Around the time of my sixty-fifth birthday, a friend sent me an article she'd found somewhere, called "The Twenty Greatest Geisha of Gion's Past." Or maybe it was the thirty greatest geisha, I don't remember. But there I was on the list with a little paragraph telling some things about me, including that I'd been born in Kyoto-which of course I wasn't. I can assure you I wasn't one of Gion's twenty greatest geisha either; some people have difficulty telling the difference between something great and something they've simply heard of. In any case, I would have been lucky to end up as nothing more than a bad geisha and an unhappy one, like so many other poor girls, if Mr. Tanaka had never written to tell me that my parents had died and that I would probably never see my sister again.
I'm sure you'll recall my saying that the afternoon when I first met Mr. Tanaka was the very best afternoon of my life, and also the very worst. Probably I don't need to explain why it was the worst; but you may be wondering how I could possibly imagine that anything good ever came of it. It's true that up until this time in my life Mr. Tanaka had brought me nothing but suffering; but he also changed my horizons forever. We lead our lives like water flowing down a hill, going more or lessin one direction until we splash into something that forces us to find a new course. If I'd never met Mr. Tanaka, my life would have been a simple stream flowing from our tipsy house to the ocean. Mr. Tanaka changed all that when he sent me out into the world. But being sent out into the world isn't necessarily the same as leaving your home behind you. I'd been in Gion more than six months by the time I received Mr. Tanaka's letter; and yet during that time, I'd never for a moment given up the belief that I would one day find a better life elsewhere, with at least part of the family I'd always known. I was living only half in Gion; the other half of me lived in my dreams of going home. This is why dreams can be such dangerous things: they smolder on like a fire does, and sometimes consume us completely.
During the rest of the spring and all that summer following the letter, I felt like a child lost on a lake in the fog. The days spilled one after another into a muddle. I remember only snippets of things, aside from a constant feeling of misery and fear. One cold evening after winter had come, I sat a long while in the maids' room watching snow falling silently into the okiya's little courtyard. I imagined my father coughing at the lonely table in his lonely house, and my mother so frail upon her futon that her body scarcely sank into the bedding. I stumbled out into the courtyard to try to flee my misery, but of course we can never flee the misery that is within us.
Then in early spring, a full year after the terrible news about my family, something happened. It was the following April, when the cherry trees were in blossom once again; it may even have been a year to the day since Mr. Tanaka's letter. I was almost twelve by then and was beginning to look a bit womanly, even though Pumpkin still looked very much like a little girl. I'd grown nearly as tall as I would ever grow. My body would remain thin and knobby like a twig for a year or two more, but my face had already given up its childish softness and was now sharp around the chin and cheekbones, and had broadened in such a way as to give a true almond shape to my eyes. In the past, men had taken no more notice of me on the streets than if I had been a pigeon; now they were watching me when I passed them. I found it strange to be the object of attention after being ignored for so long.
In any case, very early one morning that April, I awoke from a most peculiar dream about a bearded man. His beard was so heavy that his features were a blur to me, as if someone had censored them from the film. He was standing before me saying something I can't remember, and then all at once he slid open the paper screen over a window beside him with a loud clack. I awoke thinking I'd heard a noise in the room. The maids were sighing in their sleep. Pumpkin lay quietly with her round face sagging onto the pillow. Everything looked just as it always did, I'm sure; but my feelings were strangely different. I felt as though I were looking at a world that was somehow changed from the one I'd seen the night before-peering out, almost, through the very window that had opened in my dream.
I couldn't possibly have explained what this meant. But I continued thinking about it while I swept the stepping-stones in the courtyard that morning, until I began to feel the sort of buzzing in my head that comes from a thought circling and circling with nowhere to go, just like a bee in a jar. Soon I put down the broom and went to sit in the dirt corridor, where the cool air from beneath the foundation of the main house drifted soothingly over my back. And then something came to mind that I hadn't thought about since my very first week in Kyoto.
Only a day or two after being separated from my sister, I had been sent to wash some rags one afternoon, when a moth came fluttering down from the sky onto my arm. I flicked it off, expecting that it would fly away, but instead it sailed like a pebble across the courtyard and lay there upon the ground. I didn't know if it had fallen from the sky already dead or if I had killed it, but its little insect death touched me. I admired the lovely pattern on its wings, and then wrapped it in one of the rags I was washing and hid it away beneath the foundation of the house.
I hadn't thought about this moth since then; but the moment it came to mind I got on my knees and looked under the house until I found it. So many things in my life had changed, even the way I looked; but when I unwrapped the moth from its funeral shroud, it was the same startlingly lovely creature as on the day I had entombed it. It seemed to be wearing a robe in subdued grays and browns, like Mother wore when she went to her mah-jongg games at night. Everything about it seemed beautiful and perfect, and so utterly unchanged. If only one thing in my life had been the same as during that first week in Kyoto ... As I thought of this my mind began to swirl like a hurricane. It struck me that we-that moth and I-were two opposite extremes. My existence was as unstable as a stream, changing in every way; but the moth was like a piece of stone, changing not at all. While thinking this thought, I reached out a finger to feel the moth's velvety surface; but when I brushed it with my fingertip, it turned all at once into a pile of ash without even a sound, without even a moment in which I could see it crumbling. I was so astonished I let out a cry. The swirling in my mind stopped; I felt as if I had stepped into the eye of a storm. I let the tiny shroud and its pile of ashes flutter to the ground; and now I understood the thing that had puzzled me all morning. The stale air had washed away. The past was gone. My mother and father were dead and I could do nothing to change it. But I suppose that for the past year I'd been dead in a way too. And my sister . . . yes, she was gone; but I wasn't gone. I'm not sure this will make sense to you, but I felt as though I'd turned around to look in a different direction, so that I no longer faced backward toward the past, but forward toward the future. And now the question confronting me was this: What would that future be?
The moment this question formed in my mind, I knew with as much certainty as I'd ever known anything that sometime during that day I would receive a sign. This was why the bearded man had opened the window in my dream. He was saying to me, "Watch for the thing that will show itself to you. Because that thing, when you find it, will be your future."
I had no time for another thought before Auntie called out to me:
Chiyo, come here!
Well, I walked up that dirt corridor as though I were in a trance. It wouldn't have surprised me if Auntie had said, "You want to know about your future? All right, listen closely . . ." But instead she just held out two hair ornaments on a squ-are of white silk.
Take these, she said to me. "Heaven knows what Hatsumomo was up to last night; she came back to the okiya wearing another girl's ornaments. She must have drunk more than her usual amount of sake. Go find her at the school, ask whose they are, and return them."
When I took the ornaments, Auntie gave me a piece of paper with a number of other errands written on it as well and told me to come back to the okiya as soon as I had done them all.
Wearing someone else's hair ornaments home at night may not sound so peculiar, but really it's about the same as coming home in someone else's underwear. Geisha don't wash their hair every day, you see, because of their fancy hairstyles. So a hair ornament is a very intimate article. Auntie didn't even want to touch the things, which is why she was holding them on a square of silk. She wrapped them up to give them to me, so that they looked just like the bundled-up moth I'd been holding only a few minutes earlier. Of course, a sign doesn't mean anything unless you know how to interpret it. I stood there staring at the silk bundle in Auntie's hand until she said, "Take it, for heaven's sake!" Later, on my way to the school, I unfolded it to have another look at the ornaments. One was a black lacquer comb shaped like the setting sun, with a design of flowers in gold around the outside; the other was a stick of blond wood with two pearls at the end holding in place a tiny amber sphere.
I waited outside the school building until I heard the don of the bell signaling the end of classes. Soon girls in their blue and white robes came pouring out. Hatsumomo spotted me even before I spotted her, and came toward me with another geisha. You may wonder why she was at the school at all, since she was already an accomplished dancer and certainly knew everything she needed to know about being a geisha. But even the most renowned geisha continued to take advanced lessons in dance throughout their careers, some of them even into their fifties and sixties.
Why, look, Hatsumomo said to her friend. "I think it must be a weed. Look how tall it is!" This was her way of ridiculing me for having grown a finger's-width taller than her.
Auntie has sent me here, ma'am, I said, "to find out whose hair ornaments you stole last night."
Hatsumomo's smile faded. She snatched the little bundle from my hand and opened it.
Why, these aren't mine . . . she said. "Where did you get them?"
Oh, Hatsumomo-san! said the other geisha. "Don't you remember? You and Kanako took out your hair ornaments while the two of you were playing that foolish game with Judge Uwazumi. Kanako must have gone home with your hair ornaments, and you went home with hers."
How disgusting, said Hatsumomo. "When do you think Kanako last washed her hair? Anyway, her okiya is right next to yours. Take them for me, would you? Tell her I'll come to fetch mine later, and she'd better not try to keep them."
The other geisha took the hair ornaments and left.
Oh, don't go, little Chiyo, Hatsumomo said to me. "There's something I want to show you. It's that young girl over there, the one walking through the gate. Her name is Ichikimi."
I looked at Ichikimi, but Hatsumomo didn't seem to have any more to say about her. "I don't know her," I said.
No, of course not. She's nothing special. A bit stupid, and as awkward as a cripple. But I just thought you'd find it interesting that she's going to be a geisha, and you never will.
I don't think Hatsumomo could have found anything crueler to say to me. For a year and a half now, I'd been condemned to the drudgery of a maid. I felt my life stretching out before me like a long path leading nowhere. I won't say I wanted to become a geisha; but I certainly didn't want to remain a maid. I stood in the garden of the school a long while, watching the young girls my age chat with one another as they streamed past. They may only have been heading back for lunch, but to me they were going from one important thing to another with lives of purpose, while I on the other hand would go back to nothing more glamorous than scrubbing the stones in the courtyard. When the garden emptied out, I stood worrying that perhaps this was the sign I'd waited for-that other young girls in Gion would move ahead in their lives and leave me behind. This thought gave me such a fright I couldn't stay alone in the garden any longer. I walked down to Shijo Avenue and turned toward the Kamo River. Giant banners on the Minamiza Theater announced the performance of a Kabuki play that afternoon entitled Shibaraku, which is one of our most famous plays, though I knew nothing about Kabuki at the time. Crowds streamed up the steps into the theater. Among the men in their dark Western-style suits or kimono, several geisha stood out in brilliant coloring just like autumn leaves on the murky waters of a river. Here again, I saw life in all its noisy excitement passing me by. I hurried away from the avenue, down a side street leading along the Shi-rakawa Stream, but even there, men and geisha were rushing along in their lives so full of purpose. To shut out the pain of this thought I turned toward the Shirakawa, but cruelly, even its waters glided along with purpose-toward the Kamo River and from there to Osaka Bay and the Inland Sea. It seemed the same message waited for me everywhere. I threw myself onto the little stone wall at the edge of the stream and wept. I was an abandoned island in the midst of the ocean, with no past, to be sure, but no future either. Soon I felt myself coming to a point where I thought no human voice could reach me-until I heard a man's voice say this:
Why it's too pretty a day to be so unhappy.
Ordinarily a man on the streets of Gion wouldn't notice a girl like me, particularly while I was making a fool of myself by crying. If he did notice me, he certainly wouldn't speak to me, unless it was to order me out of his way, or some such thing. Yet not only had this man bothered to speak to me, he'd actually spoken kindly. He'd addressed me in a way that suggested I might be a young woman of standing-the daughter of a good friend, perhaps. For a flicker of a moment I imagined a world completely different from the one I'd always known, a world in which I was treated with fairness, even kindness-a world in which fathers didn't sell their daughters. The noise and hubbub of so many people living their lives of purpose around me seemed to stop; or at least, I ceasedto be aware of it. And when I raised myself to look at the man who'd spoken, I had a feeling of leaving my misery behind me there on the stone wall.
I'll be happy to try to describe him for you, but I can think of only one way to do it-by telling you about a certain tree that sj:ood at the edge of the sea cliffs in Yoroido. This tree was as smooth as driftwood because of the wind, and when I was a little girl of four or five I found a man's face on it one day. That is to say, I found a smooth patch as broad as a plate, with two sharp bumps at the outside edge for cheekbones. They cast shadows suggesting eye sockets, and beneath the shadows rose a gentle bump of a nose. The whole face tipped a bit to one side, gazing at me quizzically; it looked to me like a man with as much certainty about his place in this world as a tree has. Something about it was so meditative, I imagined I'd found the face of a Buddha.
The man who'd addressed me there on the street had this same kind of broad, calm face. And what was more, his features were so smooth and serene, I had the feeling he'd go on standing there calmly until I wasn't unhappy any longer. He was probably about forty-five years old, with gray hair combed straight back from his forehead. But I couldn't look at him for long. He seemed so elegant to me that I blushed and looked away.
Two younger men stood to one side of him; a geisha stood to the other. I heard the geisha say to him quietly:
Why, she's only a maid! Probably she stubbed her toe while running an errand. I'm sure someone will come along to help her soon.
I wish I had your faith in people, Izuko-san, said the man.
The show will be starting in only a moment. Really, Chairman, I don't think you should waste any more time . . .
While running errands in Gion, I'd often heard men addressed by titles like "Department Head" or occasionally "Vice President." But only rarely had I heard the title "Chairman." Usually the men addressed as Chairman had bald heads and frowns, and swaggered down the street with groups of junior executives scurrying behind. This man before me was so different from the usual chairman that even though I was only a little girl with limited experience of the world, I knew his company couldn't be a terribly important one. A man with an important company wouldn't have stopped to talk to me.
You're trying to tell me it's a waste of time to stay here and help her, said the Chairman.
Oh, no, the geisha said. "It's more a matter of having no time to waste. We may be late for the first scene already."
Now, Izuko-san, surely at some time you yourself have been in the same state this little girl is in. You can't pretend the life of a geisha is always simple. I should think you of all people-
I've been in the state she's in? Chairman, do you mean . . . making a public spectacle of myself?
At this, the Chairman turned to the two younger men and asked that they take Izuko ahead to the theater. They bowed and went on their way while the Chairman remained behind. He looked at me a long while, though I didn't dare to look back at him. At length I said:
Please, sir, what she says is true. I'm only a foolish girl . . . please don't make yourself late on my account.
Stand up a moment, he told me.
I didn't dare disobey him, though I had no idea what he wanted. As it turned out, all he did was take a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the grit that had stuck to my face from the top of the stone wall. Standing so close before him, I could smell the odor of talc on his smooth skin, which made me recall the day when the Emperor Taisho's nephew had come to our little fishing village. He'd done nothing more than step out of his car and walk to the inlet and back, nodding to the crowds that knelt before him, wearing a Western-style business suit, the first I'd ever seen-for I peeked at him, even though I wasn't supposed to. I remember too-that his mustache was carefully groomed, unlike the hair on the faces of the men in our village, which grew untended like weeds along a path. No one of any importance had ever been in our village before that day. I think we all felt touched by nobility and greatness.
Occasionally in life we come upon things we can't understand because we have never seen anything similar. The Emperor's nephew certainly struck me that way; and so did the Chairman. When he had wiped away the grit and tears from my face, he tipped my head up.
Here you are ... a beautiful girl with nothing on earth to be ashamed of, he said. "And yet you're afraid to look at me. Someone has been cruel to you ... or perhaps life has been cruel."
I don't know, sir, I said, though of course I knew perfectly well.
We none of us find as much kindness in this world as we should, he told me, and he narrowed his eyes a moment as if to say I should think seriously about what he'd just said.
I wanted more than anything to see the smooth skin of his face once more, with its broad brow, and the eyelids like sheaths of marble over his gentle eyes; but there was such a gulf in social standing between us. I did finally let my eyes flick upward, though I blushed and looked away so quickly that he may never have known I met his gaze.
But how can I describe what I saw in that instant? He was looking at me as a musician might look at his instrument just before he begins to play, with understanding and mastery. I felt that he could see into me as though I were a part of him. How I would have loved to be the instrument he played!
In a moment he reached into his pocket and brought something out.
Do you like sweet plum or cherry? he said.
Sir? Do you mean ... to eat?
I passed a vendor a moment ago, selling shaved ice with syrup on it. I never tasted one until I was an adult, but I'd have liked them as a child. Take this coin and buy one. Take my handkerchief too, so you can wipe your face afterward, he said. And with this, he pressed the coin into the center of the handkerchief, wrapped it into a bundle, and held it out to me.
From the moment the Chairman had first spoken to me, I'd forgotten that I was watching for a sign about my future. But when I saw the bundle he held in his hand, it looked so much like the shrouded moth, I knew I'd come upon the sign at last. I took the bundle and bowed low to thank him, and tried to tell him how grateful I was- though I'm sure my words carried none of the fullness of my feelings. I wasn't thanking him for the coin, or even for the trouble he'd taken in stopping to help me. I was thanking him for . . . well, for something I'm not sure I can explain even now. For showing me that something besides cruelty could be found in the world, I suppose.
I watched him walk away with sickness in my heart-though it was a pleasing kind of sickness, if such a thing exists. I mean to say that if you have experienced an evening more exciting than any in your life, you're sad to see it end; and yet you still feel grateful that it happened. In that brief encounter with the Chairman, I had changed from a lost girl facing a lifetime of emptiness to a girl with purpose in her life. Perhaps it seems odd that a casual meeting on the street could have brought about such change. But sometimes life is like that, isn't it? And I really do think if you'd been there to see what I saw, and feel what I felt, the same might have happened to you.
When the Chairman had disappeared from sight, I rushed up the street to search for the shaved ice vendor. The day wasn't especially hot, and I didn't care for shaved ice; but eating it would make my encounter with the Chairman linger. So I bought a paper cone of shaved ice with cherry syrup on it, and went to sit again on the same stone wall. The taste of the syrup seemed startling and complex, I think only because my senses were so heightened. If I were a geisha like the one named Izuko, I thought, a man like the Chairman might spend time with me. I'd never imagined myself envying a geisha. I'd been brought to Kyoto for the purpose of becoming one, of course; but up until now I'd have run away in an instant if I could have. Now I understood the thing I'd overlooked; the point wasn't to become a geisha, but to })e one. To become a geisha . . . well, that was hardly a purpose in life. But to be a geisha ... I could see it now as a stepping-stone to something else. If I was right about the Chairman's age, he was probably no more than forty-five. Plenty of geisha had achieved tremendous success by the age of twenty. The geisha Izuko was probably no more than twenty-five herself. I was still a child, nearly twelve . . . but in another twelve years I'd be in my twenties. And what of the Chairman? He would be no older by that time than Mr. Tanaka was already.
The coin the Chairman had given me was far more than I'd needed for a simple cone of shaved ice. I held in my hand the change from the vendor-three coins of different sizes. At first I'd thought of keeping them forever; but now I realized they could serve a far more important purpose.
I rushed to Shijo Avenue and ran all the way to its end at the eastern edge of Gion, where the Gion Shrine stood. I climbed the steps, but I felt too intimidated to walk beneath the great two-story entrance gate with its gabled roof, and walked around it instead. Across the gravel courtyard and up another flight of steps, I passed through the torii gate to the shrine itself. There I threw the coins into the offertory box-coins that might have been enough to take me away from Gion- and announced my presence to the gods by clapping three times and bowing. With my eyes squeezed tightly shut and my hands together, I prayed that they permit me to become a geisha somehow. I would suffer through any training, bear up under any hardship, for a chance to attract the notice of a man like the Chairman again.
When I opened my eyes, I could still hear the traffic on Higashi-Oji Avenue. The trees hissed in a gust of wind just as they had a moment earlier. Nothing had changed. As to whether the gods had heard me, I had no way of knowing. I could do nothing but tuck the Chairman's handkerchief inside my robe and carry it with me back to the okiya.
One morning quite some months later, while we were putting away the ro underrobes-the ones made of lightweight silk gauze for hot weather-and bringing out the hitoe underrobes instead-the ones with no lining, used in September-I came upon a smell in the entry-way so horrible that I dropped the armload of robes I was carrying. The smell was coming from Granny's room. I ran upstairs to fetch Auntie, because I knew at once that something must be terribly wrong. Auntie hobbled down the stairs as quickly as she could and went in to find Granny dead on the floor; and she had died in a most peculiar manner. Granny had the only electric space heater in our okiya. She used it every single night except during the summer. Now that the month of September had begun and we were putting away the summer-weight underrobes, Granny had begun to use her heater again. That doesn't mean the weather was necessarily cool; we change the weight of our clothing by the calendar, not by the actual temperature outdoors, and Granny used her heater just the same way. She was unreasonably attached to it, probably because she'd spent so many nights of her life suffering miserably from the cold.
Granny's usual routine in the morning was to wrap the cord around the heater before pushing it back against the wall. Over time the hot metal burned all the way through the cord, so that the wire finally came into contact with it, and the whole thing became electrified. The police said that when Granny touched it that morning she must have been immobilized at once, maybe even killed instantly. When she slid down onto the floor, she ended up with her face pressed against the hot metal surface. This was what caused the horrible smell. Happily I didn't see her after she'd died, except for her legs, which were visible from the doorway and looked like slender tree limbs wrapped in wrinkled silk.
For a week or two after Granny died, we were as busy as you can imagine, not only with cleaning the house thoroughly-because in Shinto, death is the most impure of all the things that can happen-but with preparing the house by setting out candles, trays with meal offerings, lanterns at the entrance, tea stands, trays for money that visitors brought, and so on. We were so busy that one evening the cook became ill and a doctor was summoned; it turned out her only problem was that she'd slept no more than two hours the night before, hadn't sat down all day, and had eaten only a single bowl of clear soup. I was surprised too to see Mother spending money almost unrestrainedly, making plans for sutras to be chanted "on Granny's behalf at the Chion-in Temple, purchasing lotus-bud arrangements from the undertaker- all of it right in the midst of the Great Depression. I wondered at first if her behavior was a testament to how deeply she felt about Granny; but later I realized what it really meant: practically all of Gion would come tramping through our okiya to pay respects to Granny, and would attend the funeral at the temple later in the week; Mother had to put on the proper kind of show.
For a few days all of Gion did indeed come through our okiya, or so it seemed; and we had to feed tea and sweets to all of them. Mother and Auntie received the mistresses of the various teahouses and okiya, as well as a number of maids who were acquainted with Granny; also shopkeepers, wig makers, and hairdressers, most of whom were men; and of course, dozens and dozens of geisha. The older geisha knew Granny from her working days, but the younger ones had never even heard of her; they came out of respect for Mother-or in some cases because they had a relationship of one kind or another with Hatsumomo.
My job during this busy period was to show visitors into the reception room, where Mother and Auntie were waiting for them. It was a distance of only a few steps; but the visitors couldn't very well show themselves in; and besides, I had to keep track of which faces belonged to which shoes, for it was my job to take the shoes to the maids' room to keep the entryway from being too cluttered, and then bring them back again at the proper moment. I had trouble with this at first. I couldn't peer right into the eyes of our visitors without seeming rude, but a simple glimpse of their faces wasn't enough for me to remember them. Very soon I learned to look closely at the kimono they wore.
On about the second or third afternoon the door rolled open, and in came a kimono that at once struck me as the loveliest I'd seen any of our visitors wear. It was somber because of the occasion-a simple black robe bearing a crest-but its pattern of green and gold grasses sweeping around the hem was so rich-looking, I found myself imagining how astounded the wives and daughters of the fishermen back in Yoroido would be to see such a thing. The visitor had a maid with her as well, which made me think perhaps she was the mistress of a teahouse or okiya-because very few geisha could afford such an expense. While she looked at the tiny Shinto shrine in our entryway, I took the opportunity to steal a peek at her face. It was such a perfect oval that I thought at once of a certain scroll in Auntie's room, showing an ink painting of a courtesan from the Heian period a thousand years earlier. She wasn't as striking a woman as Hatsumomo, but her features were so perfectly formed that at once I began to feel even more insignificant than usual. And then suddenly I realized who she was.
Mameha, the geisha whose kimono Hatsumomo had made me ruin.
What had happened to her kimono wasn't really my fault; but still, I would have given up the robe I was wearing not to run into her. I lowered my head to keep my face hidden while I showed her and her maid into the reception room. I didn't think she would recognize me, since I felt certain she hadn't seen my face when I'd returned the kimono; and even if she had, two years had passed since then. The maid who accompanied her now wasn't the same young woman who'd taken the kimono from me that night and whose eyes had filled with tears. Still, I was relieved when the time came for me to bow and leave them in the reception room.
Twenty minutes later, when Mameha and her maid were ready to leave, I fetched their shoes and arranged them on the step in the entryway, still keeping my head down and feeling every bit as nervous as I had earlier. When her maid rolled open the door, I felt that my ordeal was over. But instead of walking out, Mameha just went on standing there. I began to worry; and I'm afraid my eyes and my mind weren't communicating well, because even though I knew I shouldn't do it, Ilet my eyes flick up. I was horrified to see that Mameha was peering down at me.
What is your name, little girl? she said, in what I took to be a very stern tone.
