomi had added another. Did that mean everyone after her had to do the same?

Sakuya felt a surge of profound annoyance, a deep disgust for this sycophant with her pretty, fawning face.

Haruka sprayed her with sake. Hitomi didn’t wipe it away, but instead dabbed it with her fingers, sniffing and tasting it, her face full of a grotesque, performative joy. “Thank you for your blessing, Young Master,” she said, and happily went to the other line.

With the miko’s next call, Murakami Suzune came forward to receive her blessing.

Sakuya didn’t have much of an impression of her, but seeing her submissive, quiet posture, she felt a sense of dislike. She quietly took Kiyohime’s hand, thinking that no other master and servant were as close as the two of them.

But before she could even get a good grip, she heard the miko call out again, “Next!” Kiyohime immediately pulled her hand away from Sakuya’s and, with a strange, nervous energy, knelt at Haruka’s feet.

A strange feeling washed over Sakuya. She watched as Kiyohime, with a look of half-willing reluctance on her face, bowed to Haruka. Kiyohime must be very unwilling to do this, she thought with a sigh of deep sympathy for her mistress.

But then she saw that after being sprayed with the sake, a deep, beautiful blush had spread across Kiyohime’s face. Sakuya assumed it was from a mixture of shame and anger and felt a surge of protective indignation, a desire to stand up for her. But when she heard the miko call “Next,” a wave of panic washed over her. She wanted to turn and see if there was anyone else behind her, but she realized, with a sinking heart, that she was the last one.

Left with no choice, she reluctantly came forward. She saw Momozawa Ai in the distance, holding her pen and paper, looking at her with a cold, disapproving expression.

Sakuya had no choice but to kneel uncomfortably on the cushion, her head bowed, staring at the tips of Haruka’s feet. “Please bestow your blessing, Young Master,” she said, her voice tight.

“Please,” Haruka said, his voice flat.

Sakuya, feeling suffocated, bowed down. Her golden hair fell over her forehead, and her head met the cold, hard floor with a dull thud. She performed dogeza four times, cursing Fujiwara Hitomi with every single one. Through the shadow of her own body, she saw the silver sword sway twice above her, and Haruka’s voice descended from on high: “The bad luck has been dispelled.”

“I beg the Young Master to bestow his blessing,” Sakuya said, lifting her head, her eyes defiant. Haruka’s handsome, clean face was puffed out with sake. Before she could react, he had already sprayed it all over her.

Sakuya closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cough, to retch. She let the sticky, alcoholic liquid run down her skin and into her clothes, and still she had to thank him, her voice even more muffled than when she had been performing dogeza. “Thank you for your blessing, Young Master.”

Slowly, her body rigid with humiliation, she got up and followed Kiyohime to the other line.

Haruka thought the blessing ceremony was finally over, but then he heard the miko say, her voice taking on a new, reverent tone, “Let the Lady come forward to receive the blessing.”

Haruka was shocked. He saw Lady Murasaki emerge from the shadows, her noble, beautiful face looking directly at him, and his heart began to beat faster, a heavy, painful thrum. Was his mother going to kneel before him?

Just as Lady Murasaki was about to bow, the miko intervened. “The Lady is the Young Master’s mother. It would be inappropriate for her to perform the full ritual.”

Momozawa Ai also came forward. “My Lady, you are making the Young Master very uncomfortable.”

Even a fool would know it was his turn to speak. “That’s right, Mama. I cannot accept this.”

After a few feigned, polite refusals, Lady Murasaki finally accepted the miko’s compromise: she would kneel, but not bow. Momozawa Ai brought a new, pristine cushion for her.

Haruka held the short, heavy sword, his heart pounding as he looked at Lady Murasaki, kneeling before him. Her face was calm and beautiful, her long, dark hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of black silk. The room seemed to fall completely silent, the only sound the slow, heavy, suffocating beating of his own heart.

For the first time, Haruka felt he was half a head taller than Lady Murasaki. But even kneeling, she somehow still seemed to be looking down on everyone else, a queen on her knees.

“Bestow the blessing,” she said nonchalantly, her voice a soft command.

Haruka took several deep breaths, lifted the short sword, and waved it over her head. He heard her whisper, the sound of a hot, secret breath that only he could hear, “Haruka, have you ever thought of having Mama kneel before you, performing dogeza in submission?”