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end of that time； after she had lit incense and prayed to the Amida Buddha for guidance； she asked to see her baby。
〃There is no name as yet for this little one； lady；〃 the old woman who cooked for them and took care of them when they were ill said as she transferred the tiny bundle into Ikan's trembling arms。 〃It is bad luck；〃 she added needlessly。
Dean dropped her gaze to the tiny face of her daughter； still wrinkly and red skinned。
〃Reiko； one of the kamuro who failed her examination； has been nursing her；〃 the old woman said softly as she gazed up into the troubled face of her lady。 〃This is a hungry little one。〃 The old woman giggled； hoping to break through the oppressive atmosphere she had sensed when she entered this chamber。
Dean nodded absently。 It did not really matter who nursed the baby； she would not be allowed to。
〃I have lit many sticks of incense；〃 the old woman went on。 〃I have done what I could to protect this innocent from bad karma。 But； lady； forgive me； she must have a name。〃
Ikan heard； but it was impossible to say what was going on in her mind。 She felt enwrapped by her guilt。 And now； face to face with the tiny creature she had borne； knowing what kind of a life her unthinking actions had condemned it to； she felt sick at heart。
Her pale lips opened and she whispered； 〃Yes； old one。 A name。 I will give you a name。〃 There was a sighing in the room as if the autumn wind outside had somehow crept through a crack in the window sash and now swirled around them。
Dean's eyes were filled with tears so that the tiny face blurred and became indistinct。 Her whisper could barely be heard。 〃Call her Akiko。〃
She was an exceptionally healthy child； strong and fully as robust as a boy。 She was up and walking early； as if somehow even at that early age she suspected she would need to rely on her own resources to survive。 And for all that Ikan grew to love the child； she showed very little overt emotion。 Rather she left the supervision of the infant to the old cook and the other girls； all of whom were enchanted with the new baby。
She hung back as if she were afraid of the child； especially during those times when those who ran Fuyajo congregated in the infant's room； leaving their gifts near the sleeping form。
Often Shimada would e to the Castle That Knew No Night and； as before； he would spend the long； languorous nights with Dean。 But the one request she continually denied him was to look at his daughter； to hold her； to speak his first words to her so that she would know that he was her father。
She took exceptional pleasure in keeping Akiko from him。〃 Outwardly she would be attentive； responsive to his every wish； often without his having to utter a word of direction…that was a courtesan's greatest skill； after all。 But all the while she would be gloating inwardly at the unique kind of pain she brought him； and like sadist and masochist； this became a kind of bond between them that somehow brought them closer together…or at least afforded them a more intimate understanding of the essence of one another。
Akiko recalled meeting her father only once； and that was on an unseasonably warm spring day when she was midway between her third and fourth birthdays。 She had been playing with Yumi； the old cook； and had returned to her mother's room as she always did at this time of the day。 But instead of her mother waiting for her to b her hair； she found a man in a chocolate brown suit。 He had slightly stooped shoulders； thick features； a grayish mustache no thicker than a pencil； thick； tufty eyebrows like clouds。 He smiled when he saw her and she saw his slightly yellowed teeth。
〃Akiko…chan；〃 he said； bowing。
She returned the gesture。 She was close enough to smell the halo of cigarette smoke that seemed to envelop him。 She wrinkled up her nose and rubbed it with her finger。
〃I've brought you a present； Akiko…chan。〃 He bent toward her and held out his hand。 Nestled within his palm was an exquisitely carved netsuke of a horse with its head down； its forelegs raised as if set for flight or to ward off some unseen advance。 It was made of tulipwood。
Akiko stared at it but made no move to take it。
〃It's for you。 Don't you want it？〃
〃Yes；〃 she whispered。
So he reached out and； taking her hand； deposited the netsuke into her small fist； curling up the fingers around its cool girth。 〃Now this is just from me to you。 Our secret。〃
She nodded。 〃Domo arigato。〃
He smiled down at her and took her other hand。 〃Now we have the entire afternoon to ourselves。〃
It was the time of hanami and he took her by train to a small park on the outskirts of the city with gently sloping contours dressed with lines of old cherry trees。
She remembered the smell of the train； an agglomeration of luncheon foods； and could still feel after all those years the tightly packed claustrophobic sensation of being pressed in with so many people。 Shimada held her hand tightly but still she was unfortable and began to weep silent tears until he picked her up in his arms and held her rocking gently with the motion of the train against his chest。
In the park they stopped in front of a cart selling sweet jellied tofu and he purchased small paper cones filled with the confection for both of them。
The sky was clear and sparkling； so hard seeming that it reminded Akiko of a piece of green glass she had found by the seashore； its edges rounded and smoothed by the constant immersion at the verge of the tidal pull。
Shimada pointed upward； showing her the orange and green box kite with a fierce tiger's head。 Akiko laughed as it dipped and swooped in the wind。
She ate her tofu hungrily and Shimada wiped her cheeks with his snow…white handkerchief。 It felt very soft against her skin。
But most of all she remembered the cherry blossoms。 It was so quiet here that Akiko thought she could hear the drift of the light pink petals through the clear air and they seemed suspended in time； ail motion attenuated； all the world attuned to their drift。
Lifting up her head； she laughed out loud with delight； skipping away from Shimada and back again； grabbing onto his trousers' leg； pulling him forward； wanting in her own inarticulate way for him to dance too。
She never saw Shimada again； and it was a long time before she understood why。 During her time with him she had no inkling that he was her father。 Certainly he had never even broached the subject。 But yet when she thought back on it through the prism of time； she saw that she had known immediately that he was unlike all the other men she had met in her short life and would meet in the passing years。 Shimada was special； just as that memory； piercing the veil of time with such pristine clarity； was special。
What she had not been able to understand was why he had taken his life not more than twenty…four hours after he had watched her； smiling； as she capered through the last hours of the cherry blossoms。 She thought she could never forgive him for that and then； upon learning the terrible truth； thought she could never forgive herself。
As for Ikan； she was never the same after Shimada's death。 Like a blossom at hanami she had reached her peak of b