I told her that my name was Chiyo.
Stand up a moment, Chiyo. I'd like to have a look at you.
I rose to my feet as she had asked; but if it had been possible to make my face shrivel up and disappear, just like slurping down a noodle, I'm sure I would have done it.
Come now, I want to have a look at you! she said. "Here you are acting like you're counting the toes on your feet."
I raised my head, though not my eyes, and then Mameha let out a long sigh and ordered me to look up at her.
What unusual eyes! she said. "I thought I might have imagined it. What color would you call them, Tatsumi?"
Her maid came back into the entryway and took a look at me. "Blue-gray, ma'am," she replied.
That's just what I would have said. Now, how many girls in Gion do you think have eyes like that?
I didn't know if Mameha was speaking to me or Tatsumi, but neither of us answered. She was looking at me with a peculiar expression-concentrating on something, it seemed to me. And then to my great relief, she excused herself and left.
Granny's funeral was held about a week later, on a morning chosen by a fortune-teller. Afterward we began putting the okiya back in order, but with several changes. Auntie moved downstairs into the room that had been Granny's, while Pumpkin-who was to begin her apprenticeship as a geisha before long-took the second-floor room where Auntie had lived. In addition, two new maids arrived the following week, both of them middle-aged and very energetic. It may seem odd that Mother added maids although the family was now fewer in number; but in fact the okiya had always been understaffed because Granny couldn't tolerate crowding.
The final change was that Pumpkin's chores were taken away from her. She was told instead to spend her time practicing the various arts she would depend upon as a geisha. Usually girls weren't given so much opportunity for practice, but poor Pumpkin was a slow learner and needed the extra time if anyone ever did. I had difficulty watching her as she knelt on the wooden walkway every day and practiced her shamisen for hours, with her tongue poking out the side of her mouthlike she was trying to lick her cheek clean. She gave me little smiles whenever our eyes met; and really, her disposition was as sweet and kind as could be. But already I was finding it difficult to bear the burden of patience in my life, waiting for some tiny opening that might never come and that would certainly be the only chance I'd ever get. Now I had to watch as the door of opportunity was held wide open for someone else. Some nights when I went to bed, I took the handkerchief the Chairman had given me and lay on my futon smelling its rich talc scent. I cleared my mind of everything but the image of him and the feeling of warm sun on my face and the hard stone wall where I'd sat that day when I met him. He was my bodhisattva with a thousand arms who would help me. I couldn't imagine how his help would come to me, but I prayed that it would.
Toward the end of the first month after Granny's death, one of our new maids came to me one day to say I had a visitor at the door. It was an unseasonably hot October afternoon, and my whole body was damp with perspiration from using our old hand-operated vacuum to clean the tatami mats upstairs in Pumpkin's new room, which had only recently been Auntie's; Pumpkin was in the habit of sneaking rice crackers upstairs, so the tatami needed to be cleaned frequently. I mopped myself with a wet towel as quickly as I could and rushed down, to find a young woman in the entryway, dressed in a kimono like a maid's. I got to my knees and bowed to her. Only when I looked at her a second time did I recognize her as the maid who had accompanied Mameha to our okiya a few weeks earlier. I was very sorry to see her there. I felt certain I was in trouble. But when she gestured for me to step down into the entryway, I slipped my feet into my shoes and followed her out to the street.
Are you sent on errands from time to time, Chiyo? she asked me.
So much time had passed since I'd tried to run away that I was no longer confined to the okiya. I had no idea why she was asking; but I told her that I was.
Good, she said. "Arrange for yourself to be sent out tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock, and meet me at the little bridge that arches over the Shirakawa Stream."
Yes, ma'am, I said, "but may I ask why?"
You'll find out tomorrow, won't you? she answered, with a little crinkle of her nose that made me wonder if she was teasing me.
I certainly wasn't pleased that Mameha's maid wanted me to accompany her somewhere-probably to Mameha, I thought, to be scolded for what I'd done. But just the same, the following day I talked Pumpkin into sending me on an errand that didn't really need to be run. She was worried about getting into trouble, until I promised to find a way of repaying her. So at three o'clock, she called to me from the courtyard:
Chiyo-san, could you please go out and buy me some new shamisen strings and a few Kabuki magazines? She had been instructed to read Kabuki magazines for the sake of her education. Then I heard her say in an even louder voice, "Is that all right, Auntie?" But Auntie didn't answer, for she was upstairs taking a nap.
I left the okiya and walked along the Shirakawa Stream to the arched bridge leading into the Motoyoshi-cho section of Gion. With the weather so warm and lovely, quite a number of men and geisha were strolling along, admiring the weeping cherry trees whose tendrils drooped onto the surface of the water. While I waited near the bridge, I watched a group of foreign tourists who had come to see the famous Gion district. They weren't the only foreigners I'd ever seen in Kyoto, but they certainly looked peculiar to me, the big-nosed women with their long dresses and their brightly colored hair, the men so tall and confident, with heels that clicked on the pavement. One of the men pointed at me and said something in a foreign language, and they all turned to have a look. I felt so embarrassed I pretended to find something on the ground so I could crouch down and hide myself.
Finally Mameha's maid came; and just as I'd feared, she led me over the bridge and along the stream to the very same doorway where Hatsumomo and Korin had handed me the kimono and sent me up the stairs. It seemed terribly unfair to me that this same incident was about to cause still more trouble for me-and after so much time had passed. But when the maid rolled open the door for me, I climbed up into the gray light of the stairway. At the top we both stepped out of our shoes and went into the apartment.
Chiyo is here, ma'am! she cried.
Then I heard Mameha call from the back room, "All right, thank you, Tatsumi!"
The young woman led me to a table by an open window, where I knelt on one of the cushions and tried not to look nervous. Very shortly another maid came out with a cup of tea for me-because as it turned out, Mameha had not one maid, but two. I certainly wasn't expecting to be served tea; and in fact, nothing like this had happened to me since dinner at Mr. Tanaka's house years earlier. I bowed to thank her and took a few sips, so as not to seem rude. Afterward I found myself sittingfor a long while with nothing to do but listen to the sound of water passing over the knee-high cascade in the Shirakawa Stream outside.
Mameha's apartment wasn't large, but it was extremely elegant, with beautiful tatami mats that were obviously new, for they had a lovely yellow-green sheen and smelled richly of straw. If you've ever looked closely enough at a tatami mat, you'd notice that the border around it is edged in fabric, usually just a strip of dark cotton or linen; but these were edged in a strip of silk with a pattern of green and gold. Not far away in an alcove hung a scroll written in a beautiful hand, which turned out to be a gift to Mameha from the famous calligrapher Matsudaira Koichi. Beneath it, on the wooden base of the alcove, an arrangement of blossoming dogwood branches rose up out of a shallow dish that was irregular in shape with a cracked glaze of the deepest black. I found it very peculiar, but actually it had been presented to Mameha by none other than Yoshida Sakuhei, the great master of the setoguro style of ceramics who became a Living National Treasure in the years after World War II.
At last Mameha came out from the back room, dressed exquisitely in a cream kimono with a water design at the hem. I turned and bowed very low on the mats while she drifted over to the table; and when she was there, she arranged herself on her knees opposite me, took a sip of tea the maid served to her, and then said this:
Now . . . Chiyo, isn't it? Why don't you tell me how you managed to get out of your okiya this afternoon? I'm sure Mrs. Nitta doesn't like it when her maids attend to personal business in the middle of the day.
I certainly hadn't expected this sort of question. In fact, I couldn't think of anything at all to say, even though I knew it would be rude not to respond. Mameha just sipped at her tea and looked at me with a benign expression on her perfect, oval face. Finally she said:
You think I'm trying to scold you. But I'm only interested to know if you've gotten yourself into trouble by coming here.
I was very relieved to hear her say this. "No, ma'am," I said. "I'm supposed to be on an errand fetching Kabuki magazines and shamisen strings."
Oh, well, I've got plenty of those, she said, and then called her maid over and told her to fetch some and put them on the table before me. "When you go back to your okiya, take them with you, and no one will wonder where you've been. Now, tell me something. When I came to your okiya to pay my respects, I saw another girl your age."
That must have been Pumpkin. With a very round face?
Mameha asked why I called her Pumpkin, and when I explained, she gave a laugh.
This Pumpkin girl, Mameha said, "how do she and Hatsumomo get along?"
Well, ma'am, I said, "I suppose Hatsumomo pays her no more attention than she would a leaf that has fluttered into the courtyard."
How very poetic ... a leaf that has fluttered into the courtyard. Is that the way Hatsumomo treats you as well?
I opened my mouth to speak, but the truth is, I wasn't sure what to say. I knew very little about Mameha, and it would be improper to speak ill of Hatsumomo to someone outside the okiya. Mameha seemed to sense what I was thinking, for she said to me:
You needn't answer. I know perfectly well how Hatsumomo treats you: about like a serpent treats its next meal, I should think.
If I may ask, ma'am, who has told you?
No one has told me, she said. "Hatsumomo and I have known each other since I was a girl of six and she was nine. When you've watched a creature misbehaving itself over such a long period, there's no secret in knowing what it will do next."
I don't know what I did to make her hate me so, I said.
Hatsumomo is no harder to understand than a cat. A cat is happy so long as it's lying in the sun with no other cats around. But if it should think someone else is poking around its meal dish . . . Has anyone told you the story of how Hatsumomo drove young Hatsuoki out of Gion?
I told her no one had.
What an attractive girl Hatsuoki was, Mameha began. "And a very dear friend of mine. She and your Hatsumomo were sisters. That is to say, they'd both been trained by the same geisha-in this case, the great Tomihatsu, who.was already an old woman at the time. Your Hatsumomo never liked young Hatsuoki, and when they both became apprentice geisha, she couldn't bear having her as a rival. So she began to spread a rumor around Gion that Hatsuoki had been caught in a public alleyway one night doing something very improper with a young policeman. Of course there was no truth in it. If Hatsumomo had simply gone around telling the story, no one in Gion would have believed her. People knew how jealous she felt about Hatsuoki. So here's what she did: whenever she came upon someone very drunk-a geisha, or a maid, or even a man visiting Gion, it didn't matter-she whispered the story about Hatsuoki in such a way that the next day the person who'd heard it didn't remember that Hatsumomo had been the source. Soon poor
Hatsuoki's reputation was so damaged, it was an easy matter for Hatsumomo to put a few more of her little tricks to use and drive her out."
I felt a strange relief at hearing that someone besides me had been treated monstrously by Hatsumomo.
She can't bear to have rivals, Mameha went on. "That's the reason she treats you as she does."
Surely Hatsumomo doesn't see me as a rival, ma'am, I said. "I'm no more a rival to her than a puddle is a rival to the ocean."
Not in the teahouses of Gion, perhaps. But within your okiya . . . Don't you find it odd that Mrs. Nitta has never adopted Hatsumomo as her daughter? The Nitta okiya must be the wealthiest in Gion without an heir. By adopting Hatsumomo, not only would Mrs. Nitta solve that problem, but all of Hatsumomo's earnings would then be kept by the okiya, without a single sen of it paid out to Hatsumomo herself. And Hatsumomo is a very successful geisha! You'd think Mrs. Nitta, who's as fond of money as anyone, would have adopted her a long time ago. She must have a very good reason not to do so, don't you think?
I'd certainly never thought of any of this before, but after listening to Mameha, I felt certain I knew exactly what the reason was.
Adopting Hatsumomo, I said, "would be like releasing the tiger from its cage."
It certainly would. I'm sure Mrs. Nitta knows perfectly well what sort of adopted daughter Hatsumomo would turn out to be-the sort that finds a way to drive the Mother out. In any case, Hatsumomo has no more patience than a child. I don't think she could keep even a cricket alive in a wicker cage. After a year or two, she'd probably sell the okiya's collection of kimono and retire. That, young Chiyo, is the reason Hatsumomo hates you so very much. The Pumpkin girl, I don't imagine Hatsumomo feels too worried about Mrs. Nitta adopting her.
'Mameha-san," I said, "I'm sure you recall the kimono of yours that was ruined . . ."
You're going to tell me you're the girl who put ink on it.
Well . . . yes, ma'am. And even though I'm sure you know Hatsumomo was behind it, I do hope that someday I'll be able to show how sorry I am for what happened.
Mameha gazed at me a long while. I had no notion what she was thinking until she said:
You may apologize, if you wish.
I backed away from the table and bowed low to the mats; but before I had a chance to say anything at all, Mameha interrupted me.
That would be a lovely bow, if only you were a farmer visiting Kyoto for the first time, she said. "But since you want to appear cultivated, you must do it like this. Look at me; move farther away from the table. All right, there you are on your knees; now straighten out your arms and put your fingertips onto the mats in front of you. Just the tips of your fingers; not your whole hand. And you mustn't spread your fingers at all; I can still see space between them. Very well, put them on the mats . . . hands together . . . there! Now that looks lovely. Bow as low as you can, but keep your neck perfectly straight, don't let your head drop that way. And for heaven's sake, don't put any weight onto your hands or you'll look like a man! That's fine. Now you may try it again."
So I bowed to her once more, and told her again how deeply sorry I was for having played a role in ruining her beautiful kimono.
It was a beautiful kimono, wasn't it? she said. "Well, now we'll forget about it. I want to know why you're no longer training to be a geisha. Your teachers at the school tell me you were doing well right up until the moment you stopped taking lessons. You ought to be on your way to a successful career in Gion. Why would Mrs. Nitta stop your training?"
I told her about my debts, including the kimono and the brooch Hatsumomo had accused me of stealing. Even after I was finished, she went on looking coldly at me. Finally she said:
There's something more you're not telling me. Considering your debts, I'd expect Mrs. Nitta to feel only more determined to see you succeed as a geisha. You'll certainly never repay her by working as a maid.
When I heard this, I must have lowered my eyes in shame without realizing it; for in an instant Mameha seemed able to read my very thoughts.
You tried to run away, didn't you?
Yes, ma'am, I said. "I had a sister. We'd been separated but we managed to find each other. We were supposed to meet on a certain night to run away together . . . but then I fell off the roof and broke my arm."
The roof! You must be joking. Did you go up there to take a last look at Kyoto?
I explained to her why I'd done it. "I know it was foolish of me," I said afterward. "Now Mother won't invest another sen in my training, since she's afraid I may run away again."
"There's more to it than that. A girl who runs away makes the mistress of her okiya look bad. That's the way people think here in Gion. 'My goodness, she can't even keep her own maids from running away!' That sort of thing. But what will you do with yourself now, Chiyo? You don't look to me like a girl who wants to live her life as a maid.
"Oh, ma'am ... I'd give anything to undo my mistakes, I said. "It's been more than two years now. I've waited so patiently in the hopes that some opportunity might come along."
Waiting patiently doesn't suit you. I can see you have a great deal of water in your personality. Water never waits. It changes shape and flows around things, and finds the secret paths no one else has thought about-the tiny hole through the roof or the bottom of a box. There's no doubt it's the most versatile of the five elements. It can wash away earth; it can put out fire; it can wear a piece of metal down and sweep it away. Even wood, which is its natural complement, can't survive without being nurtured by water. And yet, you haven't drawn on those strengths in living your life, have you?
Well, actually, ma'am, water flowing was what gave me the idea of escaping over the roof.
I'm sure you're a clever girl, Chiyo, but I don't think that was your cleverest moment. Those of us with water in our personalities don't pick where we'll flow to. All we can do is flow where the landscape of our lives carries us.
I suppose I'm like a river that has come up against a dam, and that dam is Hatsumomo.
Yes, probably that's true, she said, looking at me calmly. "But rivers sometimes wash dams away."
From the moment of my arrival in her apartment, I'd been wondering why Mameha had summoned me. I'd already decided that it had nothing to do with the kimono; but it wasn't until now that my eyes finally opened to what had been right before me all along. Mameha must have made up her mind to use me in seeking her revenge on Hatsumomo. It was obvious to me they were rivals; why else would Hatsumomo have destroyed Mameha's kimono two years earlier? No doubt Mameha had been waiting for just the right moment, and now, it seemed, she'd found it. She was going to use me in the role of a weed that chokes out other plants in the garden. She wasn't simply looking for revenge; unless I was mistaken, she wanted to be rid of Hatsumomo completely.
In any case, Mameha went on, "nothing will change until Mrs. Nitta lets you resume your training."
I don't have much hope, I said, "of ever persuading her."
Don't worry just now about persuading her. Worry about finding the proper time to do it.
I'd certainly learned a great many lessons from life already; but I knew nothing at all about patience-not even enough to understand what Mameha meant about finding the proper time. I told her that if she could suggest what I ought to say, I would be eager to speak with Mother tomorrow.
Now, Chiyo, stumbling along in life is a poor way to proceed. You must learn how to find the time and place for things. A mouse who wishes to fool the cat doesn't simply scamper out of its hole when it feels the slightest urge. Don't you know how to check your almanac?
I don't know if you've ever seen an almanac. To open one and flip through the pages, you'd find it crammed with the most complicated charts and obscure characters. Geisha are a very superstitious lot, as I've said. Auntie and Mother, and even the cook and the maids, scarcely made a decision as simple as buying a new pair of shoes without consulting an almanac. But I'd never checked one in my life.
It's no wonder, all the misfortunes you've experienced, Mameha told me. "Do you mean to say that you tried to run away without checking if the day was auspicious?"
I told her my sister had made the decision when we would leave. Mameha wanted to know if I could remember the date, which I managed to do after looking at a calendar with her; it had been the last Tuesday in October 1929, only a few months after Satsu and I were taken from our home.
Mameha told her maid to bring an almanac for that year; and then after asking my sign-the year of the monkey-she spent some time checking and cross-checking various charts, as well as a page that gave my general outlook for the month. Finally she read aloud:
'A most inauspicious time. Needles, unusual foods, and travel must be avoided at all costs.' Here she stopped to look up at me. "Do you hear that? Travel: After that it goes on to say that you must avoid the following things . . . let's see . . . 'bathing during the hour of the rooster,' 'acquiring new clothing,' 'embarking on new enterprises,' and listen to this one, 'changing residences.'" Here Mameha closed the book and peered at me. "Were you careful about any of those things?"
Many people have doubts about this sort of fortune-telling; but any doubts you might have would certainly have been swept away if you'd been there to see what happened next. Mameha asked my sister's sign and looked up the same information about her. "Well," she said after looking at it for a while, "it reads, 'An auspicious day for small changes.' Perhaps not the best day for something as ambitious as running away, but certainly better than the other days that week or the next." And then came the surprising thing. "It goes on to say, 'A good day for travel in the direction of the Sheep,'" Mameha read. And when she brought out a map and found Yoroido, it lay to the north northeast of Kyoto, which was indeed the direction corresponding to the zodiac sign of the Sheep. Satsu had checked her almanac. That was probably what she'd done when she left me there in the room under the stairwell at the Tatsuyo for a few minutes. And she'd certainly been right to do it; she had escaped, while I hadn't.
This was the moment when I began to understand how unaware I'd been-not only in planning to run away, but in everything. I'd never understood how closely things are connected to one another. And it isn't just the zodiac I'm talking about. We human beings are only a part of something very much larger. When we walk along, we may crush a beetle or simply cause a change in the air so that a fly ends up where it might never have gone otherwise. And if we think of the same example but with ourselves in the role of the insect, and the larger universe in the role we've just played, it's perfectly clear that we're affected every day by forces over which we have no more control than the poor beetle has over our gigantic foot as it descends upon it. What are we to do? We must use whatever methods we can to understand the movement of the universe around us and time our actions so that we are not fighting the currents, but moving with them.
Mameha took up my almanac again and this time selected several dates over the following weeks that would be auspicious for significant change. I asked whether I should try to speak with Mother on one of the dates, and exactly what I should say.
It isn't my intention to have you speak with Mrs. Nitta yourself, she said. "She'll turn you down in an instant. If I were her, so would I! As far as she knows, there's no one in Gion willing to be your older sister."
I was very sorry to hear her say this. "In that case, Mameha-san, what should I do?"
You should go back to your okiya, Chiyo, she said, "and mention to no one that you've spoken with me."
After this, she gave me a look that meant I should bow and excuse myself right then, which I did. I was so flustered I left without the Kabuki magazines and shamisen strings Mameha had given me. Her maid had to come running down the street with them.
I should explain just what Mameha meant by "older sister," even though at the time, I hardly knew much about it myself. By the time a girl is finally ready to make her debut as an apprentice, she needs to have established a relationship with a more experienced geisha. Mameha had mentioned Hatsumomo's older sister, the great Tomi-hatsu, who was already an old woman when she trained Hatsumomo; but older sisters aren't always so senior to the geisha they train. Any geisha can act as older-sister to a younger girl, as long as she has at least one day's seniority.
When two girls are bound together as sisters, they perform a ceremony like a wedding. Afterward they see each other almost as members of the same family, calling each other "Older Sister" and "Younger Sister" just as real family members do. Some geisha may not take the role as seriously as they should, but an older sister who does her job properly becomes the most important figure in a young geisha's life. She does a great deal more than just making sure her younger sister learns the proper way of blending embarrassment and laughter when a man tells a naughty joke, or helping her select the right grade of wax to use under her makeup. She must also make sure her younger sister attracts the notice of people she'll need to know. She does this by taking her around Gion and presenting her to the mistresses of all the proper teahouses, to the man who makes wigs for stage performances, to the chefs at the important restaurants, and so on.
There's certainly plenty of work in all of this. But introducing her younger sister around Gion during the day is only half of what an older sister must do. Because Gion is like a faint star that comes out in its fullest beauty only after the sun has set. At night the older sister must take her younger sister with her to entertain, in order to introduce her to the customers and patrons she's come to know over the years. She says to them, "Oh, have you met my new younger sister, So-and-so? Please be sure to remember her name, because she's going to be a big star! And please permit her to call on you the next time you visit Gion." Of course, few men pay high fees to spend the evening chatting with a fourteen-year-old; so this customer probably won't, in fact, summon the young girl on his next visit. But the older sister and the mistress of the teahouse will continue to push her on him until he does. If it turns out he doesn't like her for some reason . . . well, that's another story; but otherwise, he'll probably end up a patron of hers in good time, and very fond of her too-just as he is of her older sister.
Taking on the role of older sister often feels about like carrying a sack of rice back and forth across the city. Because not only is a younger sister as dependent on her older sister as a passenger is on the train she rides; but when the girl behaves badly, it's her older sister who must bear responsibility. The reason a busy and successful geisha goes to all this trouble for a younger girl is because everyone in Gion benefits when an apprentice succeeds. The apprentice herself benefits by paying off her debts over time, of course; and if she's lucky, she'll end up mistress to a wealthy man. The older sister benefits by receiving a portion of her younger sister's fees-as do the mistresses of the various teahouses where the girl entertains. Even the wigmaker, and the shop where hair ornaments are sold, and the sweets shop where the apprentice geisha will buy gifts for her patrons from time to time . . . they may never directly receive a portion of the girl's fees; but certainly they all benefit by the patronage of yet another successful geisha, who can bring customers into Gion to spend money.
It's fair to say that, for a young girl in Gion, nearly everything depends on her older sister. And yet few girls have any say over who their older sisters will be. An established geisha certainly won't jeopardize her reputation by taking on a younger sister she thinks is dull or someone she thinks her patrons won't like. On the other hand, the mistress of an okiya that has invested a great deal of money in training a certain apprentice won't sit quietly and just wait for some dull geisha to come along and offer to train her. So as a result, a successful geisha ends up with far more requests than she can manage. Some she can turn away, and some she can't . . . which brings me to the reason why Mother probably did feel-just as Mameha suggested-that not a single geisha in Gion would be willing to act as my older sister.
Back at the time I first came to the okiya, Mother probably had in mind for Hatsumomo to act as my older sister. Hatsumomo may have been the sort of woman who would bite a spider right back, but nearly any apprentice would have been happy to be her younger sister. Hatsumomo had already been older sister to at least two well-known young geisha in Gion. Instead of torturing them as she had me, she'd behaved herself well. It was her choice to take them on, and she did it for the money it would bring her. But in my case, Hatsumomo could no more have been counted on to help me in Gion and then be content with the few extra yen it would bring her than a dog can be counted on to escort a cat down the street without taking a bite out of it in the alley. Mother could certainly have compelled Hatsumomo to be my older sister-not only because Hatsumomo lived in our okiya, but also because she had so few kimono of her own and was dependent on the okiya's collection. But I don't think any force on earth could have compelled Hatsumomo to train me properly. I'm sure that on the day she was asked to take me to the Mizuki Teahouse and introduce me to the mistress there, she would have taken me instead to the banks of the river and said, "Kamo River, have you met my new younger sister?" and then pushed me right in.
As for the idea of another geisha taking on the task of training me . . . well, it would mean crossing paths with Hatsumomo. Few geisha in Gion were brave enough to do such a thing.
