Free Commodore Perry's Minstrel Show by Richard Wiley

it dried and faded on the nearest boulder, was quickly losing its power as metaphor, but when he moved to close the shojizgûn , Fumiko touched his hand. And after that another kind of passion came into his heart.
    â€œOur house is nearly empty, my dear,” she whispered. “That’s unusual, don’t you think? It has not been nearly empty in a good long time.
    Of course, of course, this was how she would purge herself, she thought.
    â€œFather and Manjiro will be back soon,” Einosuke said, but when he reached around and touched her obi he found that she’d already loosened its knot. Einosuke had forever been proud of the solid beauty of his wife, which he knew had at first been aimed at a level of society higher than his own, but when she opened her kimono, shifting her weight to make it slip off her shoulders until it puddled about her on the floor, he let such knowledge go, along with his sense of propriety and discomfiture, of worry over what the neighbors might think were he to make love to his wife with the shoji open.
    Fumiko’s right breast was in the moonlight, her left one still in the dark.
    â€œYour own clothing now looks too warm,” she told her husband, “and I will not be cold alone.”
    Oh, with what happiness Einosuke undid his sash, crawled out of his own stiff clothing, and set aside his favorite little erotic netsuke carving. He stood in the shadows and reached down to take Fumiko’s outstretched hand. Both of them thought they would closet themselves among the extra futon at the end of the upstairs hallway, or sneak into an unused maid’s room near the kitchen, but when they stood close together Einosuke’s penis knew no such protocol. Unleashed as it was from the constraints of his clothing, it moved up to touch his wife’s abdomen, stiffly knocking twice, like the outstretched beckoning of a small baby’s arm. For the briefest instant both of them laughed, but when Fumiko took it in her hand, pushing it down and raising herself up to slide upon it at the same time, Einosuke’s knees buckled and both of them fell onto the pile of kimonos on the floor. The parts of their bodies fit together of their own accord, slippery with excitement, but as they cried out, bucking and heaving, they also began to roll. Einosuke started it, thinking it would be beautiful were they to end such grand lovemaking with their torsos on the porch, but alas he confused the speed of their roll with the speed of their motion up and down, giving Fumiko barely enough time to throw a hand back to grab a kimono, before they tumbled off the porch and into the garden. For some good reason the kimono twisted under them, softening their landing, cushioning the blow.
    For a second everything was still, until Fumiko, whose fall had also been broken by Einosuke, said, “Shh. Listen carefully, be quiet before you speak, my love.”
    Oh, she was fine now! Back to her earlier self. Oh how she loved her husband!
    â€œMy dearest one,” moaned Einosuke, but Fumiko shushed him again. She pushed herself up just enough to reach back through the open doorway and pull Einosuke’s kimono down. She hoped it would hide them, since it was not only larger than hers but also russet, in the darkness surely the same color as the ground.
    â€œI think my gown is ruined,” she whispered, putting a hand over his mouth lest he say he didn’t think so.
    They let another minute pass while they listened for sounds from the next-door neighbor’s yard. Einosuke was dismayed by their behavior, sure that they had never before been so noisy. But the outside world seemed to surround them again without much shock or comment, applause coming only from the wind, slight, to be sure, and freezing cold.
    â€œWe should go back inside,” said Einosuke, and Fumiko asked how she would explain, to the laundryman, how her kimono has been savaged by stones.
    â€œMaybe it’s