Late one morning a few weeks after my encounter with Mameha, I was serving tea to Mother and a guest in the reception room when Auntie slid open the door.
I'm sorry to interrupt, Auntie said, "but I wonder if you would mind excusing yourself for just a moment, Kayoko-san." Kayoko was Mother's real name, you see, but we rarely heard it used in our okiya. "We have a visitor at the door."
Mother gave one of her coughing laughs when she heard this. "You must be having a dull day, Auntie," she said, "to come announce a visitor yourself. The maids don't work hard enough as it is, and now you're doing their jobs for them."
I thought you'd rather hear from me, Auntie said, "that our visitor is Mameha."
I had begun to worry that nothing would come of my meeting with Mameha. But to hear that she had suddenly appeared at our okiya . . . well, the blood rushed to my face so intensely that I felt like a lightbulb just switched on. The room was perfectly quiet for a long moment, and then Mother's guest said, "Mameha-san . . . well! I'll run along, but only if you promise to tell me tomorrow just what this is all about."
I took my opportunity to slip out of the room as Mother's guest was leaving. Then in the formal entrance hall, I heard Mother say something to Auntie I'd never imagined her saying. She was tapping her pipe into an ashtray she'd brought from the reception room, and when she handed the ashtray to me, she said, "Auntie, come here and fix my hair, please." I'd never before known her to worry in the least about her appearance. It's true she wore elegant clothing. But just as her room was filled with lovely objects and yet was hopelessly gloomy, she herself may have been draped in exquisite fabrics, but her eyes were as oily as a piece of old, smelly fish . . . and really, she seemed to regard her hair the way a train regards its smokestack: it was just the thing that happened to be on top.
While Mother was answering the door, I stood in the maids' room cleaning out the ashtray. And I worked so hard to overhear Mameha and Mother that it wouldn't have surprised me if I had strained all the muscles in my ears.
First Mother said, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mameha-san. What an honor to have a visit from you!"
Then Mameha said, "I hope you'll forgive me for calling so unexpectedly, Mrs. Nitta." Or something equally dull. And it went on this way for a while. All my hard work in overhearing it was about as rewarding to me as a man who lugs a chest up the hill only to learn that it's full of rocks.
At last they made their way through the formal entrance hall to the reception room. I was so desperate to overhear their conversation that I grabbed a rag from the maids' room and began polishing the floor of the entrance hall with it. Normally Auntie wouldn't have permitted me to work there while a guest was in the reception room, but she was as preoccupied with eavesdropping as I was. When the maid came out after serving tea, Auntie stood to one side where she wouldn't be seen and made sure the door was left open a crack so she could hear. I listened so closely to their small talk that I must have lost track of everything around me, for suddenly I looked up to see Pumpkin's round face staring right into mine. She was on her knees polishing the floor, even though I was already doing it and she wasn't expected to do chores anymore.
Who is Mameha? she whispered to me.
Obviously she had overheard the maids talking among themselves; I could see them huddled together on the dirt corridor just at the edge of the walkway.
She and Hatsumomo are rivals, I whispered back. "She's the one whose kimono Hatsumomo made me put ink on."
Pumpkin looked like she was about to ask something else, but then we heard Mameha say, "Mrs. Nitta, I do hope you'll forgive me for disturbing you on such a busy day, but I'd like to talk with you briefly about your maid Chiyo."
Oh, no, Pumpkin said, and looked into my eyes to show how sorry she felt for the trouble I was about to be in.
Our Chiyo can be a bit of a nuisance, Mother said. "I do hope she hasn't been troubling you."
No, nothing like that, Mameha said. "But I noticed she hasn't been attending the school these past few weeks. I'm so accustomed to running into her from time to time in the hallway . . . Just yesterday I realized she must be terribly ill! I've recently met an extremely capable doctor. I wonder, shall I ask him to stop by?"
It's very kind of you, said Mother, "but you must be thinking of a different girl. You couldn't have run into our Chiyo in the hallway at the school. She hasn't attended lessons there for two years."
Are we thinking of the same girl? Quite pretty, with startling blue-gray eyes?
She does have unusual eyes. But there must be two such girls in Gion . . . Who would have thought it!
I wonder if it's possible that two years have passed since I saw her there, Mameha said. "Perhaps she made such a strong impression it still seems very recent. If I may ask, Mrs. Nitta ... is she quite well?"
Oh, yes. As healthy as a young sapling, and every bit as unruly, if I do say so.
Yet she isn't taking lessons any longer? How puzzling.
"For a young geisha as popular as you, I'm sure Gion must seem an easy place to make a living. But you know, times are very difficult. I can't afford to invest money in just anyone. As soon as I realized how poorly suited Chiyo was-
"I'm quite sure we're thinking of two different girls, Mameha said. "I can't imagine that a businesswoman as astute as you are, Mrs. Nitta, would call Chiyo 'poorly suited'. . ."
Are you certain her name is Chiyo? Mother asked.
None of us realized it, but as she spoke these words, Mother was rising from the table and crossing the little room. A moment later she slid open the door and found herself staring directly into Auntie's ear. Auntie stepped out of the way just as though nothing had happened; and I suppose Mother was content to pretend the same, for she did nothing more than look toward me and say, "Chiyo-chan, come in here a moment."
By the time I slid the door shut behind me and knelt on the tatami mats to bow, Mother had already settled herself at the table again.
This is our Chiyo, Mother said.
The very girl I was thinking of! said Mameha. "How do you do, Chiyo-chan? I'm happy that you look so healthy! I was just saying to Mrs. Nitta that I'd begun to worry about you. But you seem quite well."
Oh, yes, ma'am, very well, I answered.
Thank you, Chiyo, Mother told me. I bowed to excuse myself, but before I could rise to my feet, Mameha said:
She's really quite a lovely girl, Mrs. Nitta. I must say, at times I've thought of coming to ask your permission to make her my younger sister. But now that she's no longer in training ...
Mother must have been shocked to hear this, because although she'd been on the point of taking a sip of tea, her hand stopped on its way to her mouth and remained motionless there during the time it took me to leave the room. I was nearly back to my place on the floor of the entrance hall when she finally responded.
A geisha as popular as you, Mameha-san . . . you could have any apprentice in Gion as your younger sister.
It's true I'm often asked. But I haven't taken on a new younger sister in more than a year. You'd think that with this terrible Depression, customers would have slowed to a trickle, but really, I've never been so busy. I suppose the rich just go right on being rich, even in a time like this.
They need their fun more than ever now, Mother said. "But you were saying ..."
Yes, what was I saying? Well, it makes no difference. I mustn't take any more of your time. I'm pleased that Chiyo is quite healthy after all.
Very healthy, yes. But, Mameha-san, wait a moment before you leave, if you don't mind. You were saying you'd almost considered taking on Chiyo as your younger sister?
Well, by now she's been out of training so long . . . Mameha said. "Anyway, I'm sure you have an excellent reason for the decision you've made, Mrs. Nitta. I wouldn't dare second-guess you."
It's heartbreaking, the choices people are forced to make in these times. I just couldn't afford her training any longer! However, if you feel she has potential, Mameha-san, I'm sure any investment you might choose to make in her future would be amply repaid.
Mother was trying to take advantage of Mameha. No geisha ever paid lesson fees for a younger sister.
I wish such a thing were possible, Mameha said, "but with this terrible Depression . . ."
Perhaps there's some way I could manage it, Mother said. "Though Chiyo is a bit headstrong, and her debts are considerable. I've often thought how shocking it would be if she ever managed to repay them."
Such an attractive girl? I'd find it shocking if she couldn't. "Anyway, there's more to life than money, isn't there?" Mother said. "One wants to do one's best for a girl like Chiyo. Perhaps I could see my way to investing a bit more in her . . . just for her lessons, you understand. But where would it all lead?"
I'm sure Chiyo's debts are very considerable, Mameha said. "But even so, I should think she'll repay them by the time she's twenty." "Twenty!" said Mother. "I don't think any girl in Gion has ever done such a thing. And in the midst of this Depression . . ." "Yes, there is the Depression, it's true."
It certainly seems to me our Pumpkin is a safer investment, Mother said. "After all, in Chiyo's case, with you as her older sister, her debts will only grow worse before they get better."
Mother wasn't just talking about my lesson fees; she was talking about fees she would have to pay to Mameha. A geisha of Mameha's standing commonly takes a larger portion of her younger sister's earnings than an ordinary geisha would.
Mameha-san, if you have a moment longer, Mother went on, "I wonder if you would entertain a proposal. If the great Mameha says Chiyo will repay her debts by the age of twenty, how can I doubt it's true? Of course, a girl like Chiyo won't succeed without an older sister such as yourself, and yet our little okiya is stretched to its limits just now. I can't possibly offer you the terms you're accustomed to. The best I could offer from Chiyo's future earnings might be only half what you'd ordinarily expect."
Just now I'm entertaining several very generous offers, Mameha said. "If I'm going to take on a younger sister, I couldn't possibly afford to do it at a reduced fee."
I'm not quite finished, Mameha-san, Mother replied. "Here's my proposal. It's true I can afford only half what you might usually expect. But if Chiyo does indeed manage to repay her debts by the age of twenty, as you anticipate, I would turn over to you the remainder of what you ought to have made, plus an additional thirty percent. You would make more money in the long run."
And if Chiyo turns twenty without having repaid her debts? Mameha asked.
I'm sorry to say that in such a case, the investment would have been a poor one for both of us. The okiya would be unable to pay the fees owed to you.
There was a silence, and then Mameha sighed.
I'm very poor with numbers, Mrs. Nitta. But if I understand correctly, you'd like me to take on a task you think may be impossible, for fees that are less than usual. Plenty of promising young girls in Gion would make fine younger sisters to me at no risk whatever. I'm afraid I must decline your proposal.
You're quite right, said Mother. "Thirty percent is a bit low. I'll offer you double, instead, if you succeed."
But nothing if I fail.
Please don't think of it as nothing. A portion of Chiyo's fees would have gone to you all along. It's simply that the okiya would be unable to pay you the additional amount you would be owed.
I felt certain Mameha was going to say no. Instead she said, "I'd like to find out first how substantial Chiyo's debt really is."
I'll fetch the account books for you, Mother told her.
I heard nothing more of their conversation, for at this point Auntie ran out of patience for my eavesdropping, and sent me out of the okiya with a list of errands. All that afternoon, I felt as agitated as a pile of rocks in an earthquake; because, of course, I had no idea how things would turn out. If Mother and Mameha couldn't come to an agreement, I would remain a maid all my life just as surely as a turtle remains a turtle, When I returned to the okiya, Pumpkin was kneeling on the walkway near the courtyard, making terrible twanging noises with her shamisen. She looked very pleased when she caught sight of me, and called me over.
Find some excuse to go into Mother's room, she said. "She's been in there all afternoon with her abacus. I'm sure she'll say something to you. Then you have to run back down here and tell me!"
I thought this was a fine idea. One of my errands had been to buy some cream for the cook's scabies, but the pharmacy had been out of it. So I decided to go upstairs and apologize to Mother for having come back to the okiya without it. She wouldn't care, of course; probably she didn't even know I'd been sent to fetch it. But at least it would get me into her room.
As it turned out, Mother was listening to a comedy show on the radio. Normally if I disturbed her at a time like this, she would wave me in and go right on listening to the radio-looking over her account books and puffing at her pipe. But today, to my surprise, she turned off the radio and slapped the account book shut the moment she saw me. I bowed to her and went to kneel at the table.
While Mameha was here, she said, "I noticed you in the formal entrance hall polishing the floor. Were you trying to overhear our conversation?"
No, ma'am. There was a scratch on the floorboards. Pumpkin and I were doing what we could to buff it out.
I only hope you turn out to be a better geisha than you are a liar, she said, and began to laugh, but without taking her pipe out of her mouth, so that she accidentally blew air into the stem and caused ashes to shoot up out of the little metal bowl. Some of the flecks of tobacco were still burning when they came down onto her kimono. She put the pipe down onto the table and whacked herself with her palm until she was satisfied they'd all been snuffed out.
Now, Chiyo, you've been here in the okiya more than a year, she said.
More than two years, ma'am.
In that time I've hardly taken any notice of you. And then today, along comes a geisha like Mameha, to say she wants to be your older sister! How on earth am I to understand this?
As I saw it, Mameha was actually more interested in harming Hatsumomo than in helping me. But I certainly couldn't say such a thing to Mother. I was about to tell her I had no idea why Mameha had taken an interest in me; but before I could speak, the door to Mother's room slid open, and I heard Hatsumomo's voice say:
I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't know you were busy scolding the maid!
She won't be a maid much longer, Mother told her. "We've had a visit today that may interest you."
Yes, I gather Mameha has come and plucked our little minnow out of the aquarium, Hatsumomo said. She drifted over and knelt at the table, so close that I had to scoot away to make room for both of us.
For some reason, Mother said, "Mameha seems to think Chiyo will repay her debts by the age of twenty."
Hatsumomo's face was turned toward mine. To see her smile, you might have thought she was a mother looking adoringly at a baby. But this is what she said:
Perhaps, Mother, if you sold her to a whorehouse . . .
Stop it, Hatsumomo. I didn't invite you in here to listen to this sort of thing. I want to know what you've done to Mameha lately to provoke her.
I may have ruined Miss Prissy's day by strolling past her on the street, perhaps, but other than that I haven't done a thing.
She has something in mind. I'd like to know what it is.
There's no mystery at all, Mother. She thinks she can get at me by going through Little Miss Stupid.
Mother didn't respond; she seemed to be considering what Hatsumomo had told her. "Perhaps," she said at last, "she really does think Chiyo will be a more successful geisha than our Pumpkin and would like to make a bit of money off her. Who can blame her for that?"
Really, Mother . . . Mameha doesn't need Chiyo in order to make money. Do you think it's an accident she's chosen to waste her time on a girl who happens to live in the same okiya I do? Mameha would probably establish a relationship with your little dog if she thought it would help drive me out of Gion.
Come now, Hatsumomo. Why would she want to drive you out of Gion?
Because I'm more beautiful. Does she need a better reason? She wants to humiliate me by telling everyone, 'Oh, please meet my new younger sister. She lives in the same okiya as Hatsumomo, but she's such a jewel they've entrusted her to me for training instead.'
I can't imagine Mameha behaving that way, Mother said, almost under her breath.
If she thinks she can make Chiyo into a more successful geisha than Pumpkin, Hatsumomo went on, "she's going to be very surprised. But f'm delighted that Chiyo will be dressed up in a kimono and paraded around. It's a perfect opportunity for Pumpkin. Haven't you ever seen a kitten attacking a ball of string? Pumpkin will be a much better geisha after she's sharpened her teeth on this one."
Mother seemed to like this, for she raised the edges of her mouth in a sort of smile.
I had no idea what a fine day this would be, she said. "This morning when I woke up, two useless girls were living in the okiya. Now they'll be fighting it out . . . and with a couple of the most prominent geisha in Gion ushering them along!"
The very next afternoon Mameha summoned me to her apartment. This time she was seated at the table waiting for me when the maid slid open the door. I was careful to bow properly before coming into the room and then to cross to the table and bow again.
Mameha-san, I don't know what has led you to this decision . . . I began, "but I can't express how grateful I am-"
Don't be grateful just yet, she interrupted. "Nothing has happened. You'd better tell me what Mrs. Nitta said to you after my visit yesterday."
Well, I said, "I think Mother was a little confused about why you've taken notice of me . . . and to tell the truth, so am I." I hoped Mameha would say something, but she didn't. "As for Hatsumomo-"
Don't even waste your time thinking about what she says. You already know she'd be thrilled to see you fail, just as Mrs. Nitta would.
I don't understand why Mother should want me to fail, I said, 'considering she'll make more money if I succeed."
Except that if you pay back your debts by the age of twenty, she'll owe me a good deal of money. I made a sort of bet with her yesterday, Mameha said, while a maid served us tea. "I wouldn't have made the bet unless I felt certain you would succeed. But if I'm going to be your older sister, you may as well know that I have very strict terms."
I expected her to tell them to me, but she only glowered and said:
Really, Chiyo, you must stop blowing on your tea that way. You look like a peasant! Leave it on the table until it's cool enough to drink.
I'm sorry, I said. "I wasn't aware I was doing it."
It's time you were; a geisha must be very careful about the image she presents to the world. Now, as I say, I have very strict terms. To begin with, I expect you to do what I ask without questioning me or doubting me in any way. I know you've disobeyed Hatsumomo and Mrs. Nitta from time to time. You may think that's understandable; but if you ask me, you should have been more obedient in the first place and perhaps none of these unfortunate things would ever have happened to you.
Mameha was quite right. The world has changed a good deal since; but when I was a child, a girl who disobeyed her elders was soon put in her place.
Several years ago I took on two new younger sisters, Mameha continued. "One worked very hard, but the other slacked off. I brought her here to my apartment one day and explained that I wouldn't tolerate her making a fool of me any longer, but it had no effect. The following month I told her to go and find herself a new older sister."
Mameha-san, I promise you, such a thing will never happen with me, I said. "Thanks to you, I feel like a ship encountering its first taste of the ocean. I would never forgive myself for disappointing you."
Yes, well, that's all fine, but I'm not just talking about how hard you work. You'll have to be careful not to let Hatsumomo trick you. And for heaven's sake, don't do anything to make your debts worse than they are. Don't break even a teacup!
I promised her I wouldn't; but I must confess that when I thought of Hatsumomo tricking me again . . . well, I wasn't sure how I could defend myself if she tried.
There's one more thing, Mameha said. "Whatever you and I discuss must be kept private. You are never to tell any of it to Hatsumomo. Even if we've only talked about the weather, do you understand? If Hatsumomo asks what I said, you must tell her, 'Oh, Hatsumomo-san, Mameha-san never says anything of interest! As soon as I've heard it, it slips right out of my mind. She's the dullest person alive!'"
I told Mameha I understood.
Hatsumomo is quite clever, she went on. "If you give her the slightest hint, you'll be surprised how much she'll figure out on her own."
Suddenly, Mameha leaned toward me and said in an angry voice, "What were you two talking about yesterday when I saw you on the street together?"
Nothing, ma'am! I said. And though she went on glaring at me, I was so shocked I couldn't say anything further.
What do you mean, nothing? You'd better answer me, you stupid little girl, or I'll pour ink in your ear tonight while you're sleeping!
It took me a moment to understand that Mameha was trying to do an imitation of Hatsumomo. I'm afraid it wasn't a very good imitation, but now that I understood what she was doing, I said, "Honestly, Hatsumomo-san, Mameha-san is always saying the dullest things! I can never remember a single one of them. They just melt away like snowflakes. Are you quite sure you saw us talking yesterday? Because if we talked at all, I can hardly remember it. . . ."
Mameha went on for a time, doing her poor imitation of Hatsumomo, and at the end said I had done an adequate job. I wasn't as confident as she was. Being questioned by Mameha, even when she was trying to act like Hatsumomo, wasn't the same thing as keeping up a facade in front of Hatsumomo herself.
In the two years since Mother had put an end to my lessons, I'd forgotten much of what I'd learned. And I hadn't learned much to begin with, since my mind had been occupied with other things. This is why, when I went back to the school after Mameha agreed to be my older sister, I honestly felt I was beginning my lessons for the very first time.
I was twelve years old by then, and nearly as tall as Mameha. Having grown older may seem like an advantage, but I can assure you it wasn't. Most of the girls at the school had begun their studies much younger, in some cases at the traditional age of three years and three days. Those few who'd started as young as this were mostly the daughters of geisha themselves, and had been raised in such a way that dance and tea ceremony formed as much a part of their daily life as swimming in the pond had for me.
I know I've described something of what it was like to study shamisen with Teacher Mouse. But a geisha must study a great many arts besides shamisen. And in fact, the "gei" of "geisha" means "arts," so the word "geisha" really means "artisan" or "artist." My first lesson in the morning was in a kind of small drum we call tsutsumi. You may wonder why a geisha should bother learning drums, but the answer is very simple. In a banquet or any sort of informal gathering in Gion, geisha usually dance to nothing more than the accompaniment of a shamisen and perhaps a singer. But for stage performances, such as Dances of the Old Capital every spring, six or more shamisen players join together as an ensemble, backed by various types of drums and also a Japanese flute we call fue. So you see, a geisha must try her hand at all of these instruments, even though eventually she'll be encouraged to specialize in one or two.
As I say, my early-morning lesson was in the little drum we call tsutsumi, which is played in a kneeling position like all the other musical instruments we studied. Tsutsumi is different from the other drums because it's held on the shoulder and played with the hand, unlike the larger okaiva, which rests on the thigh, or the largest drum of all, called taiho, which sits edgewise on a stand and is struck with fat drumsticks. I studied them all at one time or other. A drum may seem like an instrument even a child can play, but actually there are various ways of striking each of them, such as-for the big taiko-bringing the arm across the body and then swinging the drumstick backhand, you might say, which we call uchikomi; or striking with one arm while bringing the other up at the same moment, which we call sarashi. There are other methods as well, and each produces a different sound, but only after a great deal of practice. On top of this, the orchestra is always in view of the public, so all these movements must be graceful and attractive, as well as being in unison-with the other players. Half the work is in making the right sound; the other half is in doing it the proper way.
Following drums, my next lesson of the morning was in Japanese flute, and after that in shamisen. The method in studying any of these instruments was more or less the same. The teacher began by playing something, and then the students tried to play it back. On occasion we sounded like a band of animals at the zoo, but not often, because the teachers were careful to begin simply. For example, in my first lesson on the flute, the teacher played a single note and we tried one at a time to play it back. Even after only one note, the teacher still found plenty to say.
So-and-so, you must keep your little finger down, not up in the air. And you, Such-and-such, does your flute smell bad? Well then, why do you wrinkle your nose that way!
She was very strict, like most of the teachers, and naturally we were afraid of making mistakes. It wasn't uncommon for her to take the flute from some poor girl in order to hit her on the shoulder with it.
After drums, flute, and shamisen, my next lesson was usually in singing. We often sing at parties in Japan; and of course, parties are mostly what men come to Gion for. But even if a girl can't hold a tune and will never be asked to perform in front of others, she must still study singing to help her understand dance. This is because the dances are set to particular pieces of music, often performed by a singer accompanying herself on the shamisen.
There are many different types of songs-oh, far more than I could possibly count-but in our lessons we studied five different kinds. Some were popular ballads; some were long pieces from Kabuki theater telling a story; others were something like a short musical poem. It would be senseless for me to try describing these songs. But let me say that while I find most of them enchanting, foreigners often seem to think they sound more like cats wailing in a temple yard than music. It is true that traditional Japanese singing involves a good deal of warbling and is often sung so far back in the throat that the sound comes out from the nose rather than the mouth. But it's only a matter of what you're accustomed to hearing.
In all of these classes, music and dance were only part of what we learned. Because a girl who has mastered the various arts will still come off badly at a party if she hasn't learned proper comportment and behavior. This is one reason the teachers always insist upon good manners and bearing in their students, even when a girl is only scurrying down the hall toward the toilet. When you're taking a lesson in shamisen, for example, you'll be corrected for speaking in anything but the most proper language, or for speaking in a regional accent rather than in Kyoto speech, or for slouching, or walking in lumbering steps. In fact, the most severe scolding a girl is likely to receive probably won't be for playing her instrument badly or failing to learn the words to a song, but rather for having dirty fingernails, or being disrespectful, or something of that sort.
Sometimes when I've talked with foreigners about my training, they've asked, "Well, when did you study flower arranging?" The answer is that I never did. Anyone who sits down in front of a man and begins to arrange flowers by way of entertaining him is likely to look up and find that he has laid his head down on the table to go to sleep. You must remember that a geisha, above all, is an entertainer and a performer. We may pour sake or tea for a man, but we never go and fetch another serving of pickles. And in fact, we geisha are so well pampered by our maids that we scarcely know how to look after ourselves or keep our own rooms orderly, much less adorn a room in a teahouse with flowers.
My last lesson of the morning was in tea ceremony. This is a subject many books are written about, so I won't try to go into much detail. But basically, a tea ceremony is conducted by one or two people who sit before their guests and prepare tea in a very traditional manner, using beautiful cups, and whisks made from bamboo, and so forth. Even the guests are a part of the ceremony because they must hold the cup in a certain manner and drink from it just so. If you think of it as sitting down to have a nice cup of tea . . . well, it's more like a sort of dance, or even a meditation, conducted while kneeling. The tea itself is made from tea leaves ground into a powder and then whisked with boiled water into a frothy green mix we call matcha, which is very unpopular with foreigners. I'll admit it does look like green soapy water and has a bitter taste that takes a certain getting used to.
Tea ceremony is a very important part of a geisha's training. It isn't unusual for a party at a private residence to begin with a brief tea ceremony. And the guests who come to see the seasonal dances in Gion are first served tea made by geisha.
My tea ceremony teacher was a young woman of perhaps twenty-five who wasn't a very good geisha, as I later learned; but she was so obsessed with tea ceremony that she taught it as if every movement was absolutely holy. Because of her enthusiasm I quickly learned to respect her teaching, and I must say it was the perfect lesson to have at the end of a long morning. The atmosphere was so serene. Even now, I find tea ceremony as enjoyable as a good night's sleep.
What makes a geisha's training- so difficult isn't simply the arts she must learn, but how hectic her life becomes. After spending all morning in lessons, she is still expected to work during the afternoon and evening very much as she always has. And still, she sleeps no more than three to five hours every night. During these years of training, if I'd been two people my life would probably still have been too busy. I would have been grateful if Mother had freed me from my chores as she had Pumpkin; but considering her bet with Mameha, I don't think she ever considered offering me more time for practice. Some of my chores were given to the maids, but most days I was responsible for more than I could manage, while still being expected to practice shamisen for an hour or more during the afternoon. In winter, both Pumpkin and I were made to toughen up our hands by holding them in ice water until we cried from pain, and then practice outside in the frigid air of the courtyard. I know it sounds terribly cruel, but it's the way things were done back then. And in fact, toughening the hands in this way really did help me play better. You see, stage fright drains the feeling from your hands; and when you've already grown accustomed to playing with hands that are numbed and miserable, stage fright presents much less of a problem.
In the beginning Pumpkin and I practiced shamisen together every afternoon, right after our hour-long lesson in reading and writing with Auntie. We'd studied Japanese with her ever since my arrival, and Auntie always insisted on good behavior. But while practicing shamisen during the afternoon, Pumpkin and I had great fun together. If we laughed out loud Auntie or one of the maids would come scold us; but as long as we made very little noise and plunked away at our shamisens while we talked, we could get away with spending the hour enjoying each other's company. It was the time of day I looked forward to most.
Then one afternoon while Pumpkin was helping me with a technique for slurring notes together, Hatsumomo appeared in the corridor before us. We hadn't even heard her come into the okiya.
Why, look, it's Mameha's little-sister-to-be! she said to me. She added the "to-be" because Mameha and I wouldn't officially be sisters until the time of my debut as an apprentice geisha.
I might have called you 'Little Miss Stupid,' she went on, "but after what I've just observed, I think I ought to save that for Pumpkin instead."
Poor Pumpkin lowered her shamisen into her lap just like a dog putting its tail between its legs. "Have I done something wrong?" she asked.
I didn't have to look directly at Hatsumomo to see the anger blooming on her face. I was terribly afraid of what would happen next.
Nothing at all! Hatsumomo said. "I just didn't realize what a thoughtful person you are."
I'm sorry, Hatsumomo, Pumpkin said. "I was trying to help Chiyo by-"
But Chiyo doesn't want your help. When she wants help with her shamisen, she'll go to her teacher. Is that head of yours just a big, hollow gourd?
And here Hatsumomo pinched Pumpkin by the lip so hard that the shamisen slid off her lap onto the wooden walkway where she was seated, and fell from there onto the dirt corridor below.
You and I need to have a little talk, Hatsumomo said to her. You'll put your shamisen away, and I'll stand here to make sure you don't do anything else stupid."
When Hatsumomo let go, poor Pumpkin stepped down to pick up her shamisen and begin disassembling it. She gave me a pitiful glanqe, and I thought she might calm down. But in fact her lip began to quiver; then her whole face trembled like the ground before an earthquake; and suddenly she dropped the pieces of her shamisen onto the walkway and put her hand to her lip-which had already begun to swell-while tears rolled down her cheeks. Hatsumomo's face softened as if the angry sky had broken, and she turned to me with a satisfied smile.
You'll have to find yourself another little friend, she said to me. "After Pumpkin and I have had our talk, she'll know better than to speak a word to you in the future. Won't you, Pumpkin?"
Pumpkin nodded, for she had no choice; but I could see how sorry she felt. We never practiced shamisen together again.
I reported this encounter to Mameha the next time I visited her apartment.
I hope you took to heart what Hatsumomo said to you, she told me. "If Pumpkin isn't to speak a word to you, then you mustn't speak a word to her either. You'll only get her into trouble; and besides, she'll have to tell Hatsumomo what you say. You may have trusted the poor girl in the past, but you mustn't any longer."
I felt so sad at hearing this, I could hardly speak for a long while. "Trying to survive in an okiya with Hatsumomo," I said at last, "is like a pig trying to survive in a slaughterhouse."
I was thinking of Pumpkin when I said this, but Mameha must have thought I meant myself. "You're quite right," she said. "Your only defense is to become more successful than Hatsumomo and drive her out."
But everyone says she's one of the most popular geisha. I can't imagine how I'll ever become more popular than she is.
I didn't say popular, Mameha replied. "I said successful. Going to a lot of parties isn't everything. I live in a spacious apartment with two maids of my own, while Hatsumomo-who probably goes to as many parties as I do-continues to live in the Nitta okiya. When I say successful, I mean a geisha who has earned her independence. Until a geisha has assembled her own collection of kimono-or until she's been adopted as the daughter of an okiya, which is just about the same thing-she'll be in someone else's power all her life. You've seen some of my kimono, haven't you? How do you suppose I came by them?"
I've been thinking that perhaps you were adopted as the daughter of an okiya before you came to live in this apartment.
I did live in an okiya until about five years ago. But the mistress there has a natural daughter. She would never adopt another.
So if I might ask . . . did you buy your entire collection of kimono yourself?
How much do you think a geisha earns, Chiyo! A complete collection of kimono doesn't mean two or three robes for each of the seasons. Some men's lives revolve around Gion. They'll grow bored if they see you in the same thing night after night.
I must have looked every bit as puzzled as I felt, for Mameha gave a laugh at the expression on my face.
Cheer up, Chiyo-chan, there's an answer to this riddle. My danna is a generous man and bought me most of these robes. That's why I'm more successful than Hatsumomo. I have a wealthy danna. She hasn't had one in years.
I'd already been in Gion long enough to know something of what Mameha meant by a danna. It's the term a wife uses for her husband- or rather, it was in my day. But a geisha who refers to her danna isn't talking about a husband. Geisha never marry. Or at least those who do no longer continue as geisha.
You see, sometimes after a party with geisha, certain men don't feel satisfied with all the flirting and begin to long for something a bit more. Some of these men are content to make their way to places like Miyagawa-cho, where they'll add the odor of their own sweat to the unpleasant houses I saw on the night I found my sister. Other men work up their courage to lean in bleary-eyed and whisper to the geisha beside them a question about what her "fees" might be. A lower-class geisha may be perfectly agreeable to such an arrangement; probably she's happy to take whatever income is offered her. A woman like this may call herself a geisha and be listed at the registry office; but I think you should take a look at how she dances, and how well she plays shamisen, and what she knows about tea ceremony before you decide whether or not she really is a proper geisha. A true geisha will never soil her reputation by making herself available to men on a nightly basis.
I won't pretend a geisha never gives in casually to a man she finds attractive. But whether she does or not is her private affair. Geisha have passions like everyone else, and they make the same mistakes. A geisha who takes such a risk can only hope she isn't found out. Her reputation is certainly at stake; but more important, so is her standing with her danna, if she has one. What's more, she invites the wrath of the woman who runs her okiya. A geisha determined to follow her passions might take this risk; but she certainly won't do it for spending mone^ she might just as easily earn in some legitimate way.
So you see, a geisha of the first or second tier in Gion can't be bought for a single night, not by anyone. But if the right sort of man is interested in something else-not a night together, but a much longer time-and if he's willing to offer suitable terms, well, in that case geisha will be happy to accept such an arrangement. Parties and so onj are all very nice; but the real money in Gion comes from having a| danna, and a geisha without one-such as Hatsumomo-is like a stray cat on the street without a master to feed it.
You might expect that in the case of a beautiful woman like Ha-| tsumomo, any number of men would have been eager to propose them-1 selves as her danna; and I'm sure there were many who did. She had ir fact had a danna at one time. But somehow or other she'd so angerec the mistress of the Mizuki, which was her principal teahouse, that mer who made inquiries forever afterward were told she wasn't available-which they probably took to mean she already had a danna, even thougf it wasn't true. In damaging her relationship with the mistress, Ha-1 tsumomo had hurt no one so much as herself. As a very popular geisha I she made enough money to keep Mother happy; but as a geisha with-| out a danna, she didn't make enough to gain her independence anc move out of the okiya once and for all. Nor could she simply change her! registration to another teahouse whose mistress might be more accom-| modating in helping her find a danna; none of the other mistresses would want to damage their relationships with the Mizuki.
Of course, the average geisha isn't trapped in this way. Instead she spends her time charming men in the hopes that one of them will even-! tually make an inquiry with the mistress of the teahouse about herl Many of these inquiries lead nowhere; the man, when he's investigated,! may be found to have too little money; or he may balk when someone suggests he give a gift of an expensive kimono as a gesture of goodwill! But if the weeks of negotiations come to a successful conclusion, the geisha and her new danna conduct a ceremony just like when two geisha become sisters. In most cases this bond will probably last six months orj so, perhaps longer-because of course, men tire so quickly of the same thing. The terms of the arrangement will probably oblige the danna to 1| pay off a portion of the geisha's debts and cover many of her living expenses every month-such as the cost of her makeup and perhaps a portion of her lesson fees, and maybe her medical expenses as well. Things of that sort. Despite all these extravagant expenses, he'll still continue to pay her usual hourly fee whenever he spends time with her, just as her other customers do. But he's also entitled to certain "privileges."
These would be the arrangements for an average geisha. But a very top geisha, of which there were probably thirty or forty in Gion, would expect much more. To begin with, she wouldn't even consider tarnishing her reputation with a string of danna, but might instead have only one or two in her entire life. Not only will her danna cover all of her living expenses, such as her registration fee, her lesson fees, and her meals; what's more, he'll provide her with spending money, sponsor dance recitals for her, and buy her gifts of kimono and jewelry. And when he spends time with her, he won't pay her usual hourly fee; he'll probably pay more, as a gesture of goodwill.
Mameha was certainly one of these top geisha; in fact, as I came to learn, she was probably one of the two or three best-known geisha in all of Japan. You may have heard something about the famous geisha Mametsuki, who had an affair with the prime minister of Japan shortly before World War I and caused something of a scandal. She was Mameha's older sister-which is why they both had "Mame" in their names. It's common for a young geisha to derive her name from the name of her older sister.
Having an older sister like Mametsuki was already enough to ensure Mameha a successful career. But in the early 19205, the Japan Travel Bureau began its first international advertising campaign. The posters showed a lovely photograph of the pagoda from the Toji Temple in southeastern Kyoto, with a cherry tree to one side and a lovely young apprentice geisha on the other side looking very shy and graceful, and exquisitely delicate. That apprentice geisha was Mameha.
It would be an understatement to say that Mameha became famous. The poster was displayed in big cities all over the world, with the words "Come and Visit the Land of the Rising Sun" in all sorts of foreign languages-not only English, but German, French, Russian, and . . . oh, other languages I've never even heard of. Mameha was only sixteen at the time, but suddenly she found herself being summoned to meet every head of state who came to Japan, and every aristocrat from England or Germany, and every millionaire from the United States. She poured sake for the great German writer Thomas Mann, who afterward told her a long, dull story through an interpreter that went on and on for nearly an hour; as well as Charlie Chaplin, and Sun Yat-sen, and later Ernest Hemingway, who got very drunk and said the beautiful red lips on her white face made him think of blood in the snow. In the years since then, Mameha had grown only more famous by putting on a number of widely publicized dance recitals at the Kabukiza Theater in Tokyo, usually attended by the prime minister and a great many other luminaries.
When Mameha had announced her intention of taking me on as her younger sister, I hadn't known any of these things about her, and it's just as well. Probably I would have felt so intimidated, I couldn't have done much more than tremble in her presence.
Mameha was kind enough to sit me down and explain much of this on that day in her apartment. When she was satisfied that I understood her, she said:
Following your debut, you'll be an apprentice geisha until the age of eighteen. After that you'll need a danna if you're to pay back your debts. A very substantial danna. My job will be to make sure you're well known in Gion by then, but it's up to you to work hard at becoming an accomplished dancer. If you can't make it at least to the fifth rank by the age of sixteen, nothing I can do will help you, and Mrs. Nitta will be delighted to win her bet with me.
But, Mameha-san, I said, "I don't understand what dance has to do with it."
Dance has everything to do with it, she told me. "If you look around at the most successful geisha in Gion, every one of them is a dancer."
Dance is the most revered of the geisha's arts. Only the most promising and beautiful geisha are encouraged to specialize in it, and nothing except perhaps tea ceremony can compare to the richness of its tradition. The Inoue School of dance, practiced by the geisha of Gion, derives from Noh theater. Because Noh is a very ancient art that has always been patronized by the Imperial court, dancers in Gion consider their art superior to the school of dance practiced in the Ponto-cho district across the river, which derives from Kabuki. Now, I'm a great admirer of Kabuki, and in fact I've been lucky enough to have as my friends a number of the most famous Kabuki actors of this century. But Kabuki is a relatively young art form; it didn't exist before the 17005. And it has always been enjoyed by ordinary people rather than patronized by the Imperial court. There is simply no comparing the dance in Pontocho to the Inoue School of Gion.
All apprentice geisha must study dance, but, as I say, only the promising and attractive ones will be encouraged to specialize and go on to become true dancers, rather than shamisen players or singers. Unfortunately, the reason Pumpkin, with her soft, round face, spent so much of her time practicing shamisen was because she hadn't been selected as a dancer. As for me, I wasn't so exquisitely beautiful that I was given no choice but to dance, like Hatsumomo. It seemed to me Iwould become a dancer only by demonstrating to my teachers that I was willing to work as hard as necessary.
Thanks to Hatsumomo, however, my lessons got off to a very bad start. My instructor was a woman of about fifty, known to us as Teacher Rump, because her skin gathered at her throat in such a way as to make a little rear end there beneath her chin. Teacher Rump hated Hatsumomo as much as anyone in Gion did. Hatsumomo knew this quite well; and so what do you think she did? She went to her-I know this because Teacher Rump told it to me some years later-and said:
Teacher, may I be permitted to ask you a favor? I have my eye on one of the students in your class, who seems to me a very talented girl. I'd be extremely grateful if you could tell me what you think of her. Her name is Chiyo, and I'm very, very fond of her. I'd be greatly in your debt for any special help you might give her.
Hatsumomo never needed to say another word after this, because Teacher Rump gave me all the "special help" Hatsumomo hoped she would. My dancing wasn't bad, really, but Teacher Rump began at once to use me as an example of how things should not be done. For example, I remember one morning when she demonstrated a move to us by drawing her arm across her body just so and then stamping one foot on the mats. We were all expected to copy this move in unison; but because we were beginners, when we finished and stamped our feet, it sounded as if a platter stacked with beanbags had been spilled onto the floor, for not a single foot hit the mats at the same moment as any other. I can assure you I'd done no worse at this than anyone else, but Teacher Rump came and stood before me with that little rear end under her chin quivering, and tapped her folding fan against her thigh a few times before drawing it back and striking me on the side of the head with it.
We don't stamp at just any old moment, she said. "And we don't twitch our chins."
In dances of the Inoue School, the face must be kept perfectly expressionless in imitation of the masks worn in Noh theater. But for her to complain about my chin twitching at the very moment when her own was trembling in anger . . . well, I was on the edge of tears because she'd struck me, but the other students burst out laughing. Teacher Rump blamed me for the outburst, and sent me out of the classroom in punishment.
I can't say what might have become of me under her care, if Mameha hadn't finally gone to have a talk with her and helped her to figure out what had really happened. However much Teacher Rump might have hated Hatsumomo beforehand, I'm sure she hated her all the more after learning how Hatsumomo had duped her. I'm happy to say she felt so terrible about the way she had treated me that I soon be- $ came one of her favorite students.
I won't say I had any natural talent of any kind at all, in dance or in anything else; but I was certainly as determined as anyone to work single-mindedly until I reached my goal. Since meeting the Chairman on the street that day back in the spring, I had longed for nothing so much as the chance to become a geisha and find a place for myself in the world. Now that Mameha had given me that chance, I was intent on making good. But with all my lessons and chores, and with my high expectations, I felt completely overwhelmed in my first six months of training. Then after that, I began to discover little tricks that made everything go more smoothly. For example, I found a way of practicing the shamisen while running errands. I did this by practicing a song in my mind while picturing clearly how my left hand should shift on the neck and how the plectrum should strike the string. In this way, when I put the real instrument into my lap, I could sometimes play a song quite well even though I had tried playing it only once before. Some people thought I'd learned it without practicing, but in fact, I'd practiced it all up and down the alleyways of Gion.
I used a different trick to learn the ballads and other songs we studied at the school. Since childhood I've always been able to hear a piece of music once and remember it fairly well the next day. I don't know why, just something peculiar about my mind, I suppose. So I took to writing the words on a piece of paper before going to sleep. Then when I awoke, while my mind was still soft and impressionable, I read the page before even stirring from my futon. Usually this was enough, but with music that was more difficult, I used a trick of finding images to remind me of the tune. For example, a branch falling from a tree might make me think of the sound of a drum, or a stream flowing over a rock might remind me of bending a string on the shamisen to make the note rise in pitch; and I would picture the song as a kind of stroll through a landscape.
But of course, the greatest challenge of all, and the most important one for me, was dance. For months I tried to make use of the various tricks I'd discovered, but they were of little help to me. Then one day Auntie grew furious when I spilled tea onto a magazine she was reading. The strange thing was that I'd been thinking kind thoughts toward her at the very moment she turned on me. I felt terribly sad afterward and found myself thinking of my sister, who was somewhere in
Japan without me; and of my mother, who I hoped was at peace in paradise now; and of my father, who'd been so willing to sell us and live out the end of his life alone. As these thoughts ran through my head, my body began to grow heavy. So I climbed the stairs and went into the room where Pumpkin and I slept-for Mother had moved me there after Mameha's visit to our okiya. Instead of laying myself down on the tatami mats and crying, I moved my arm in a sort of sweeping movement across my chest. I don't know why I did it; it was a move from a dance we'd studied that morning, which seemed to me very sad. At the same time I thought about the Chairman and how my life would be so much better if I could rely on a man like him. As I watched my arm sweep through the air, the smoothness of its movement seemed to express these feelings of sadness and desire. My arm passed through the air with great dignity of movement-not like a leaf fluttering from a tree, but like an ocean liner gliding through the water. I suppose that by "dignity" I mean a kind of self-confidence, or certainty, such that a little puff of wind or the lap of a wave isn't going to make any difference.
What I discovered that afternoon was that when my body felt heavy, I could move with great dignity. And if I imagined the Chairman observing me, my movements took on such a deep sense of feeling that sometimes each movement of a dance stood for some little interaction with him. Turning around with my head tipped at an angle might represent the question, "Where shall we spend our day together, Chairman?" Extending my arm and opening my folding fan told how grateful I felt that he'd honored me with his company. And when I snapped my fan shut again later in the dance, this was when I told him that nothing in life mattered more to me than pleasing him.
During the spring of 1934, after I'd been in training for more than two 11 years, Hatsumomo and Mother decided that the time had come for I/ Pumpkin to make her debut as an apprentice geisha. Of course, no one told me anything about it, since Pumpkin was on orders not to speak with me, and Hatsumomo and Mother wouldn't waste their time even considering such a thing. I found out about it only when Pumpkin left the okiya early one afternoon and came back at the end of the day wearing the hairstyle of a young geisha-the so-called momaware, meaning "split peach." When I took my first look at her as she stepped up into the entrance hall, I felt sick with disappointment and jealousy. Her eyes never met mine for more than a flicker of an instant; probably she couldn't help thinking of the effect her debut was having on me. With her hair swept back in an orb so beautifully from her temples, rather than tied at the neck as it had always been, she looked very much like a young woman, though still with her same babyish face. For years she and I had envied the older girls who wore their hair so elegantly. Now Pumpkin would be setting out as a geisha while I remained behind, unable even to ask about her new life.
Then came the day Pumpkin dressed as an apprentice geisha for the first time and went with Hatsumomo to the Mizuki Teahouse, for the ceremony to bind them together as sisters. Mother and Auntie went, though I wasn't included. But I did stand among them in the formal entrance hall until Pumpkin came down the stairs assisted by the maids. She wore a magnificent black kimono with the crest of the Nitta okiya and a plum and gold obi; her face was painted white for the very first time. You might expect that with the ornaments in her hair and the brilliant red of her lips, she should have looked proud and lovely; but I thought she looked more worried than anything else. She had great difficulty walking; the regalia of an apprentice geisha is so cumbersome. Mother put a camera into Auntie's hands and told her to go outside and photograph Pumpkin having a flint sparked on her back for good luck the very first time. The rest of us remained crowded inside the entrance hall, out of view. The maids held Pumpkin's arms while she slipped her feet into the tall wooden shoes we call okobo, which an apprentice geisha always wears. Then Mother went to stand behind Pumpkin and struck a pose as though she were about to spark a flint, even though, in reality, it was always Auntie or one of the maids who did the job. When at last the photograph was taken, Pumpkin stumbled a few steps from the door and turned to look back. The others were on their way out to join her, but I was the one she looked at, with an expression that seemed to say she was very sorry for the way things had turned out.
By the end of that day, Pumpkin was officially known by her new geisha name of Hatsumiyo. The "Hatsu" came from Hatsumomo, and even though it ought to have helped Pumpkin to have a name derived from a geisha as well known as Hatsumomo, in the end it didn't work that way. Very few people ever knew her geisha name, you see; they just called her Pumpkin as we always had.
I was very eager to tell Mameha about Pumpkin's debut. But she'd been much busier than usual lately, traveling frequently to Tokyo at the request of her danna, with the result that we hadn't set eyes on each other in nearly six months. Another few weeks passed before she finally had time to summon me to her apartment. When I stepped inside, the maid let out a gasp; and then a moment later Mameha came walking out of the back room and let out a gasp as well. I couldn't think what was the matter. And then when I got on my knees to bow to Mameha and tell her how honored I was to see her again, she paid me no attention at all.
My goodness, has it been so long, Tatsumi? she said to her maid. "I hardly recognize her."
I'm glad to hear you say it, ma'am, Tatsumi replied. "I thought something had gone wrong with my eyes!"
I certainly wondered at the time what they were talking about. But evidently in the six months since I'd last seen them, I'd changed more than I realized. Mameha told me to turn my head this way and that, and kept saying over and over, "My goodness, she's turned into quite a young woman!" At one point Tatsumi even made me stand and hold my arms out so she could measure my waist and hips with her hands, and then said to me, "Well, there's no doubt a kimono will fit your body just like a sock fits a foot." I'm sure she meant this as a compliment, for she had a kindly look on her face when she said it.
Finally Mameha asked Tatsumi to take me into the back room and put me into a proper kimono. I'd arrived in the blue and white cotton robe I'd worn that morning to my lessons at the school, but Tatsumi changed me into a dark blue silk covered with a design of tiny carriage wheels in shades of brilliant yellow and red. It wasn't the most beautiful kimono you would ever see, but when I looked at myself in the full-length mirror as Tatsumi was tying a bright green obi into place around my waist, I found that except for my plain hairstyle, I might have been taken for a young apprentice geisha on her way to a party. I felt quite proud when I walked out of the room, and thought Mameha would gasp again, or something of-the sort. But she only rose to her feet, tucked a handkerchief into her sleeve, and went directly to the door, where she slipped her feet into a green pair of lacquered zori and looked back over her shoulder at me.
Well? she said. "Aren't you coming?"
I had no idea where we were going, but I was thrilled at the thought of being seen on the street with Mameha. The maid had put out a pair of lacquered zori for me, in a soft gray. I put them on and followed Mameha down the dark tunnel of the stairwell. As we stepped out onto the street, an elderly woman slowed to bow to Mameha and then, in almost the same movement, turned to bow to me. I scarcely knew what to think of this, for hardly anyone ever took notice of me on the street. The bright sunlight had blinded my eyes so much, I couldn't make out whether or not I knew her. But I bowed back, and in a moment she was gone. I thought probably she was one of my teachers, but then an instant later the same thing happened again-this time with a young geisha I'd often admired, but who had never so much as glanced in my direction before.
We made our way up the street with nearly everyone we passed saying something to Mameha, or at the very least bowing to her, and then afterward giving me a little nod or bow as well. Several times stopped to bow back, with the result that I fell a step or two behind Mameha. She could see the difficulty I was having, and took me to a quiet alleyway to show me the proper way of walking. My trouble, she explained, was that I hadn't learned to move the upper half of my body independently of the lower half. When I needed to bow to someone, I stopped my feet. "Slowing the feet is a way of showing respect," she said. "The more you slow up, the greater the respect. You might stop altogether to bow to one of your teachers, but for anyone else, don't slow more than you need to, for heaven's sake, or you'll never get anywhere. Go along at a constant pace when you can, taking little steps to keep the bottom of your kimono fluttering. When a woman walks, she should give the impression of waves rippling over a sandbar."
I practiced walking up and down the alley as Mameha had described, looking straight toward my feet to see if my kimono fluttered as it should. When Mameha was satisfied, we set out again.
Most of our greetings, I found, fell into one of two simple patterns. Young geisha, as we passed them, usually slowed or even stopped completely and gave Mameha a deep bow, to which Mameha responded with a kind word or two and a little nod; then the young geisha would give me something of a puzzled look and an uncertain bow, which I would return much more deeply-for I was junior to every woman we encountered. When we passed a middle-aged or elderly woman, however, Mameha nearly always bowed first; then the woman returned a respectful bow, but not as deep as Mameha's, and afterward looked me up and down before giving me a little nod. I always responded to these nods with the deepest bows I could manage while keeping my feet in motion.
I told Mameha that afternoon about Pumpkin's debut; and for months afterward I hoped she would say the time had come for my apprenticeship to begin as well. Instead, spring passed and summer too, without her saying anything of the sort. In contrast with the exciting life Pumpkin was now leading, I had only my lessons and my chores, as well as the fifteen or twenty minutes Mameha spent with me during the afternoons several times a week. Sometimes I sat in her apartment while she taught me about something I needed to know; but most often she dressed me in one of her kimono and walked me around Gion while running errands or calling on her fortune-teller or wig maker. Even when it rained and she had no errands to run, we walked under lacquered umbrellas, making our way from store to store to check ,when the new shipment of perfume would arrive from Italy, or whether a certain kimono repair was finished though it wasn't scheduled to be completed for another week.
At first I thought perhaps Mameha took me with her so that she could teach me things like proper posture-for she was constantly rapping me on the back with her closed folding fan to make me stand straighter-and about how to behave toward people. Mameha seemed to know everyone, and always made a point of smiling or saying something kind, even to the most junior maids, because she understood well that she owed her exalted position to the people who thought highly of her. But then one day as we were walking out of a bookstore, I suddenly realized what she was really doing. She had no particular interest in going to the bookstore, or the wig maker, or the stationer. The errands weren't especially important; and besides, she could have sent one of her maids instead of going herself. She ran these errands only so that people in Gion would see us strolling the streets together. She was delaying my debut to give everyone time to take notice of me.
One sunny October afternoon we set out from Mameha's apartment and headed downstream along the banks of the Shirakawa, watching the leaves of the cherry trees flutter down onto the water. A great many other people were out strolling for just the same reason, and as you would expect, all of them greeted Mameha. In nearly every case, at the same time they greeted Mameha, they greeted me.
You're getting to be rather well known, don't you think? she said to me.
I think most people would greet even a sheep, if it were walking alongside Mameha-san.
Especially a sheep, she said. "That would be so unusual. But really, I hear a great many people asking about the girl with the lovely gray eyes. They haven't learned your name, but it makes no difference. You won't be called Chiyo much longer anyway."
Does Mameha-san mean to say-
I mean to say that I've been speaking with Waza-san-this was the name of her fortune-teller-"and he has suggested the third day in November as a suitable time for your debut."
Mameha stopped to watch me as I stood there still as a tree and with my eyes the size of rice crackers. I didn't cry out or clap my hands, but I was so delighted I couldn't speak. Finally I bowed to Mameha and thanked her.
You're going to make a fine geisha, she said, "but you'll make an even better one if you put some thought into the sorts of statements you make with your eyes."
I've never been aware of making any statement with them at all, I said.
They're the most expressive part of a woman's body, especially in your case. Stand here a moment, and I'll show you.
Mameha walked around the corner, leaving me alone in the quiet alleyway. A moment later she strolled out and walked right past me with her eyes to one side. I had the impression she felt afraid of what might happen if she looked in my direction.
Now, if you were a man, she said, "what would you think?"
I'd think you were concentrating so hard on avoiding me that you couldn't think about anything else.
Isn't it possible I was just looking at the rainspouts along the base of the houses?
Even if you were, I thought you were avoiding looking at me.
That's just what I'm saying. A girl with a stunning profile will never accidentally give a man the wrong message with it. But men are going to notice your eyes and imagine you're giving messages with them even when you aren't. Now watch me once more.
Mameha went around the corner again, and this time came back with her eyes to the ground, walking in a particularly dreamy manner. Then as she neared me her eyes rose to meet mine for just an instant, and very quickly looked away. I must say, I felt an electric jolt; if I'd been a man, I would have thought she'd given herself over very briefly to strong feelings she was struggling to hide.
If I can say things like this with ordinary eyes like mine, she told me, "think how much more you can say with yours. It wouldn't surprise me if you were able to make a man faint right here on the street."
Mameha-san! I said. "If I had the power to make a man faint, I'm sure I'd be aware of it by now."
I'm quite surprised you aren't. Let's agree, then, that you'll be ready to make your debut as soon as you've stopped a man in his tracks just by flicking your eyes at him.
I was so eager to make my debut that even if Mameha had challenged me to make a tree fall by looking at it, I'm sure I would have tried. I asked her if she would be kind enough to walk with me while I experimented on a few men, and she was happy to do it. My first encounter was with a man so old that, really, he looked like a kimono full of bones. He was making his way slowly up the street with the help of a cane, and his glasses were smeared so badly with grime that it wouldn't have surprised me if he had walked right into the corner of a building. He didn't notice me at all; so we continued toward Shijo Avenue. Soon I saw two businessmen in Western suits, but I had no better luck with them. I think they recognized Mameha, or perhaps they simply thought she was prettier than I was, for in any case, they never took their eyes off her.
I was about to give up when I saw a delivery boy of perhaps twenty, carrying a tray stacked with lunch boxes. In those days, a number of the restaurants around Gion made deliveries and sent a boy around during the afternoon to pick up the empty boxes. Usually they were stacked in a crate that was either carried by hand or strapped to a bicycle; I don't know why this young man was using a tray. In any case, he was half a block away, walking toward me. I could see that Mameha was looking right at him, and then she said:
Make him drop the tray.
Before I could make up my mind whether she was joking, she turned up a side street and was gone.
I don't think it's possible for a girl of fourteen-or for a woman of any age-to make a young man drop something just by looking at him in a certain way; I suppose such things may happen in movies and books. I would have given up without even trying, if I hadn't noticed two things. First, the young man was already eyeing me as a hungry cat might eye a mouse; and second, most of the streets in Gion didn't have curbs, but this one did, and the delivery boy was walking in the street not far from it. If I could crowd him-so that he had to step up onto the sidewalk and stumble over the curb, he might drop the tray. I began by keeping my gaze to the ground in front of me, and then tried to do the very thing Mameha had done to me a few minutes earlier. I let my eyes rise until they met the young man's for an instant, and then I quickly looked away. After a few more steps I did the same thing again. By this time he was watching me so intently that probably he'd forgotten about the tray on his arm, much less the curb at his feet. When we were very close, I changed my-course ever so slightly to begin crowding him, so that he wouldn't be able to pass me without stepping over the curb onto the sidewalk, and then I looked him right in the eye. He was trying to move out of my way; and just as I had hoped, his feet tangled themselves on the curb, and he fell to one side scattering the lunch boxes on the sidewalk. Well, I couldn't help laughing! And I'm happy to say that the young man began to laugh too. I helped him pick up his boxes, gave him a little smile before he bowed to me more deeply than any man had ever bowed to me before, and then went on his way.
I met up with Mameha a moment later, who had seen it all.
"I think perhaps you're as ready now as you'll ever need to be, she said. And with that, she led me across the main avenue to the apartment of Waza-san, her fortune-teller, and set him to work finding auspicious dates for all the various events that would lead up to my debut-such as going to the shrine to announce my intentions to the gods, and having my hair done for the first time, and performing the ceremony that would make sisters of Mameha and me. I didn't sleep at all that night. What I had wanted for so long had finally come to pass, and oh, how my stomach churned! The idea of dressing in the exquisite clothing I admired and presenting myself to a roomful of men was enough to make my palms glisten with sweat. Every time I thought of it, I felt a most delicious nervousness that tingled all the way from my knees into my chest. I imagined myself inside a teahouse, sliding open the door of a tatami room. The men turned their heads to look at me; and of course, I saw the Chairman there among them. Sometimes I imagined him alone in the room, wearing not a Western-style business suit, but the Japanese dress so many men wore in the evenings to relax. In his fingers, as smooth as driftwood, he held a sake cup; more than anything else in the world, I wanted to pour it full for him and feel his eyes upon me as I did. I may have been no more than fourteen, but it seemed to me I'd lived two lives already. My new life was still beginning, though my old life had come to an end some time ago. Several years had passed since I'd learned the sad news about my family, and it was amazing to me how completely the landscape of my mind had changed. We all know that a winter scene, though it may be covered over one day, with even the trees dressed in shawls of snow, will be unrecognizable the following spring. Yet I had never imagined such a thing could occur within our very selves. When I first learned the news of my family, it was as though I'd been covered over by a blanket of snow. But in time the terrible coldness had melted away to reveal a landscape I'd never seen before or even imagined. I don't know if this will make sense to you, but my mind on the eve of my debut was like a garden in which the flowers have only begun to poke their faces up through the soil, so that it is still impossible to tell how things will look. I was brimming with excitement; and in this garden of my mind stood a statue, precisely in the center. It was an image of the geisha I wanted to become. Chapter 14 I've heard it said that the week in which a young girl prepares for her debut as an apprentice geisha is like when a caterpillar turns into a butterfly. It's a charming idea; but for the life of me I can't imagine why anyone ever thought up such a thing. A caterpillar has only to spin its cocoon and doze off for a while; whereas in my case, I'm sure I never had a more exhausting week. The first step was to have my hair done in the manner of an apprentice geisha, in the split peach"" style, which I've mentioned. Gion had quite a number of hairdressers in those days; Mameha's worked in a terribly crowded room above an eel restaurant. I had to spend nearly two hours waiting my turn with six or eight geisha kneeling here and there, even out on the landing of the stairwell. And I'm sorry to say that the smell of dirty hair was overpowering. The elaborate hairstyles geisha wore in those days required so much effort and expense that no one went to the hairdresser more than once a week or so; by the end of that time, even the perfumes they put in their hair weren't of much help.
"When at last my turn came, the first thing the hairdresser did was put me over a large sink in a position that made me wonder if he was going to chop off my head. Then he poured a bucket of warm water over my hair and began to scrub it with soap. Actually "scrub" isn't astrong enough word, because what he did to my scalp using his fingers is more like what a workman does to a field using a hoe. Looking back on it, I understand why. Dandruff is a great problem among geisha, and very few things are more unattractive and make the hair look more unclean. The hairdresser may have had the best motives, but after a while my scalp felt so raw, I was almost in tears from the pain. Finally he said to me, "Go ahead and cry if you have to. Why do you think I put you over a sink!"
I suppose this was his idea of a clever joke, because after he'd said it he laughed out loud.
When he'd had enough of scraping his fingernails across my scalp, he sat me on the mats to one side and tore a wooden comb through my hair until the muscles of my neck were sore from pulling against him. At length he satisfied himself that the knots were gone, and then combed camellia oil into my hair, which gave it a lovely sheen. I was starting to think the worst was over; but then he took out a bar of wax. And I must tell you that even with camellia oil as a lubricant and a hot iron to keep the wax soft, hair and wax were never meant to go together. It says a great deal about how civilized we human beings are, that a young girl can willingly sit and allow a grown man to comb wax through her hair without doing anything more than whimpering quietly to herself. If you tried such a thing with a dog, it would bite you so much you'd be able to see through your hands.
When my hair was evenly waxed, the hairdresser swept the forelock back and brought the rest up into a large knot like a pincushion on the top of the head. When viewed from the back, this pincushion has a split in it, as if it's cut in two, which gives the hairstyle its name of "split peach."
Even though I wore this split-peach hairstyle for a number of years, there's something about it that never occurred to me until quite some time later when a man explained it. The knot-what I've called the "pincushion"-is formed by wrapping the hair around a piece of fabric. In back where the knot is split, the fabric is left visible; it might be any design or color, but in the case of an apprentice geisha-after a certain point in her life, at least-it's always red silk. One night a man said to me:
Most of these innocent little girls have no idea how provocative the 'split peach' hairstyle really is! Imagine that you're walking along behind a young geisha, thinking all sorts of naughty thoughts about what you might like to do to her, and then you see on her head this split-peach shape, with a big splash of red inside the cleft . . . And what do you think of?
Well, I didn't think of anything at all, and I told him so.
You aren't using your imagination! he said.
After a moment I understood and turned so red he laughed to see it.
On my way back to the okiya, it didn't matter to me that my poor scalp felt the way clay must feel after the potter has scored it with a sharp stick. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of a shop, I felt I was someone to be taken seriously; not a girl anymore, but a young woman. When I reached the okiya, Auntie made me model my hair for her and said all sorts of kind things. Even Pumpkin couldn't resist walking once around me admiringly-though Hatsumomo would have been angry if she'd known. And what do you suppose Mother's reaction was? She stood on her tiptoes to see better-which did her little good, because already I was taller than she was-and then complained that I probably ought to have gone to Hatsumomo's hairdresser rather than Mameha's.
Every young geisha may be proud of her hairstyle at first, but she comes to hate it within three or four days. Because you see, if a girl comes home exhausted from the hairdresser and lays her head down on a pillow for a nap just as she did the night before, her hair will be flattened out of shape. The moment she awakens, she'll have to go right back to the hairdresser again. For this reason, a young apprentice geisha must learn a new way of sleeping after her hair is styled for the first time. She doesn't use an ordinary pillow any longer, but a taka-makura-which I've mentioned before. It's not so much a pillow as a cradle for the base of the neck. Most are padded with a bag of wheat chaff, but still they're not much better than putting your neck on a stone. You lie there on-your futon with your hair suspended in the air, thinking everything is fine until you fall asleep; but when you wake up, you've shifted somehow so that your head has settled back on the mats, and your hairstyle is as flat as if you hadn't bothered to use a tall pillow in the first place. In my case, Auntie helped me to avoid this by putting a tray of rice flour on the mats beneath my hair. Whenever my head drooped back while I slept, my hair sank into the rice flour, which stuck to the wax and ruined my hairstyle. I'd already watched Pumpkin go through this ordeal. Now it was my turn. For a time I woke up every morning with my hair ruined and had to wait in line at the hairdresser for my chance to be tortured.
Every afternoon during the week leading up to my debut, Auntie dressed me in the complete regalia of an apprentice geisha and made me walk up and down the dirt corridor of the okiya to build up my strength. In the beginning I could scarcely walk at all, and worried that I might tip over backward. Young girls dress much more ornately than older women, you see, which means brighter colors and showier fabrics, but also a longer obi. A mature woman will wear the obi tied in back in a manner we call the "drum knot," because it makes a tidy little box shape; this doesn't require very much fabric. But a girl younger than around twenty or so wears her obi in a showier fashion. In the case of an apprentice geisha, this means the most dramatic fashion of all, a darari-obi-"dangling obi"-knotted almost as high as the shoulder blades, and with the ends hanging nearly to the ground. No matter how brightly colored a kimono might be, the obi is nearly always brighter. When an apprentice geisha walks down the street in front of you, you notice not her kimono but rather her brilliantly colored, dangling obi-with just a margin of kimono showing at the shoulders and on the sides. To achieve this effect the obi must be so long that it stretches all the way from one end of a room to the other. But it isn't the length of the obi that makes it hard to wear; it's the weight, for it's nearly always made of heavy silk brocade. Just to carry it up the stairs is exhausting, so you can imagine how it feels to wear it-the thick band of it squeezing your middle like one of those awful snakes, and the heavy fabric hanging behind, making you feel as if someone has strapped a traveling trunk to your back.
To make matters worse, the kimono itself is also heavy, with long, swinging sleeves. I don't mean sleeves that drape over the hand onto the ground. You may have noticed that when a woman is wearing kimono and stretches out her arms, the fabric below the sleeve hangs down to form something like a pocket. This baggy pocket, which we call the/wn, is the part that's so long on the kimono of an apprentice geisha. It can easily drag along the ground if a girl isn't careful; and when she dances, she will certainly trip over her sleeves if she doesn't wrap them many times around the forearm to keep them out of the way.
Years later a famous scientist from Kyoto University, when he was very drunk one night, said something about the costume of an apprentice geisha that I've never forgotten. "The mandrill of central Africa is often considered the showiest of primates," he said. "But I believe the apprentice geisha of Gion is perhaps the most brilliantly colored primate of all!"
Finally the day came when Mameha and I were to perform the ceremony binding us as sisters. I bathed early and spent the rest of the morning dressing. Auntie helped me with the finishing touches on my makeup and hair. Because of the wax and makeup covering my skin, I had the strange sensation of having lost all feeling in my face; every time I touched my cheek, I could feel only a vague sense of pressure from my finger. I did it so many times Auntie had to redo my makeup. Afterward as I studied myself in the mirror, a most peculiar thing happened. I knew that the person kneeling before the makeup stand was me, but so was the unfamiliar girl gazing back. I actually reached out to touch her. She wore the magnificent makeup of a geisha. Her lips were flowering red on a stark white face, with her cheeks tinted a soft pink. Her hair was ornamented with silk flowers and sprigs of un-husked rice. She wore a formal kimono of black, with the crest of the Nitta okiya. When at last I could bring myself to stand, I went into the hall and looked in astonishment at myself in the full-length mirror. Beginning at the hem of my gown, an embroidered dragon circled up the bottom of the robe to the middle of my thigh. His mane was woven in threads lacquered with a beautiful reddish tint. His claws and teeth were silver, his eyes gold-real gold. I- couldn't stop tears from welling up in my eyes, and had to look straight up at the ceiling to keep them from rolling onto my cheeks. Before leaving the okiya, I took the handkerchief the Chairman had given me and tucked it into my obi for good luck.
Auntie accompanied me to Mameha's apartment, where I expressed my gratitude to Mameha and pledged to honor and respect her. Then the three of us walked to the Gion Shrine, where Mameha and I clapped our hands and announced to the gods that we would soon be bound as sisters. I prayed for their favor in the years ahead, and then closed my eyes and thanked them for having granted me the wish I'd pleaded for three and a half years earlier, that I should become a geisha.
The ceremony was to take place at the Ichiriki Teahouse, which is certainly the best-known teahouse in all of Japan. It has quite a history, partly because of a famous samurai who hid himself there in the early 17005. If you've ever heard the story of the Forty-seven Ronin- who avenged their master's death and afterward killed themselves by seppuku-well, it was their leader who hid himself in the Ichiriki Teahouse while plotting revenge. Most of the first-class teahouses in Gion are invisible from the street, except for their simple entrances, but the Ichiriki is as obvious as an apple on a tree. It sits at a prominent corner of Shijo Avenue, surrounded by a smooth, apricot-colored wall with its own tiled roof. It seemed like a palace to me.
We were joined there by two of Mameha's younger sisters, as well as by Mother. When we had all assembled in the exterior garden, a maid led us through the entrance hall and down a beautiful meandering corridor to a small tatami room in the back. I'd never been in such elegant surroundings before. Every piece of wood trim gleamed; every plaster wall was perfect in its smoothness. I smelled the sweet, dusty fragrance of kuroyaki-"char-black"-a sort of perfume made by charring wood and grinding it into a soft gray dust. It's very old-fashioned, and even Mameha, who was as traditional a geisha as you would find, preferred something more Western. But all the kuroyaki worn by generations of geisha still haunted the Ichiriki. I have some even now, which I keep in a wooden vial; and when I smell it, I see myself back there once again.
The ceremony, which was attended by the mistress of the Ichiriki, lasted only about ten minutes. A maid brought a tray with several sake cups, and Mameha and I drank together. I took three sips from a cup, and then passed it to her and she took three sips. We did this with three different cups, and then it was over. From that moment on, I was no longer known as Chiyo. I was the novice geisha Sayuri. During the first month of apprenticeship, a young geisha is known as a "novice" and cannot perform dances or entertain on her own without her older sister, and in fact does little besides watching and learning. As for my name of Sayuri, Mameha had worked with her fortune-teller a long while to choose it. The sound of a name isn't all that matters, you see; the meaning of the characters is very important as well, and so is the number of strokes used to write them-for there are lucky and unlucky stroke counts. My new name came from "sa," meaning "together," "yu," from the zodiac sign for the Hen-in order to balance other elements in my personality-and "ri," meaning "understanding." All the combinations involving an element from Mameha's name, unfortunately, had been pronounced inauspicious by the fortune-teller.
I thought Sayuri was a lovely name, but it felt strange not to be known as Chiyo any longer. After the ceremony we went into another room for a lunch of "red rice," made of rice mixed with red beans. I picked at it, feeling strangely unsettled and not at all like celebrating. The mistress of the teahouse asked me a question, and when I heard her call me "Sayuri," I realized what was bothering me. It was as if the little (girl named Chiyo, running barefoot from the pond to her tipsy house, no longer existed. I felt that this new girl, Sayuri, with her gleaming white face and her red lips, had destroyed her.
Mameha planned to spend the early afternoon taking me around Gion to introduce me to the mistresses of the various teahouses and okiya with which she had relationships. But we didn't head out the moment lunch was done. Instead she took me into a room at the Ichiriki and asked me to sit. Of course, a geisha never really "sits" while wearing kimono; what we call sitting is probably what other people would call kneeling. In any case, after I'd done it, she made a face at me and told me to do it again. The robes were so awkward it took me several tries to manage it properly. Mameha gave me a little ornament in the shape of a gourd and showed me how to wear it dangling on my obi. The gourd, being hollow and light, is thought to offset the heaviness of the body, you see, and many a clumsy young apprentice has relied upon one to help keep her from falling down.
Mameha talked with me a while, and then just when we were ready to leave, asked me to pour her a cup of tea. The pot was empty, but she told me to pretend to pour it anyway. She wanted to see how I held my sleeve out of the way when I did it. I thought I knew exactly what she was looking for and tried my best, but Mameha was unhappy with me.
First of all, she said, "whose cup are you filling?"
Yours! I said.
Well, for heaven's sake, you don't need to impress me. Pretend I'm someone else. Am I a man or a woman?
A man, I said.
All right, then. Pour me a cup again.
I did so, and Mameha practically broke her neck trying to peer up my sleeve as I held my arm out.
How do you like that? she asked me. "Because that's exactly what's going to happen if you hold your arm so high."
I tried pouring again with my arm a bit lower. This time, she pretended to yawn and then turned and began a conversation with an imaginary geisha sitting on the other side of her.
I think you're trying to tell me that I bored you, I said. "But how can I bore you just pouring a cup of tea?"
You may not want me looking up your sleeve, but that doesn't mean you have to act prissy! A man is interested in only one thing. Believe me, you'll understand all too soon what I'm talking about. In the meantime, you can keep him happy by letting him think he's permitted to see parts of your body no one else can see. If an apprentice geisha acts the way you did just then-pouring tea just like a maid would-the poor man will lose all hope. Try it again, but first show me your arm.
So I drew my sleeve up above my elbow and held my arm out for her to see. She took it and turned it in her hands to look at the top and the bottom.
You have a lovely arm; and beautiful skin. You should make sure every man who sits near you sees it at least once.
So I went on, pouring tea again and again, until Mameha felt satisfied that I drew my sleeve out of the way enough to show my arm without being too obvious what I was doing. I looked laughable if I hiked my sleeve up to my elbow; the trick was to act like I was merely pulling it out of the way, while at the same time drawing it a few finger-widths above my wrist to give a view of my forearm. Mameha said the prettiest part of the arm was the underside, so I must always be sure to hold the teapot in such a way that the man saw the bottom of my arm rather than the top.
She asked me to do it again, this time pretending I was pouring tea for the mistress of the Ichiriki. I showed my arm in just the same way, and Mameha made a face at once.
For heaven's sake, I'm a woman, she said. "Why are you showing me your arm that way? Probably you're just trying to make me angry."
Angry?
What else am I supposed to think? You're showing me how youthful and beautiful you are, while I'm already old and decrepit. Unless you were doing it just to be vulgar . . .
How is it vulgar?
Why else have you made such a point of letting me see the underside of your arm? You may as well show me the bottom of your foot or the inside of your thigh. If I happen to catch a glimpse of something here or there, well, that's all right. But to make such a point of showing it to me!
So I poured a few more times, until I'd learned a more demure and suitable method. Whereupon Mameha announced that we were ready to go out into Gion together.
Already by this time, I'd been wearing the complete ensemble of an apprentice geisha for several hours. Now I had to try walking all around Gion in the shoes we call okobo. They're quite tall and made of wood, with lovely, lacquered thongs to hold the foot in place. Most people think it very elegant the way they taper down like a wedge, so that the footprint at the bottom is about half the size of the top. But I found it hard to walk delicately in them. I felt as if I had roof tiles strapped to the bottoms of my feet.
Mameha and I made perhaps twenty stops at various okiya and teahouses, though we spent no more than a few minutes at most of them. Usually a maid answered the door, and Mameha asked politely to speak with the mistress; then when the mistress came, Mameha said to her, "I'd like to introduce my new younger sister, Sayuri," and then I bowed very low and said, "I beg your favor, please, Mistress." The mistress and Mameha would chat for a moment, and then we left. At a few of the places we were asked in for tea and spent perhaps five minutes. But I was very reluctant to drink tea and only wet my lips instead. Using the toilet while wearing kimono is one of the most difficult things to learn, and I wasn't at all sure I'd learned it adequately just yet.
In any case, within an hour I was so exhausted, it was all I could do to keep from groaning as I walked along. But we kept up our pace. In those days, I suppose there were probably thirty or forty first-class teahouses in Gion and another hundred or so of a somewhat lower grade. Of course we couldn't visit them all. We went to the fifteen or sixteen where Mameha was accustomed to entertaining. As for okiya, there must have been hundreds of those, but we went only to the few with which Mameha had some sort of relationship.
Soon after three o'clock we were finished. I would have liked nothing better than to go back to the okiya to fall asleep for a long while. But Mameha had plans for me that very evening. I was to attend my first engagement as a novice geisha.
Go take a bath, she said to me. "You've been perspiring a good deal, and your makeup hasn't held up."
It was a warm fall day, you see, and I'd been working very hard.
Back at the okiya, Auntie helped me undress and then took pity on me by letting me nap for a half hour. I was back in her good graces again, now that my foolish mistakes were behind me and my future seemed even brighter than Pumpkin's. She woke me after my nap, and I rushed to the bathhouse as quickly as I could. By five, I had finished dressing and applying my makeup. I felt terribly excited, as you can imagine, because for years I'd watched Hatsumomo, and lately Pumpkin, go off in the afternoons and evenings looking beautiful, and now at last my turn had come. The event that evening, the first I would ever attend, was to be a banquet at the Kansai International Hotel. Banquets are stiffly formal affairs, with all the guests arranged shoulder to shoulder in a sort of U-shape around the outside of a big tatami room, and trays of food sitting on little stands in front of them. The geisha, who are there to entertain, move around the center of the room-inside the U-shape made by all the trays, I mean-and spend only a few minutes kneeling before each guest to pour sake and chat. It isn't what you'd call an exciting affair; and as a novice, my role was less exciting even than Mameha's. I stayed to one side of her like a shadow. Whenever she introduced herself, I did the same, bowing very low and saying, "My name is Sayuri. I'm a novice and beg your indulgence." After that I said nothing more, and no one said anything to me.
Toward the end of the banquet, the doors at one side of the room were slid open, and Mameha and another geisha performed a dance together, known as Chi-yo no Tomo-"Friends Everlasting." It's a lovely piece about two devoted women meeting again after a long absence. Most of the men sat picking their teeth through it; they were executives of a large company that made rubber valves, or some such thing, and had gathered in Kyoto for their annual banquet. I don't think a single one of them would have known the difference between dancing and sleepwalking. But for my part, I was entranced. Geisha in Gion always use a folding fan as a prop when dancing, and Mameha in particular was masterful in her movements. At first she closed the fan and, while turning her body in a circle, waved it delicately with her wrist to suggest a stream of water flowing past. Then she opened it, and it became a cup into which her companion poured sake for her to drink. As I say, the dance was lovely, and so was the music, which was played on the shamisen by a terribly thin geisha with small, watery eyes.
A formal banquet generally lasts no more than two hours; so by eight o'clock we were out on the street again. I was just turning to thank Mameha and bid her good night, when she said to me, "Well, I'd thought of sending you back to bed now, but you seem to be so full of energy. I'm heading to the Komoriya Teahouse. Come along with me and have your first taste of an informal party. We may as well start showing you around as quickly as we can."
I couldn't very well tell her I felt too tired to go; so I swallowed my real feelings and followed her up the street.
The party, as she explained to me along the way, was to be given by the man who ran the National Theater in Tokyo. He knew all the important geisha in nearly every geisha district in Japan; and although he would probably be very cordial when Mameha introduced me, I shouldn't expect him to say much. My only responsibility was to be sure I always looked pretty and alert. "Just be sure you don't let anything happen to make you look bad," she warned.
We entered the teahouse and were shown by a maid to a room on the second floor. I hardly dared to look inside when Mameha knelt and slid open the door, but I could see seven or eight men seated on cushions around a table, with perhaps four geisha. We bowed and went inside, and afterward knelt on the mats to close the door behind us-for this is the way a geisha enters a room. We greeted the other geisha first, as Mameha had told me to do, then the host, at one comer of the table, and afterward the other guests.
Mameha-san! said one of the geisha. "You've come just in time to tell us the story about Konda-san the wig maker."
Oh, heavens, I can't remember it at all, Mameha said, and everyone laughed; I had no idea what the joke was. Mameha led me around the table and knelt beside the host. I followed and positioned myself to one side.
Mr. Director, please permit me to introduce my new younger sister, she said to him.
This was my cue to bow and say my name, and beg the director's indulgence, and so on. He was a very nervous man, with bulging eyes and a kind of chicken-bone frailty. He didn't even look at me, but only flicked his cigarette in the nearly full ashtray before him and said:
What is all the talk about Konda-san the wig maker? All evening the girls keep referring to it, and not a one of them will tell the story.
Honestly, I wouldn't know! Mameha said.
Which means, said another geisha, "that she's too embarrassed to tell it. If she won't, I suppose I'll have to."
The men seemed to like this idea, but Mameha only sighed.
In the meantime, I'll give Mameha a cup of sake to calm her nerves, the director said, and washed out his own sake cup in a bowl of water on the center of the table-which was there for that very reason-before offering it to her.
Well, the other geisha began, "this fellow Konda-san is the best wig maker in Gion, or at least everyone says so. And for years Mameha-san went to him. She always has the best of everything, you know. Just look at her and you can tell."
Mameha made a mock-angry face.
She certainly has the best sneer, said one of the men.
During a performance, the geisha went on, "a wig maker is always backstage to help with changes of costume. Often while a geisha is taking off a certain robe and putting on another one, something will slip here or there, and then suddenly ... a naked breast! Or ... a little bit of hair! You know, these things happen. And anyway-"
All these years I've been working in a bank, said one of the men. "I want to be a wig maker!"
There's more to it than just gawking at naked women. Anyway, Mameha-san always acts very prim and goes behind a screen to change-
Let me tell the story, Mameha interrupted. "You're going to give me a bad name. I wasn't being prim. Konda-san was always staring at me like he couldn't wait for the next costume change, so I had a screen brought in. It's a wonder Konda-san didn't burn a hole in it with his eyes, trying to see through it the way he did."
Why couldn't you just give him a little glimpse now and then, the director interrupted. "How can it hurt you to be nice?"
I've never thought of it that way, Mameha said. "You're quite right, Mr. Director. What harm can a little glimpse do? Perhaps you want to give us one right now?"
Everyone in the room burst out laughing at this. Just when things were starting to calm down, the director started it all over by rising to his feet and beginning to untie the sash of his robe.
I'm only going to do this, he said to Mameha, "if you'll give me a glimpse in return . . ."
I never made such an offer, Mameha said.
That isn't very generous of you.
Generous people don't become geisha, Mameha said. "They become the patrons of geisha."
Never mind, then, the director said, and sat back down. I have to say, I was very relieved he'd given up; because although all the others seemed to be enjoying themselves enormously, I felt embarrassed.
Where was I? Mameha said. "Well, I had the screen brought in one day, and I thought this was enough to keep me safe from Konda-san. But when I hurried back from the toilet at one point, I couldn't find him anywhere. I began to panic, because I needed a wig for my next entrance; but soon we found him sitting on a chest against the wall, looking very weak and sweating. I wondered if there was something wrong with his heart! He had my wig beside him, and when he saw me, he apologized and helped put it on me. Then later that afternoon, he handed me a note he'd written . . ."
Here Mameha's voice trailed off. At last one of the men said, "Well? What did it say?"
Mameha covered her eyes with her hand. She was too embarrassed to continue, and everyone in the room broke into laughter.
All right, I'll tell you what he wrote, said the geisha who'd begun the story. "It was something like this: 'Dearest Mameha. You are the very loveliest geisha in all of Gion,' and so forth. After you have worn a wig, I always cherish it, and keep it in my workshop to put my face into it and smell the scent of your hair many times a day. But today when you rushed to the toilet, you gave me the greatest moment of my life.
While you were inside, I hid myself at the door, and the beautiful tinkling sound, more lovely than a waterfall-' "
The men laughed so hard that the geisha had to wait before going on.
'-and the beautiful tinkling sound, more lovely than a waterfall, made me hard and stiff where I myself tinkle-'
He didn't say it that way, Mameha said. "He wrote, 'the beautiful tinkling sound, more lovely than a waterfall, caused me to swell and bulge at the knowledge that your body was bare . . .'"
Then he told her, the other geisha said, "that he was unable to stand afterward because of the excitement. And he hoped that one day he would experience such a moment again."
Of course, everyone laughed, and I pretended to laugh too. But the truth is, I was finding it difficult to believe that these men-who had paid so considerably to be there, among women wrapped in beautiful, expensive robes-really wanted to hear the same sorts of stories children back in the pond in Yoroido might have told. I'd imagined feeling out of my depth in a conversation about literature, or Kabuki, or something of that sort. And of course, there were such parties in Gion; it just happened that my first was of the more childish kind.
All through Mameha's story, the man beside me had sat rubbing his splotchy face with his hands and paying little attention. Now he looked at me a long while and then asked, "What's the matter with your eyes? Or have I just drunk too much?"
He certainly had drunk too much-though I didn't think it would be proper to tell him. But before I could answer, his eyebrows began to twitch, and a moment later he reached up and scratched his head so much that a little cloud of snow spilled onto his shoulders. As it turned out, he was known in Gion as "Mr. Snowshowers" because of his terrible dandruff. He seemed to have forgotten the question he'd asked me-or maybe he never expected me to answer it-because now he asked my age. I told him I was fourteen.
You're the oldest fourteen-year-old I've ever seen. Here, take this, he said, and handed me his empty sake cup.
Oh, no, thank you, sir, I replied, "for I'm only a novice . . ." This was what Mameha had taught me to say, but Mr. Snowshowers didn't listen. He just held the cup in the air until I took it, and then lifted up a vial of sake to pour for me.
I wasn't supposed to drink sake, because an apprentice geisha- particularly one still in her novitiate-should appear childlike. But I couldn't very well disobey him. I held the sake cup out; but he scratched his head again before he poured, and I was horrified to see a few flecks settle into the cup. Mr. Snowshowers filled it with sake and said to me, "Now drink up. Go on. First of many."
I gave him a smile and had just begun to raise the cup slowly to my lips-not knowing what else I could do-when, thank heavens, Mameha rescued me.
It's your first day in Gion, Sayuri. It won't do for you to get drunk, she said, though she was speaking for the benefit of Mr. Snow-showers. "Just wet your lips and be done with it."
So I obeyed her and wet my lips with the sake. And when I say that I wet my lips, I mean I pinched them shut so tightly I nearly sprained my mouth, and then tipped the sake cup until I felt the liquid against my skin. Then I put the cup down on the table hurriedly and said, "Mmm! Delicious!" while reaching for the handkerchief in my obi. I felt very relieved when I patted my lips with it, and I'm happy to say that Mr. Snowshowers didn't even notice, for he was busy eyeing the cup as it sat there full on the table before him. After a moment he picked it up in two fingers and poured it right down his throat, before standing and excusing himself to use the toilet.
An apprentice geisha is expected to walk a man to the toilet and back, but no one expects a novice to do it. When there isn't an apprentice in the room, a man will usually walk himself to the toilet, or sometimes one of the geisha will accompany him. But Mr. Snowshowers stood there gazing down at me until I realized he was waiting for me to stand.
I didn't know my way around the Komoriya Teahouse, but Mr. Snowshowers certainly did. I followed him down the hall and around a corner. He stepped aside while I rolled open the door to the toilet for him. After I had closed it behind him and was waiting there in the hallway, I heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs, but I thought nothing of it. Soon Mr. Snowshowers was done and we made our way back. When I entered the room, I saw that another geisha had joined the party, along with an apprentice. They had their backs to the door, so that I didn't see their faces until I'd followed Mr. Snowshowers around the table and taken up my place once again. You can imagine how shocked I felt when I saw them; for there, on the other side of the table, was the one woman I would have given anything to avoid. It was Hatsumomo, smiling at me, and beside her sat Pumpkin.
Hnatsumomo smiled when she was happy, like everybody else; and she was never happier than when she was about to make someone suffer. This is why she wore such a beautiful smile on her face when she said:
Oh, my goodness! What a peculiar coincidence. Why, it's a novice! I really shouldn't tell the rest of this story, because I might embarrass the poor thing.
I hoped Mameha would excuse herself and take me with her. But she only gave me an anxious glance. She must have felt that leaving Hatsumomo alone with these men would be like running away from a house on fire; we'd be better off to stay and control the damage.
Really, I don't think there's anything more difficult than being a novice, Hatsumomo was saying. "Don't you think so, Pumpkin?"
Pumpkin was a full-fledged apprentice now; she'd been a novice six months earlier. I glanced at her for sympathy, but she just stared at the table with her hands in her lap. Knowing her as I did, I understood that the little wrinkle at the top of her nose meant she felt upset.
Yes, ma'am, she said.
Such a difficult time of life, Hatsumomo went on. "I can still remember how hard I found it... What is your name, little novice?"
Happily, I didn't have to respond, because Mameha spoke up.
You're certainly right about it being a difficult time of life for you, Hatsumomo-san. Though of course, you were more awkward than most.
I want to hear the rest of the story, said one of the men.
And embarrass the poor novice who's just joined us? Hatsumomo said. "I'll tell it only if you promise that you won't think about this poor girl as you listen. Be sure to picture some other girl in your mind."
Hatsumomo could be ingenious in her devilishness. The men might not have pictured the story happening to me earlier, but they certainly would now.
Let's see, where was I? Hatsumomo began. "Oh, yes. Well, this novice I mentioned ... I can't remember her name, but I ought to give her one to keep you from confusing her with this poor girl. Tell me, little novice . . . what is your name?"
Sayuri, ma'am, I said. And my face felt so hot from nervousness that I wouldn't have been surprised if my makeup had simply melted and begun to drip onto my lap.
Sayuri. How lovely! Somehow it doesn't suit you. Well, let's call this novice in the story 'Mayuri.' Now then, one day I was walking along Shijo Avenue with Mayuri, on our way to her older sister's okiya. There was a terrible wind, the sort that rattles the windows, and poor Mayuri had so little experience with kimono. She was no heavier than a leaf, and those big sleeves can be just like sails, you know. As we were about to cross the street, she disappeared, and I heard a little sound from behind me, like 'Ah . . . ah,' but very faint. . .
Here Hatsumomo turned to look at me.
My voice isn't high enough, she said. "Let me hear you say it. 'Ah . . . ah . . .'"
Well, what could I do? I tried my best to make the noise.
No, no, much higher . . . oh, never mind! Hatsumomo turned to the man beside her and said under her breath, "She isn't very bright, is she?" She shook her head for a moment and then went on. "Anyway, when I turned around, poor Mayuri was being blown backward up the street a full block behind me, with her arms and legs flailing so much she looked like a bug on its back. I nearly tore my obi laughing, but then all of a sudden she stumbled right off the curb into a busy intersection just as a car came zooming along. Thank heavens she was blowr^ onto the hood! Her legs flew up ... and then if you can picture this, the wind blew right up her kimono, and . . . well, I don't need to tell you what happened."
You certainly do! one of the men said.
Don't you have any imagination? she replied. "The wind blew her kimono right up over her hips. She didn't want everyone to see her naked; so to preserve her modesty, she flipped herself around and ended up with her legs pointing in two different directions, and her private parts pressed against the windshield, right in the driver's face . . ."
Of course, the men were in hysterics by now, including the director, who tapped his sake cup on the tabletop like a machine gun, and said, "Why doesn't anything like this ever happen to me?"
Really, Mr. Director, Hatsumomo said. "The girl was only a novice! It's not as if the driver got to see anything. I mean, can you imagine looking at the private parts of this girl across the table?" She was talking about me, of course. "Probably she's no different from a baby!"
Girls sometimes start getting hair when they're only eleven, said one of the men.
How old are you, little Sayuri-san? Hatsumomo asked me.
I'm fourteen, ma'am, I told her, just as politely as I could. "But I'm an old fourteen."
Already the men liked this, and Hatsumomo's smile hardened a bit.
Fourteen? she said. "How perfect! And of course, you don't have any hair ..."
Oh, but I do. A good deal of it! And I reached up and patted one hand against the hair on my head.
I guess this must have been a clever thing to do, although it didn't seem particularly clever to me. The men laughed harder than they'd laughed even at Hatsumomo's story. Hatsumomo laughed too, I suppose because she didn't want to seem as if the joke had been on her.
As the laughter died down, Mameha and I left. We hadn't even closed the door behind us before we heard Hatsumomo excusing herself as well. She and Pumpkin followed us down the stairway.
Why, Mameha-san, Hatsumomo said, "this has simply been too much fun! I don't know why we haven't entertained together more often!"
Yes, it has been fun, said Mameha. "I just relish the thought of what the future holds!"
After this, Mameha gave me a very satisfied look. She was relishing the thought of seeing Hatsumomo destroyed.
That night after bathing and removing my makeup, I was standing in the formal entrance hall answering Auntie's questions about my day, when Hatsumomo came in from the street and stood before me. Normally she wasn't back so early, but I knew the moment I saw her face that she'd come back only for the purpose of confronting me. She wasn't even wearing her cruel smile, but had her lips pressed together in a way that looked almost unattractive. She stood before me only a moment, and then drew back her hand and slapped me across the face. The last thing I saw before her hand struck me was a glimpse of her clenched teeth like two strings of pearls.
I was so stunned, I can't recall what happened immediately afterward. But Auntie and Hatsumomo must have begun to argue, because the next thing I heard was Hatsumomo saying, "If this girl embarrasses me in public again, I'll be happy to slap the other side of her face!"
How did I embarrass you~? I asked her.
You knew perfectly well what I meant when I wondered if you had hair, but you made me look like a fool. I owe you a favor, little Chiyo. I'll return it soon, I promise.
Hatsumomo's anger seemed to close itself up, and she walked back out of the okiya, where Pumpkin was waiting on the street to bow to her.
I reported this to Mameha the following afternoon, but she hardly paid any attention.
What's the problem? she said. "Hatsumomo didn't leave a mark on your face, thank heavens. You didn't expect she'd be pleased at your comment, did you?"
I'm only concerned about what might happen the next time we run into her, I said.
I'll tell you what will happen. We'll turn around and leave. The host may be surprised to see us walk out of a party we've just walked into, but it's better than giving Hatsumomo another chance to humiliate you. Anyway, if we run into her, it will be a blessing.
Really, Mameha-san, I can't see how it could be a blessing.
If Hatsumomo forces us to leave a few teahouses, we'll drop in on more parties, that's all. You'll be known around Gion much faster that way.
I felt reassured by Mameha's confidence. In fact, when we set out into Gion later, I expected that at the end of the night I would take off my,makeup and find my skin glowing with the satisfaction of a long evening. Our first stop was a party for a young film actor, who looked no older than eighteen but had not a single hair on his head, not even eyelashes or eyebrows. He went on to become very famous a few years later, but only because of the manner of his death. He killed himself with a sword after murdering a young waitress in Tokyo. In any case, I thought him very strange until I noticed that he kept glancing at me; I'd lived so much of my life in the isolation of the okiya that I must admit I relished the attention. We stayed more than an hour, and Ha-tsumomo never showed up. It seemed to me that my fantasies of success might indeed come to pass.
Next we stopped at a party given by the chancellor of Kyoto University. Mameha at once began talking with a man she hadn't seen in some time, and left me on my own. The only space I could find at the table was beside an old man in a stained white shirt, who must have been very thirsty because he was drinking continually from a glass of beer, except when he moved it away from his mouth to burp. I knelt beside him and was about to introduce myself when I heard the door slide open. I expected to see a maid delivering another round of sake, but there in the hallway knelt Hatsumomo and Pumpkin.
Oh, good heavens! I heard Mameha say to the man she was entertaining. "Is your wristwatch accurate?"
Very accurate, he said. "I set it every afternoon by the clock at the train station."
I'm afraid Sayuri and I have no choice but to be rude and excuse ourselves. We were expected elsewhere a half hour ago!
And with that, we stood and slipped out of the party the very moment after Hatsumomo and Pumpkin entered it.
As we were leaving the teahouse, Mameha pulled me into an empty tatami room. In the hazy darkness I couldn't make out her features, but only the beautiful oval shape of her face with its elaborate crown of hair. If I couldn't see her, then she couldn't see me; I let my jaw sag with frustration and despair, for it seemed I would never escape Hatsumomo.
What did you say to that horrid woman earlier today? Mameha said to me.
Nothing at all, ma'am!
Then how did she find us here?
I didn't know we would be here myself, I said. "I couldn't possibly have told her."
My maid knows about my engagements, but I can't imagine . . . Well, we'll go to a party hardly anyone knows about. Naga Teruomi was just appointed the new conductor of the Tokyo Philharmonic last week. He's come into town this afternoon to give everyone a chance to idolize him. I don't much want to go, but ... at least Hatsumomo won't be there.
We crossed Shijo Avenue and turned down a narrow alley that smelled of sake and roasted yams. A sprinkle of laughter fell down onto us from the second-story windows brightly lit overhead. Inside the teahouse, a young maid showed us to a room on the second floor, where we found the conductor sitting with his thin hair oiled back and his fingers stroking a sake cup in anger. The other men in the room were in the midst of a drinking game with two geisha, but the conductor refused to join. He talked with Mameha for a while, and soon asked her to put on a dance. I don't think he cared about the dance, really; it was just a way to end the drinking games and encourage his guests to begin paying attention to him again. Just as the maid brought a shamisen to hand to one of the geisha-even before Mameha had taken up her pose-the door slid open and . . . I'm sure you know what I'm going to say. They were like dogs that wouldn't stop following us. It was Hatsumomo and Pumpkin once again.
You should have seen the way Mameha and Hatsumomo smiled at each other. You'd almost have thought they were sharing a private joke-whereas in fact, I'm sure Hatsumomo was relishing her victory in finding us, and as for Mameha . . . well, I think her smile was just a way of hiding her anger. During her dance, I could see her jaw jutting out and her nostrils flared. She didn't even come back to the table afterward, but just said to the conductor:
Thank you so much for permitting us to drop in! I'm afraid it's so late . . . Sayuri and I must excuse ourselves now . . .
I can't tell you how pleased Hatsumomo looked as we closed the door behind us.
I followed Mameha down the stairs. On the bottom step she came to a halt and waited. At last a young maid rushed into the formal entrance hall to see us out-the very same maid who'd shown us up the stairs earlier.
What a difficult life you must have as a maid! Mameha said to her. "Probably you want so many things and have so little money to spend. But tell me, what will you do with the funds you've just earned?"
I haven't earned any funds, ma'am, she said. But to see her swallowing so nervously, I could tell she was lying.
How much money did Hatsumomo promise you?
The maid's gaze fell at once to the floor. It wasn't until this moment that I understood what Mameha was thinking. As we learned some time afterward, Hatsumomo had indeed bribed at least one of the maids in every first-class teahouse in Gion. They were asked to call Yoko-the girl who answered the telephone in our okiya-whenever Mameha and I arrived at a party. Of course, we didn't know about Yoko's involvement at the time; but Mameha was quite right in assuming that the maid in this teahouse had passed a message to Hatsumomo somehow or other.
The maid couldn't bring herself to look at Mameha. Even when Mameha lifted her chin, the girl still pointed her eyes downward just as if they weighed as much as two lead balls. When we left the teahouse, we could hear Hatsumomo's voice coming from the window above-for it was such a narrow alleyway that everything echoed.
Yes, what was her name? Hatsumomo was saying.
Sayuko, said one of the men.
Not Sayuko. Sayuri, said another.
I think that's the one, Hatsumomo said. "But really, it's too embarrassing for her ... I mustn't tell you! She seems like a nice girl . . ."
I didn't get much of an impression, one man said. "But she's very pretty."
Such unusual eyes! said one of the geisha.
You know what I heard a man say about her eyes the other day? Hatsumomo said. "He told me they were the color of smashed worms."
Smashed worms . . . I've certainly never heard a color described that way before.
Well, I'll tell you what I was going to say about her, Hatsumomo went on, "but you must promise not to repeat it. She has some sort of disease, and her bosoms look just like an old lady's-all droopy and wrinkled-really, it's dreadful! I saw her in a bathhouse once . . ."
Mameha and I had stopped to listen, but when we heard this, she gave me a little push and we walked out of the alley together. Mameha stood for a while looking up and down the street and then said:
I'm trying to think where we can go, but... I can't think of a single place. If that woman has found us here, I suppose she can find us anywhere in Gion. You may as well go back to your okiya, Sayuri, until we come up with a new plan.
One afternoon during World War II, some years after these events I'm telling you about now, an officer took his pistol out of its holster during a party beneath the boughs of a maple tree and laid it on the straw mat to impress me. I remember being struck by its beauty. The metal had a dull gray sheen; its curves were perfect and smooth. The oiled wood handle was richly grained. But when I thought of its real purpose as I listened to his stories, it ceased to be beautiful at all and became something monstrous instead.
This is exactly what happened to Hatsumomo in my eyes after she brought my debut to a standstill. That isn't to say I'd never considered her monstrous before. But I'd always envied her loveliness, and now I no longer did. While I ought to have been attending banquets every night, and ten or fifteen parties besides, I was forced instead to sit in the okiya practicing dance and shamisen just as though nothing in my life had changed from the year before. When Hatsumomo walked past me down the corridor in her full regalia, with her white makeup glowing above her dark robe just like the moon in a hazy night sky, I'm sure that even a blind man would have found her beautiful. And yet I felt nothing but hatred, and heard my pulse hissing in my ears.
I was summoned to Mameha's apartment several times in the next few days. Each time I hoped she was going to say she'd found a way around Hatsumomo; but she only wanted me to run errands she couldn't entrust to her maid. One afternoon I asked if she had any idea what would become of me.
I'm afraid you're an exile, Sayuri-san, for the moment, she replied. "I hope you feel more determined than ever to destroy that wicked woman! But until I've thought of a plan, it will do you no good to follow me around Gion."
Of course I was disappointed to hear it, but Mameha was quite right. Hatsumomo's ridicule would do me such harm in the eyes of men, and even in the eyes of women in Gion, that I would be better off staying home.
Happily, Mameha was very resourceful and did manage to find engagements from time to time that were safe for me to attend. Hatsumomo may have closed off Gion from me, but she couldn't close off the entire world beyond it. When Mameha left Gion for an engagement, she often invited me along. I went on a day trip by train to Kobe, where Mameha cut the ribbon for a new factory. On another occasion I joined her to accompany the former president of Nippon Telephone & Telegraph on a tour of Kyoto by limousine. This tour made quite an impression on me, for it was my first time seeing the vast city of Kyoto that lay beyond the bounds of our little Gion, not to mention my first time riding in a car. I'd never really understood how desperately some people lived during these years, until we drove along the river south of the city and saw dirty women nursing their babies under the trees along the railroad tracks, and men squatting in tattered straw sandals among the weeds. I won't pretend poor people never came to Gion, but we rarely saw anyone like these starving peasants too poor even to bathe. I could never have imagined that I-a slave terrorized by Hatsu-momo's wickedness-had lived a relatively fortunate life through the Great Depression. But that day I realized it was true.
Late one morning I returned from the school to find a note telling me to bring my makeup and rush to Mameha's apartment. When I arrived, Mr. Itchoda, who was a dresser just like Mr. Bekku, was in the back room tying Mameha's obi before a full-length mirror.
Hurry up and put on your makeup, Mameha said to me. "I've laid a kimono out for you in the other room."
Mameha's apartment was enormous by the standards of Gion. In addition to her main room, which measured six tatami mats in area, she had two other smaller rooms-a dressing area that doubled as a maids' room, and a room in which she slept. There in her bedroom was a freshly made-up futon, with a complete kimono ensemble on top of it that her maid had laid out for me. I was puzzled by the futon. The sheets certainly weren't the ones Mameha had slept in the night before, for they were as smooth as fresh snow. I wondered about it while changing into the cotton dressing robe I'd brought. When I went to begin applying my makeup, Mameha told me why she had summoned me.
The Baron is back in town, she said. "He'll be coming here for lunch. I want him to meet you."
I haven't had occasion to mention the Baron, but Mameha was referring to Baron Matsunaga Tsuneyoshi-her danna. We don't have barons and counts in Japan any longer, but we did before World War II, and Baron Matsunaga was certainly among the wealthiest. His family controlled one of Japan's large banks and was very influential in finance. Originally his older brother had inherited the title of baron, but he had been assassinated while serving as finance minister in the cabinet of Prime Minister Inukai. Mameha's danna, already in his thirties at that time, had not only inherited the title of baron but all of his brother's holdings, including a grand estate in Kyoto not too far from Gion. His business interests kept him in Tokyo much of the time; and something else kept him there as well-for I learned many years later that he had another mistress, in the geisha district of Akasaka in Tokyo. Few men are wealthy enough to afford one geisha mistress, but Baron Matsunaga Tsuneyoshi had two.
Now that I knew Mameha would be spending the afternoon with her danna, I had a much better idea why the futon in her bedroom had been made up with fresh sheets.
I changed quickly into the clothing Mameha had set out for me-an underrobe of light green, and a kimono in russet and yellow with a design of pine trees at the hem. By this time one of Mameha's maids was just returning from a nearby restaurant with a big lacquer box holding the Baron's lunch. The foods inside it, on plates and bowls, were ready to be served just as in a restaurant. The largest was a flat lacquer dish with two grilled, salted ayu poised on their bellies as though they were swimming down the river together. To one side stood two tiny steamed crabs of the sort that are eaten whole. A trail of streaked salt curved along the black lacquer to suggest the sand they had crossed.
A few minutes later the Baron arrived. I peeked out through a crack at the edge of the sliding door and saw him standing just outside on the landing while Mameha untied his shoes. My first impression was of an almond or some other kind of nut, because he was small and very round, with a certain kind of heaviness, particularly around his eyes. Beards were very fashionable at that time, and the Baron wore a number of long, soft hairs on his face that I'm sure were supposed to resemble a beard, but looked to me more like some sort of garnish, or like the thin strips of seaweed that are sometimes sprinkled onto a bowl of rice.
Oh, Mameha . . . I'm exhausted, I heard him say. "How I hate these long train rides!"
Finally he stepped out of his shoes and crossed the room with brisk little steps. Earlier in the morning, Mameha's dresser had brought an overstuffed chair and a Persian rug from a storage closet across the hall and arranged them near the window. The Baron seated himself there; but as for what happened afterward, I can't say, because Mameha's maid came over to me and bowed in apology before giving the door a gentle push to slide it the rest of the way closed.
I stayed in Mameha's little dressing room for an hour or more while the maid went in and out serving the Baron's lunch. I heard the murmur of Mameha's voice occasionally, but mainly the Baron did the talking. At one point I thought he was angry with Mameha, but finally I overheard enough to understand that he was only complaining about a man he'd met the day before, who'd asked him personal questions that made him angry. At last when the meal was over, the maid carried out cups of tea, and Mameha asked for me. I went out to kneel before the Baron, feeling very nervous-for I'd never met an aristocrat before. I bowed and begged his favor, and thought perhaps he would say something to me. But he seemed to be looking around the apartment, hardly taking notice of me at all.
Mameha, he said, "what happened to that scroll you used to have in the alcove? It was an ink painting of something or other- much better than the thing you have there now."
The scroll there now, Baron, is a poem in Matsudaira Koichi's own hand. It has hung in that alcove nearly four years.
Four years? Wasn't the ink painting there when I came last month?
It wasn't . . . but in any case, the Baron hasn't honored me with a visit in nearly three months.
No wonder I'm feeling so exhausted. I'm always saying I ought to spend more time in Kyoto, but . . . well, one thing leads to another. Let's have a look at that scroll I'm talking about. I can't believe it's been four years since I've seen it.
Mameha summoned her maid and asked her to bring the scroll from the closet. I was given the job of unrolling it. My hands were trembling so much that it slipped from my grasp when I held it up for the Baron to have a look.
Careful, girl! he said.
I was so embarrassed that even after I'd bowed and apologized, I couldn't help glancing at the Baron again and again to see if he seemed angry with me. While I held the scroll up, he seemed to look at me more than at it. But it wasn't a reproachful stare. After a while I realized it was curiosity, which only made me feel more self-conscious.
This scroll is much more attractive than the one you have in the alcove now, Mameha, he said. But he still seemed to be looking at me, and made no effort to look away when I glanced at him. "Calligraphy is so old-fashioned anyway," he went on. "You ought to take that thing in the alcove down, and put up this landscape painting again."
Mameha had no choice but to do as the Baron suggested; she even managed to look as if she thought it was a fine idea. When the maid and I had finished hanging the painting and rolling up the other scroll, Mameha called me over to pour tea for the Baron. To look at us from above, we formed a little triangle-Mameha, the Baron, and me. But of course, Mameha and the Baron did all the talking; as for me, I did nothing more useful than to kneel there, feeling as much out of my element as a pigeon in a nest of falcons. To think I'd ever imagined myself worthy of entertaining the sorts of men Mameha entertained-not only grand aristocrats like the Baron, but the Chairman as well. Even the theater director from several nights earlier . . . he'd hardly so much as glanced at me. I won't say I'd felt worthy of the Baron's company earlier; but now I couldn't help realizing once again that I was nothing more than an ignorant girl from a fishing village. Hatsumomo, if shehad her way, would keep me down so low, every man who visited Gion would remain forever out of my reach. For all I knew I might never see Baron Matsunaga again, and never come upon the Chairman. Wasn't it possible Mameha would realize the hopelessness of my cause and leave me to languish in the okiya like a little-worn kimono that had seemed so lovely in the shop? The Baron-who I was beginning to realize was something of a nervous man-leaned over to scratch at a mark on the surface of Mameha's table, and made me think of my father on the last day I'd seen him, digging grime out of ruts in the wood with his fingernails. I wondered what he would think if he could see me kneeling here in Mameha's apartment, wearing a robe more expensive than anything he'd ever laid eyes on, with a baron across from me and one of the most famous geisha in all of Japan at my side. I was hardly worthy of these surroundings. And then I became aware of all the magnificent silk wrapped about my body, and had the feeling I might drown in beauty. At that moment, beauty itself struck me as a kind of painful melancholy.
One afternoon as Mameha and I were strolling across the Shijo Avenue Bridge to pick up some new hair ornaments in the Pontocho district-for Mameha never liked the shops selling hair ornaments in Gion-she came to a stop suddenly. An old tugboat was puffing its way beneath the bridge; I thought Mameha was just concerned about the black fumes, but after a moment she turned to me with an expression I couldn't quite understand.
What is it, Mameha-san? I asked.
I may as well tell you, because you'll only hear it from someone else, she said. "Your little friend Pumpkin has just won the apprentice's award. It's expected she'll win it a second time as well."
Mameha was referring to an award for the apprentice who'd earned the most during the previous month. It may seem strange that such an award existed, but there's a very good reason. Encouraging apprentices to earn as much as possible helps shape them into the sort of geisha who will be most appreciated in Gion-that is to say, the ones who will earn a lot not only for themselves but for everyone else too.
Several times Mameha had predicted that Pumpkin would struggle along for a few years and end up the sort of geisha with a few loyal customers-none of them wealthy-and little else. It was a sad pic-ture, and I was pleased to learn that Pumpkin was doing better than that. But at the same time I felt anxiety prickling at my stomach. Pumpkin now seemed to be one of the most popular apprentices in Gion, while I remained one of the most obscure. When I began to wonder what it might mean for my future, the world around me honestly seemed to grow dark.
The most astonishing thing about Pumpkin's success, as I stood there on the bridge thinking about it, was that she'd managed to surpass an exquisite young girl named Raiha, who'd won the award the past several months. Raiha's mother had been a renowned geisha, and her father was a member of one of Japan's most illustrious families, with almost limitless wealth. Whenever Raiha strolled past me, I felt as a simple smelt must feel when a silver salmon glides by. How had Pumpkin managed to outdo her? Hatsumomo had certainly pushed her from the very day of her debut, so much that she'd begun to lose weight lately and hardly looked herself. But regardless of how hard Pumpkin may have worked, could she really have grown more popular than Raiha?
Oh, now, really, said Mameha, "don't look so sad. You ought to be rejoicing!"
Yes, it's very selfish of me, I said.
That isn't what I mean. Hatsumomo and Pumpkin will both pay dearly for this apprentice's award. In five years, no one will remember who Pumpkin is.
It seems to me, I said, "that everyone will remember her as the girl who surpassed Raiha."
No one has surpassed Raiha. Pumpkin may have earned the most money last month, but Raiha is still the most popular apprentice in Gion. Come, I'll explain.
Mameha led me to a tearoom in the Pontocho district and sat me down.
In Gion, Mameha said, a very popular geisha can always make sure her younger sister earns more than anyone else-if she is willing to risk hurting her own reputation. The reason has to do with the way ohana, flower fees," are billed. In the old days, a hundred years or more ago, every time a geisha arrived at a party to entertain, the mistress of the teahouse lit a stick of one-hour incense-called one ohana, or "flower." The geisha's fees were based on how many sticks of incense had burned by the time she left.
The cost of one ohana has always been fixed by the Gion Registry Office. While I was an apprentice, it was ￥3, which was about the cost of two bottles of liquor, perhaps. It may sound like a lot, but an unpopular geisha earning one ohana per hour has a grim life. Probably she spends most evenings sitting around the charcoal brazier waiting for an engagement; even when she's busy, she may earn no more than ￥10 in a night, which won't be enough even to pay back her debts. Considering all the wealth that flows into Gion, she's nothing more than an insect picking at the carcass-compared with Hatsumomo or Mameha, who are magnificent lionesses feasting at the kill, not only because they have engagements all night long every night, but because they charge a good deal more as well. In Hatsumomo's case, she charged one ohana every fifteen minutes, rather than one every hour. And in the case of Mameha . . . well, there was no one else in Gion quite like her: she charged one ohana every five minutes.
Of course, no geisha keeps all her earnings, not even Mameha. The teahouse where she earned the fees takes a portion; then a much smaller portion goes to the geisha association; and a portion to her dresser; and right on down the line, including a fee she might pay to an okiya in exchange for keeping her account books and tracking her engagements. She probably keeps only a little more than half of what she earns. Still, it's an enormous sum when compared with the livelihood of an unpopular geisha, who every day sinks deeper and deeper into a pit.
Here's how a geisha like Hatsumomo could make her younger sister seem more successful than she really was.
To begin with, a popular geisha in Gion is welcome at nearly any party, and will drop in on many of them for only five minutes. Her customers will be happy to pay the fees, even though she's only saying hello. They know that the next time they visit Gion, she'll probably join them at the table for a while to give them the pleasure of her company. An apprentice, on the other hand, can't possibly get away with such behavior. Her role is to build relationships. Until she becomes a full-fledged geisha at the age of eighteen, she doesn't consider flitting from party to party. Instead she stays for an hour or more, and only then telephones her okiya to ask her older sister's whereabouts, so she can go to another teahouse and be introduced to a new round of guests. While her popular older sister might drop in on as many-as twenty parties during an evening, an apprentice probably attends no more than five. But this isn't what Hatsumomo was doing. She was taking Pumpkin with her everywhere she went.
Until the age of sixteen, an apprentice geisha bills one-half ohana per hour. If Pumpkin stayed at a party only five minutes, the host was billed the same as if she'd stayed a full hour. On the other hand, no one expected Pumpkin to stay only five minutes. Probably the men didn'tmind that Hatsumomo brought her younger sister for only a brief visit one night, or even two. But after a while they must have begun to wonder why she was too busy to stay longer; and why her younger sister didn't remain behind as she was expected to do. Pumpkin's earnings may have been high, you see-perhaps as high as three or four ohana every hour. But she was certain to pay for it with her reputation, and so was Hatsumomo.
Hatsumomo's behavior only shows us how desperate she is, Mameha concluded. "She'll do anything to make Pumpkin look good. And you know why, don't you?"
I'm not sure, Mameha-san.
She wants Pumpkin to look good so Mrs. Nitta will adopt her. If Pumpkin is made the daughter of the okiya, her future is assured, and so is Hatsumomo's. After all, Hatsumomo is Pumpkin's sister; Mrs. Nitta certainly wouldn't throw her out. Do you understand what I'm saying? If Pumpkin is adopted, you'll never be free of Hatsumomo . . . unless it's you who is thrown out.
I felt as the waves of the ocean must feel when clouds have blocked the warmth of the sun.
I'd hoped to see you as a popular young apprentice before long, Mameha went on, "but Hatsumomo certainly has gotten in our way."
Yes, she has!
Well, at least you're learning how to entertain men properly. You're lucky to have met the Baron. I may not have found a way around Hatsumomo just yet, but to tell the truth- And here she stopped herself.
Ma'am? I said.
Oh, never mind, Sayuri. I'd be a fool to share my thoughts with you.
I was hurt to hear this. Mameha must have noticed my feelings at once, for she was quick to say, "You're living under the same roof as Hatsumomo, aren't you? Anything I say to you could get back to her."
I'm very sorry, Mameha-san, for whatever I've done to deserve your low opinion of me, I told her. "Can you really imagine I'll run back to the okiya and tell anything to Hatsumomo?"
I'm not worried about what you'll do. Mice don't get eaten because they run over to where the cat is sleeping and wake it up. You know perfectly well how resourceful Hatsumomo is. You'll just have to trust me, Sayuri.
Yes, ma'am, I replied; for really, there was nothing else I could say.
I will tell you one thing, Mameha said, leaning forward a bit, from what I took as excitement. "You and I will be going to an engagement together in the next two weeks at a place Hatsumomo will never find us."
May I ask where?
Certainly not! I won't even tell you when. Just be prepared. You'll find out everything you need to know when the proper time comes.
When I returned to the okiya that afternoon, I hid myself upstairs to look through my almanac. A variety of days in the next two weeks stood out. One was the coming Wednesday, which was a favorable day for traveling westward; I thought perhaps Mameha planned to take me out of the city. Another was the following Monday, which also happened to be tai-an-the most auspicious day of the six-day Buddhist week. Finally, the Sunday after had a curious reading: "A balance of good and bad can open the door to destiny." This one sounded most intriguing of all.
I heard nothing from Mameha on Wednesday. A few afternoons later she did summon me to her apartment-on a day my almanac said was unfavorable-but only to discuss a change in my tea ceremony class at the school. After this an entire week passed without a word from her. And then on Sunday around noon, I heard the door of the okiya roll open and put my shamisen down onto the walkway, where I'd been practicing for an hour or so, to rush to the front. I expected to see one of Mameha's maids, but it was only a man from the druggist's making a delivery of Chinese herbs for Auntie's arthritis. After one of our elderly maids took the packet, I was about to return to my shamisen when I noticed the delivery man trying to get my attention. He was holding a piece of paper in one hand so that only I could see it. Our maid was about to roll the door shut, but he said to me, "I'm sorry to trouble you, miss, but would you mind throwing this away for me?" The maid thought it odd, but I took the paper and pretended to throw it away in the maids' room. It was a note, unsigned, in Mameha's hand.
Ask Auntie's permission to leave. Tell her I have work for you to do in my apartment and come here no later than one o'clock. Don't let anyone else know where you're going.
I'm sure Mameha's precautions were very sensible, but in any case, Mother was lunching with a friend, and Hatsumomo and Pumpkin had gone to an afternoon engagement already. No one remained in the okiya but Auntie and the maids. I went straight up to Auntie's room to find her draping a heavy cotton blanket across her futon, preparing for a nap. She stood shivering in her sleeping robe while I spoke to her. The moment she heard that Mameha had summoned me, she didn't even care to know the reason. She just gave a wave of her hand and crawled beneath the blanket to go to sleep.
Mameha was still attending a morning engagement when I arrived at her apartment, but her maid showed me into the dressing room to help me with my makeup, and afterward brought in the kimono ensemble Mameha had set out for me. I'd grown accustomed to wearing Mameha's kimono, but in fact, it's unusual for a geisha to lend out robes from her collection this way. Two friends in Gion might trade kimono for a night or two; but it's rare for an older geisha to show such kindness to a young girl. And in fact, Mameha was going to a great deal of trouble on my behalf; she no longer wore these long-sleeved robes herself and had to retrieve them from storage. I often wondered if she expected to be repaid somehow.
The kimono she'd laid out for me that day was the loveliest yet- an orange silk with a silver waterfall pouring from the knee into a slate-blue ocean. The waterfall was split by brown cliffs, with knotted driftwood at the base embroidered in lacquered threads. I didn't realize it, but the robe was well known in Gion; people who saw it probably thought of Mameha at once. In permitting me to wear it, I think she was rubbing some of her aura off onto me.
After Mr. Itchoda had tied the obi-a russet and brown highlighted with gold threads-I put the final touches on my makeup and the ornaments in my hair. I tucked the Chairman's handkerchief- which I'd brought from the okiya as I often did-inside my obi, and stood before the mirror gaping at myself. Already it was amazing to me that Mameha had arranged for me to look so beautiful; but to top it off, when she returned to her apartment, she herself changed into a fairly plain kimono. It was a robe the color of a mountain potato, covered with soft gray hatchmarks, and her obi was a simple pattern of black diamonds on a background of deep blue. She had the understated brilliance of a pearl, as she always did; but when we walked down the street together, the women who bowed at Mameha were looking at me.
From the Gion Shrine, we rode north in a rickshaw for a half hour, into a section of Kyoto I'd never seen. Along the way, Mameha told me we would be attending a sumo exhibition as the guests of Iwa-mura Ken, the founder of Iwamura Electric in Osaka-which, incidentally, was the manufacturer of the heater that had killed Granny. Iwamura's right-hand man, Nobu Toshikazu, who was president of the company, would also be attending. Nobu was quite a fan of sumo and had helped organize the exhibition that afternoon.
I should tell you, she said to me, "that Nobu is ... a bit peculiar-looking. You'll make a great impression on him by behaving well when you meet him." After she said this, she gave me a look as if to say she would be terribly disappointed in me if I didn't.
As for Hatsumomo, we wouldn't have to worry about her. Tickets to the exhibition had been sold out weeks before.
At last we climbed out of the rickshaw at the campus of Kyoto University. Mameha led me up a dirt path lined with small pine trees. Western-style buildings closed in on both sides of us, with windows chopped into tiny glass squares by strips of painted wood. I hadn't realized how much Gion seemed like home to me, until I noticed myself feeling out of place at the university. All around us were smooth-skinned young men with their hair parted, some wearing suspenders to keep up their pants. They seemed to find Mameha and me so exotic that they stopped to watch as we strolled past, and even made jokes to one another. Soon we passed through an iron gate with a crowd of older men and a number of women, including quite a few geisha. Kyoto had few places a sumo exhibition could be held indoors, and one was Kyoto University's old Exhibition Hall. The building no longer stands today; but at that time it fit with the Western structures around it about like a shriveled old man in kimono fits with a group of businessmen. It was a big box of a building, with a roof that didn't seem quite substantial enough, but made me think of a lid fitted onto the wrong pot. The huge doors on one side were so badly warped, they bulged against the iron rods fastened across them. Its ruggedness reminded me so much of my tipsy house that I felt sad for a moment.
As I made my way up the stone steps into the building, I spotted two geisha strolling across the gravel courtyard, and bowed to them. They nodded to me in return, and one said something to the other. I thought this very odd-until I looked at them more closely. My heart sank; one of the women was Hatsumomo's friend Korin. I gave her another bow, now that I recognized her, and did my best to smile. The moment they looked away, I whispered to Mameha:
Mameha-san! I've just seen a friend of Hatsumomo's!
I didn't know Hatsumomo had any friends.
It's Korin. She's over there ... or at least, she was a moment ago, with another geisha.
I know Korin. Why are you so worried about her? What can she possibly do?
I didn't have an answer to this question. But if Mameha wasn't concerned, I could think of no reason why I ought to be.
My first impression upon entering the Exhibition Hall was of an enormous empty space reaching up to the roof, beneath which sunlight poured in through screened windows high overhead. The huge expanse was filled with the noise of the crowd, and with smoke from the sweet-rice cakes roasted with miso paste on the grills outside. In the center was a square mound where the wrestlers would compete, dominated by a roof in the style of a Shinto shrine. A priest walked around on it, chanting blessings and shaking his sacred wand adorned with folded paper strips.
Mameha led me down to a tier in the front, where we removed our shoes and began to walk across in our split-toed socks on a little margin of wood. Our hosts were in this row, but I had no idea who they were until I caught sight of a man waving his hand to Mameha; I knew at once that he was Nobu. There was no doubt why Mameha had warned me about his appearance. Even from a distance the skin of his face looked like a melted candle. At some time in his life he had suffered terrible burns; his whole appearance was so tragic-looking, I couldn't imagine the agony he must have endured. Already I was feeling strange from running into Korin; now I began to worry that when I met Nobu, I might make a fool of myself without quite understanding why. As I walked along behind Mameha, I focused my attention not on Nobu but on a very elegant man seated beside him on the same tatami mat, wearing a pinstripe men's kimono. From the moment I set eyes on this man I felt a strange stillness settling over me. He was talking with someone in another box, so that I could see only the back of his head. But he was so familiar to me that for a moment I could make no sense of what I saw. All I knew was that he was out of place there in the Exhibition Hall. Before I could even think why, I saw an image in my mind of him turning toward me on the streets of our little village . . .
And then I realized: it was Mr. Tanaka!
He'd changed in some way I couldn't have described. I watched him reach up to smooth his gray hair and was struck by the graceful way he moved his fingers. Why did I find it so peculiarly soothing to look at him? Perhaps I was in a daze at seeing him and hardly knew how I really felt. Well, if I hated anyone in this world, I hated Mr. Tanaka; I had to remind myself of this. I wasn't going to kneel beside him and say, "Why, Mr. Tanaka, how very honored I am to see you again! What has brought you to Kyoto?" Instead I would find some way of showing him my true feelings, even if it was hardly the proper thing for an apprentice to do. Actually, I'd thought of Mr. Tanaka very little these last few years. But still I owed it to myself not to be kind to him, not to pour his sake into his cup if I could spill it on his leg instead. I would smile at him as I was obliged to smile; but it would be the smile I had so often seen on Hatsumomo's face; and then I would say, "Oh, Mr. Tanaka, the strong odor of fish ... it makes me so homesick to sit here beside you!" How shocked he would be! Or perhaps this: "Why, Mr. Tanaka, you look . . . almost distinguished!" Though in truth, as I looked at him-for by now we'd nearly reached the box in which he sat-he did look distinguished, more distinguished than I could ever have imagined. Mameha was just arriving, lowering herself to her knees to bow. Then he turned his head, and for the first time I saw his broad face and the sharpness of his cheekbones . . . and most of all, his eyelids folded so tightly in the corners and so smooth and flat. And suddenly everything around me seemed to grow quiet, as if he were the wind that blew and I were just a cloud carried upon it.
He was familiar, certainly-more familiar in some ways than my own image in the mirror. But it wasn't Mr. Tanaka at all. It was the Chairman.
I had seen the Chairman during only one brief moment in my life; but I'd spent a great many moments since then imagining him. He was like a song I'd heard once in fragments but had been singing in my mind ever since. Though of course, the notes had changed a bit over time-which is to say that I expected his forehead to be higher and his gray hair not so thick. When I saw him, I had a flicker of uncertainty whether he was really the Chairman; but I felt so soothed, I knew without a doubt I had found him.
While Mameha was greeting the two men, I stood behind awaiting my turn to bow. What if my voice, when I tried to speak, should sound like a rag squeaking on polished wood? Nobu, with his tragic scars, was watching me, but I wasn't sure whether the Chairman had even noticed me there; I was too timid to glance in his direction. When Mameha took her place and began to smooth her kimono over her knees, I saw that the Chairman was looking at me with what I took to be curiosity. My feet actually went cold from all the blood that came rushing into my face.
Chairman Iwamura . . . President Nobu, Mameha said, "this is my new younger sister, Sayuri."
I'm certain you've heard of the famous Iwamura Ken, founder of Iwamura Electric. And probably you've heard of Nobu Toshikazu as well. Certainly no business partnership in Japan was ever more famous than theirs. They were like a tree and its roots, or like a shrine and the gate that stands before it. Even as a fourteen-year-old girl I'd heard of them. But I'd never imagined for a moment that Iwamura Ken might be the man I'd met on the banks of the Shirakawa Stream. Well, I lowered myself to my knees and bowed to them, saying all the usual things about begging their indulgence and so forth. When I was done, I went to kneel in the space between them. Nobu fell into conversation with a man beside him, while the Chairman, on the other side of me, sat with his hand around an empty teacup on a tray at his knee. Mameha began talking to him; I picked up a small teapot and held my sleeve out of the way to pour. To my astonishment, the Chairman's eyes drifted to my arm. Of course, I was eager to see for myself exactly what he was seeing. Perhaps because of the murky light in the Exhibition Hall, the underside of my arm seemed to shine with the gleaming smoothness of a pearl, and was a beautiful ivory color. No part of my body had ever struck me as lovely in this way before. I was very aware that the Chairman's eyes weren't moving; as long as he kept looking at my arm, I certainly wasn't going to take it away. And then suddenly Mameha fell silent. It seemed to me she'd stopped talking because the Chairman was watching my arm instead of listening to her. Then I realized what was really the matter.
The teapot was empty. What was more, it had been empty even when I'd picked it up.
I'd felt almost glamorous a moment earlier, but now I muttered an apology and put the pot down as quickly as I could. Mameha laughed. "You can see what a determined girl she is, Chairman," she said. "If there'd been a single drop of tea in that pot, Sayuri would have gotten it out."
That certainly is a beautiful kimono your younger sister is wearing, Mameha, the Chairman said. "Do I recall seeing it on you, back during your days as an apprentice?"
If I felt any lingering doubts about whether this man was really the Chairman, I felt them no longer after hearing the familiar kindness of his voice.
It's possible, I suppose, Mameha replied. "But the Chairman has seen me in so many different kimono over the years, I can't imagine he remembers them all."
Well, I'm no different from any other man. Beauty makes quite an impression on me. When it comes to these sumo wrestlers, I can't tell one of them from the next.
Mameha leaned across in front of the Chairman and whispered to me, "What the Chairman is really saying is that he doesn't particularly like sumo."
Now, Mameha, he said, "if you're trying to get me into trouble with Nobu . . ."
Chairman, Nobu-san has known for years how you feel!
Nevertheless. Sayuri, is this your first encounter with sumo?
I'd been waiting for some excuse to speak with him; but before I'd so much as taken a breath, we were all startled by a tremendous boom that shook the great building. Our heads turned and the crowd fell silent; but it was nothing more than the closing of one of the giant doors. In a moment we could hear hinges creaking and saw the second door straining its way around in an arc, pushed by two of the wrestlers. Nobu had his head turned away from me; I couldn't resist peering at the terrible burns on the side of his face and his neck, and at his ear, which was misshapen. Then I saw that the sleeve of his jacket was empty. I'd been so preoccupied, I hadn't noticed it earlier; it was folded in two and fastened to his shoulder by a long silver pin.
I may as well tell you, if you don't know it already, that as a young lieutenant in the Japanese marines, Nobu had been severely injured in a bombing outside Seoul in 1910, at the time Korea was being annexed to Japan. I knew nothing about his heroism when I met him-though in fact, the story was familiar all over Japan. If he'd never joined up with the Chairman and eventually become president of Iwamura Electric, probably he would have been forgotten as a war hero. But as it was, his terrible injuries made the story of his success that much more remarkable, so the two were often mentioned together.
I don't know too much about history-for they taught us only arts at the little school-but I think the Japanese government gained control over Korea at the end of the Russo-Japanese War, and a few years afterward made the decision to incorporate Korea into the growing empire. I'm sure the Koreans didn't much like this. Nobu went there as part of a small force to keep things under control. Eate one afternoon he accompanied his commanding officer on a visit to a village near Seoul. On the way back to the spot where their horses were tied up, the members of the patrol came under attack. When they heard the horrible shrieking noise of an incoming shell, the commanding officer tried to climb down into a ditch, but he was an old man and moved at about the speed of a barnacle inching its way down a rock. Moments before the shell struck he was still trying to find a foothold. Nobu laid himself over the commanding officer in an effort to save him, but the old man took this badly and tried to climb out. With some effort he raised his head;
Nobu tried to push it back down, but the shell struck, killing the commanding officer and injuring Nobu severely. In surgery later that year, Nobu lost his left arm above the elbow.
The first time I saw his pinned sleeve, I couldn't help averting my eyes in alarm. I'd never before seen anyone who'd lost a limb-though when I was a little girl, an assistant of Mr. Tanaka's had lost the tip of his finger one morning while cleaning a fish. In Nobu's case, many people felt his arm to be the least of his problems, because his skin was like an enormous wound. It's hard to describe the way he looked, and probably it would be cruel for me even to try. I'll just repeat what I overheard another geisha say about him once: "Every time I look at his face, I think of a sweet potato that has blistered in the fire."
When the huge doors were closed, I turned back to the Chairman to answer his question. As an apprentice I was free to sit as quietly as an arrangement of flowers, if I wanted to; but I was determined not to let this opportunity pass. Even if I made only the slightest impression on him, like a child's foot might make on a dusty floor, at least it would be a start.
The Chairman asked if this is my first encounter with sumo, I said. "It is, and I would be very grateful for anything the Chairman might be kind enough to explain to me."
If you want to know what's going on, said Nobu, "you'd better talk to me. What is your name, apprentice? I couldn't hear well with the noise of the crowd."
I turned away from the Chairman with as much difficulty as a hungry child turns away from a plate of food.
My name is Sayuri, sir, I said.
You're Mameha's younger sister; why aren't you 'Mame' something-or-other? Nobu went on. "Isn't that one of your foolish traditions?"
Yes, sir. But all the names with 'Mame' turned out to be inauspicious for me, according to the fortune-teller.
The fortune-teller, Nobu said with contempt. "Is he the one who picked your name for you?"
I'm the one who picked it, Mameha said. "The fortune-teller doesn't pick names; he only tells us if they're acceptable."
One day, Mameha, Nobu replied, "you'll grow up and stop listening to fools."
Now, now, Nobu-san, said the Chairman, "anyone hearing you talk would think you're the most modern man in the nation. Yet I've never known anyone who believes more strongly in destiny than you do."
Every man has his destiny. But who needs to go to a fortuneteller to find it? Do I go to a chef to find out if I'm hungry? Nobu said.
Anyway, Sayuri is a very pretty name-though pretty names and pretty girls don't always go together.
I was beginning to wonder if his next comment would be something like, "What an ugly younger sister you've taken on, Mameha!" or some such thing. But to my relief, he said:
Here's a case where the name and the girl go together. I believe she may be even prettier than you, Mameha!
Nobu-san! No woman likes to hear that she isn't the prettiest creature around.
Especially you, eh? Well, you'd better get used to it. She has especially beautiful eyes. Turn toward me, Sayuri, so I can have another look at them.
I couldn't very well look down at the mats, since Nobu wanted to see my eyes. Nor could I stare directly back at him without seeming too forward. So after my gaze slipped around a little, like trying to find a footing on ice, I finally let it settle in the region of his chin. If I could have willed my eyes to stop seeing, I would certainly have done it; because Nobu's features looked like poorly sculpted clay. You must remember that I knew nothing as yet about the tragedy that had disfigured him. When I wondered what had happened to him, I couldn't stop that terrible feeling of heaviness.
Your eyes certainly do shimmer in a most startling way, he said.
At that moment a small door opened along the outside of the hall, and a man entered wearing an exceptionally formal kimono with a high black cap on his head, looking as if he'd stepped directly out of a painting of the Imperial court. He made his way down the aisle, leading a procession of wrestlers so huge they had to crouch to pass through the doorway.
What do you know about sumo, young girl? Nobu asked me.
Only that the wrestlers are as big as whales, sir, I said. "There's a man working in Gion who was once a sumo wrestler."
You must mean Awajiumi. He's sitting just over there, you know. With his one hand, Nobu pointed toward another tier where Awajiumi sat, laughing about something, with Korin next to him. She must have spotted me, for she gave a little smile and then leaned in to say something to Awajiumi, who looked in our direction.
He was never much of a wrestler, Nobu said. "He liked to slam his opponents with his shoulder. It never worked, stupid man, but it broke his collarbone plenty of times."
By now the wrestlers had all entered the building and stood around the base of the mound. One by one their names were announced, and they climbed up and arranged themselves in a circlefacing the audience. Later, as they made their way out of the hall again so the wrestlers of the opposing side could begin their procession, Nobu said to me:
That rope in a circle on the ground marks the ring. The first wrestler to be shoved outside it, or to touch the mound with anything but his feet, is the loser. It may sound easy, but how would you like to try pushing one of those giants over that rope?
I suppose I could come up behind him with wooden clappers, I said, "and hope to scare him so badly he'd jump out."
Be serious, Nobu said.
I won't pretend this was a particularly clever thing for me to have said, but it was one of my first efforts at joking with a man. I felt so embarrassed, I couldn't think what to say. Then the Chairman leaned toward me.
Nobu-san doesn't joke about sumo, he said quietly.
I don't make jokes about the three things that matter most in life, Nobu said. "Sumo, business, and war."
My goodness, I think that was a sort of joke, Mameha said. "Does that mean you're contradicting yourself?"
If you were watching a battle, Nobu said to me, "or for that matter sitting in the midst of a business meeting, would you understand what was happening?"
I wasn't sure what he meant, but I could tell from his tone that he expected me to say no. "Oh, not at all," I answered.
Exactly. And you can't expect to understand what's going on in sumo, either. So you can laugh at Mameha's little jokes or you can listen to me and learn what it all means.
He's tried to teach me about it over the years, the Chairman said quietly to me, "but I'm a very poor student."
The Chairman is a brilliant man, Nobu said. "He's a poor student of sumo because he doesn't care about it. He wouldn't even be here this afternoon, except that he was generous enough to accept my proposal that Iwamura Electric be a sponsor of the exhibition."
By now both teams had finished their ring-entering ceremonies. Two more special ceremonies followed, one for each of the two yokozuna. A yokozuna is the very highest rank in sumo-"just like Mameha's position in Gion," as Nobu explained it to me. I had no reason to doubt him; but if Mameha ever took half as much time entering a party as these yokozuna took entering the ring, she'd certainly never be invited back. The second of the two was short and had a most remarkable face-not at all flabby, but chiseled like stone, and with a jaw that made me think of the squared front end of a fishing boat. The audience cheered him so loudly I covered my ears. His name was Miyagiyama, and if you know sumo at all, you'll understand why they cheered as they did.
He is the greatest wrestler I have ever seen, Nobu told me.
Just before the bouts were ready to begin, the announcer listed the winner's prizes. One was a considerable sum of cash offered by Nobu Toshikazu, president of the Iwamura Electric Company. Nobu seemed very annoyed when he heard this and said, "What a fool! The money isn't from me, it's from Iwamura Electric. I apologize, Chairman. I'll call someone over to have the announcer correct his mistake."
There's no mistake, Nobu. Considering the great debt I owe you, it's the least I can do.
The Chairman is too generous, Nobu said. "I'm very grateful." And with this, he passed a sake cup to the Chairman and filled it, and the two of them drank together.
When the first wrestlers entered the ring, I expected the bout to begin right away. Instead they spent five minutes or more tossing salt on the mound and squatting in order to tip their bodies to one side and raise a leg high in the air before slamming it down. From time to time they crouched, glowering into each other's eyes, but just when I thought they were going to charge, one would stand and stroll away to scoop up another handful of salt. Finally, when I wasn't expecting it, it happened. They slammed into each other, grabbing at loincloths; but within an instant, one had shoved the other off balance and the match was over. The audience clapped and shouted, but Nobu just shook his head and said, "Poor technique."
During the bouts that followed, I often felt that one ear was linked to my mind and the other to my heart; because on one side I listened to what Nobu told me-and much of it was interesting. But the sound of the Chairman's voice on the other side, as he went on talking with Mameha, always distracted me.
An hour or more passed, and then the movement of a brilliant color in Awajiumi's section caught my eye. It was an orange silk flower swaying in a woman's hair as she took her place on her knees. At first I thought it was Korin, and that she had changed her kimono. But then I saw it wasn't Korin at all; it was Hatsumomo.
To see her there when I hadn't expected her ... I felt a jolt as if I'd stepped on an electric wire. Surely it was only a matter of time before she found a way of humiliating me, even here in this giant hall amid hundreds of people. I didn't mind her making a fool of me in front of a crowd, if it had to happen; but I couldn't bear the thought of looking like a fool in front of the Chairman. I felt such a hotness in my throat, I could hardly even pretend to listen when Nobu began telling me something about the two wrestlers climbing onto the mound. When I looked at Mameha, she flicked her eyes toward Hatsumomo, and then said, "Chairman, forgive me, I have to excuse myself. It occurs to me Sayuri may want to do the same."
She waited until Nobu was done with his story, and then I followed her out of the hall.
Oh, Mameha-san . . . she's like a demon, I said.
Korin left more than an hour ago. She must have found Hatsumomo and sent her here. You ought to feel flattered, really, considering that Hatsumomo goes to so much trouble just to torment you.
I can't bear to have her make a fool of me here in front of ... well, in front of all these people.
But if you do something she finds laughable, she'll leave you alone, don't you think?
Please, Mameha-san . . . don't make me embarrass myself.
We'd crossed a courtyard and were just about to climb the steps into the building where the toilets were housed; but Mameha led me some distance down a covered passageway instead. When we were out of earshot of anyone, she spoke quietly to me.
Nobu-san and the Chairman have been great patrons of mine over the years. Heaven knows Nobu can be harsh with people he doesn't like, but he's as loyal to his friends as a retainer is to a feudal lord; and you'll never meet a more trustworthy man. Do you think Hatsumomo understands these qualities? All she sees when she looks at Nobu is ... 'Mr. Lizard.' That's what she calls him. 'Mameha-san, I saw you with Mr. Lizard last night! Oh, goodness, you look all splotchy. I think he's rubbing off on you.' That sort of thing. Now, I don't care what you think of Nobu-san at the moment. In time you'll come to see what a good man he is: But Hatsumomo may very well leave you alone if she thinks you've taken a strong liking to him.
I couldn't think how to respond to this. I wasn't even sure just yet what Mameha was asking me to do.
Nobu-san has been talking to you about sumo for much of the afternoon, she went on. "For all anyone knows, you adore him. Now put on a show for Hatsumomo's benefit. Let her think you're more charmed by him than you've ever been by anyone. She'll think it's the funniest thing she's ever seen. Probably she'll want you to stay on in Gion just so she can see more of it."
But, Mameha-san, how am I going to make Hatsumomo think I'm fascinated by him?
If you can't manage such a thing, I haven't trained you properly, she replied.
When we returned to our box, Nobu had once again fallen into conversation with a man nearby. I couldn't interrupt, so I pretended to be absorbed in watching the wrestlers on the mound prepare for their 'bout. The audience had grown restless; Nobu wasn't the only one talking. I felt such a longing to turn to the Chairman and ask if he recalled a day several years ago when he'd shown kindness to a young girl . . . but of course, I could never say such a thing. Besides, it would be disastrous for me to focus my attention on him while Hatsumomo was watching.
Soon Nobu turned back to me and said, "These bouts have been tedious. When Miyagiyama comes out, we'll see some real skill."
This, it seemed to me, was my chance to dote on him. "But the wrestling I've seen already has been so impressive!" I said. "And the things President Nobu has been kind enough to tell me have been so interesting, I can hardly imagine we haven't seen the best already."
Don't be ridiculous, said Nobu. "Not one of these wrestlers deserves to be in the same ring as Miyagiyama."
Over Nobu's shoulder, I could see Hatsumomo in a far tier. She was chatting with Awajiumi and didn't appear to be looking at me.
I know this may seem a very foolish thing to ask, I said, "but how can a wrestler as small as Miyagiyama be the greatest?" And if you had seen my face, you might have thought no subject had ever interested me more. I felt ridiculous, pretending to be absorbed by something so trivial; but no one who saw us would have known that we weren't talking about the deepest secrets of our souls. I'm happy to say that at that very moment, I caught a glimpse of Hatsumomo turning her head toward me.
Miyagiyama only looks small because the others are so much fatter, Nobu was saying. "But he's very vain about his size. His height and weight were printed in the newspaper perfectly correctly a few years ago; and yet he was so offended he had a friend hit him on top of the head with a plank, and then gorged himself on sweet potatoes and water, and went down to the newspaper to show them they were wrong."
Probably I would have laughed at nearly anything Nobu had said-for Hatsumomo's benefit, I mean. But in fact, it really was quite funny to imagine Miyagiyama squinting his eyes shut and waiting for the plank to come banging down. I held that image in my mind and laughed as freely as I dared, and soon Nobu began to laugh with me. We must have looked like the best of friends to Hatsumomo, for I saw her clapping her hands in delight.
Soon I struck upon the idea of pretending that Nobu himself was the Chairman; every time he spoke, I overlooked his gruffness and tried to imagine gentleness instead. Gradually I found myself able to look at his lips and block from my mind the discoloring and the scars, and imagine that they were the Chairman's lips, and that every nuance in his voice was some comment on his feelings about me. At one point I think I convinced myself I wasn't even in the Exhibition Hall, but in a quiet room kneeling beside the Chairman. I hadn't felt such bliss in as long as I could remember. Like a ball tossed in the air that seems to hang motionless before it falls, I felt myself suspended in a state of quiet timelessness. As I glanced around the hall, I saw only the beauty of its giant wooden timbers and smelled the aroma of the sweet-rice cakes. I thought this state might never end; but then at some point I made a comment I don't even remember, and Nobu responded:
What are you talking about? Only a fool could think such an ignorant thing!
My smile fell before I could stop it, just as if the strings holding it had been cut. Nobu was looking me square in the eye. Of course, Hatsumomo sat far away, but I felt certain she was watching us. And then it occurred to me that if a geisha or a young apprentice grew teary-eyed in front of a man, wouldn't mosfanyone take it for infatuation? I might have responded to his harsh comment with an apology; instead I tried to imagine it was the Chairman who had spoken to me so abruptly, and in a moment my lip was trembling. I lowered my head and made a great show of being childish.
To my surprise, Nobu said, "I've hurt you, haven't I?"
It wasn't difficult for me to sniff theatrically. Nobu went on looking at me for a long moment and then said, "You're a charming girl." I'm sure he intended to - say something further, but at that moment Miyagiyama came into the hall and the crowd began to roar.
For a long while, Miyagiyama and the other wrestler, whose name was Saiho, swaggered around the mound, scooping up salt and tossing it into the ring, or stamping their feet as sumo wrestlers do. Every time they crouched, facing each other, they made me think of two boulders on the point of tipping over. Miyagiyama always seemed to lean forward a bit more than Saiho, who was taller and much heavier. I thought when they slammed into each other, poor Miyagiyama would certainly be driven back; I couldn't imagine anyone dragging Saiho across that ring. They took up their position eight or nine times without either of the men charging; then Nobu whispered to me:
Hataki komi! He's going to use hataki komi. Just watch his eyes.
I did what Nobu suggested, but all I noticed was that Miyagiyama never looked at Saiho. I don't think Saiho liked being ignored in this way, because he glowered at his opponent as ferociously as an animal. His jowls were so enormous that his head was shaped like a mountain; and from anger his face had begun to turn red. But Miyagiyama continued to act as though he scarcely noticed him.
It won't last much longer, Nobu whispered to me.
And in fact, the next time they crouched on their fists, Saiho charged.
To see Miyagiyama leaning forward as he did, you'd have thought he was ready to throw his weight into Saiho. But instead he used the force of Saiho's charge to stand back up on his feet. In an instant he swiveled out of the way like a swinging door, and his hand came down onto the back of Saiho's neck. By now Saiho's weight was so far forward, he looked like someone falling down the stairs. Miyagiyama gave him a push with all his force, and Saiho brushed right over the rope at his feet. Then to my astonishment, this mountain of a man flew past the lip of the mound and came sprawling right into the first row of the audience. The spectators tried to scamper out of the way; but when it was over, one man stood up gasping for air, because one of Saiho's shoulders had crushed him.
The encounter had scarcely lasted a second. Saiho must have felt humiliated by his defeat, because he gave the most abbreviated bow of all the losers that day and walked out of the hall while the crowd was still in an uproar.
That, Nobu said to me, "is the move called hataki komi."
Isn't it fascinating, Mameha said, in something of a daze. She didn't even finish her thought.
Isn't what fascinating? the Chairman asked her.
What Miyagiyama just did. I've never seen anything like it.
Yes, you have. Wrestlers do that sort of thing all the time.
Well, it certainly has got me thinking . . . Mameha said.
Later, on our way back to Gion, Mameha turned to me excitedly in the rickshaw. "That sumo wrestler gave me a most marvelous idea," she said. "Hatsumomo doesn't even know it, but she's just been thrown off-balance herself. And she won't even find it out until it's too late."
You have a plan? Oh, Mameha-san, please tell it to me! "Do you think for a moment I would?" she said. "I'm not even going to tell it to my own maid. Just be very sure to keep Nobu-saninterested in you. Everything depends on him, and on one other man as well."
What other man?
A man you haven't met yet. Now don't talk about it any further! I've probably said more than I should already. It's a great thing you met Nobu-san today. He may just prove to be your rescuer.
I must admit I felt a sickness inside when I heard this. If I was to have a rescuer, I wanted it to be the Chairman and no one else.