Now that I knew the identity of the Chairman, I began that very night to read every discarded news magazine I could find in the hopes of learning more about him. Within a week I'd accumulated such a stack of them in my room that Auntie gave me a look as if I'd lost my mind. I did find mention of him in a number of articles, but only in passing, and none told me the sorts of things I really wanted to know. Still, I went on picking up every magazine I found poking out of a trash basket, until one day I came upon a stack of old papers tied in a bundle behind one of the teahouses. Buried in it was a two-year-old issue of a news magazine that happened to feature an article on Iwa-mura Electric.
It seemed that Iwamura Electric had celebrated its twentieth anniversary in April of 1931. It astonishes me even now to think of it, but this was the same month when I met the Chairman on the banks or the Shirakawa Stream; I would have seen his face in all the magazines, if only I'd looked in them. Now that I knew a date to search for, I managed over the course of time to find many more articles about the anniversary. Most of them came from a collection of junk thrown out after the death of the old granny who lived in an okiya across the alley.
The Chairman had been born in 1890, as I learned, which meant that despite his gray hair he'd been a little over forty when I met him. I'd formed the impression that day he was probably chairman of an unimportant company, but I was quite wrong. Iwamura Electric wasn't as big as Osaka Electric-its chief rival in western Japan, according to all the articles. But the Chairman and Nobu, because of their celebrated partnership, were much better known than the chiefs of much larger companies. In any case, Iwamura Electric was considered more innovative and had a better reputation.
At seventeen the Chairman had gone to work at a small electric company in Osaka. Soon he was supervising the crew that installed wiring for machinery at factories in the area. The demand for electric lighting in households and offices was growing at this time, and during the evenings the Chairman designed a fixture to allow the use of two lightbulbs in a socket built for only one. The director of the company wouldn't build it, however, and so at the age of twenty-two, in 1912, shortly after marrying, the Chairman left to establish his own company.
For a few years things were difficult; then in 1914, the Chairman's new company won the electrical wiring contract for a new building on a military base in Osaka. Nobu was still in the military at this time, since his war wounds made it difficult for him to find a job anywhere else. He was given the task of overseeing the work done by the new Iwamura Electric Company. He and the Chairman quickly became friends, and when the Chairman offered him a job the following year, Nobu took it.
The more I read about their partnership, the more I understood just how well suited they really were to each other. Nearly all the articles showed the same photograph of them, with the Chairman in a stylish three-piece suit of heavy wool, holding in his hand the ceramic two-bulb socket that had been the company's first product. He looked as if someone had just handed it to him and he hadn't yet decided what he was going to do with it. His mouth was slightly open, showing his teeth, and he stared at the camera with an almost menacing look, as though he were about to throw the fixture. By contrast, Nobu stood beside him, half a head shorter and at full attention, with his one hand in a fist at his side. He wore a morning coat and pin-striped trousers. His scarred face was completely without expression, and his eyes looked sleepy. The Chairman-perhaps because of his prematurely gray hair and the difference in their sizes-might almost have been Nobu's father, though he was only two years older. The articles said that while the Chairman was responsible for the company's growth and direction,
Nobu was responsible for managing it. He was the less glamorous man with the less glamorous job, but apparently he did it so well that the Chairman often said publicly that the company would never have survived several crises without Nobu's talents. It was Nobu who'd brought in a group of investors and saved the company from ruin in the early 19205. "I owe Nobu a debt I can never repay," the Chairman was quoted more than once as saying.
Several weeks passed, and then one day I received a note to come to Mameha's apartment the following afternoon. By this time I'd grown accustomed to the priceless kimono ensembles that Mameha's maid usually laid out for me; but when I arrived and began changing into an autumn-weight silk of scarlet and yellow, which showed leaves scattered in a field of golden grasses, I was taken aback to find a tear in the back of the gown large enough to put two fingers through. Mameha hadn't yet returned, but I took the robe in my arms and went to speak with her maid.
Tatsumi-san, I said, "the most upsetting thing . . . this kimono is ruined."
It isn't ruined, miss. It needs to be repaired is all. Mistress borrowed it this morning from an okiya down the street.
She must not have known, I said. "And with my reputation for ruining kimono, she'll probably think-"
Oh, she knows it's torn, Tatsumi interrupted. "In fact, the under-robe is torn as well, in just the same place." I'd already put on the cream-colored underrobe, and when I reached back and felt in the area of my thigh, I saw that Tatsumi was right.
East year an apprentice geisha caught it by accident on a nail, Tatsumi told me. "But Mistress was very clear that she wanted you to put it on."
This made very little sense to me; but I did as Tatsumi said. When at last Mameha rushed in, I went to ask her about it while she touched up her makeup.
I told you that according to my plan, she said, "two men will be important to your future. You met Nobu a few weeks ago. The other man has been out of town until now, but with the help of this torn kimono, you re about to meet him. That sumo wrestler gave me such a wonderful idea! I can hardly wait to see how Hatsumomo reacts when you come back from the dead. Do you know what she said to me the other day? She couldn't thank me enough for taking you to the exhibition. Itwas worth all her trouble getting there, she said, just to see you making big eyes at 'Mr. Lizard.' I'm sure she'll leave you alone when you entertain him, unless it's to drop by and have a look for herself. In fact, the more you talk about Nobu around her, the better-though you're not to mention a word about the man you'll meet this afternoon."
I began to feel sick inside when I heard this, even as I tried to seem pleased at what she'd said; because you see, a man will never have an intimate relationship with a geisha who has been the mistress of a close associate. One afternoon in a bathhouse not many months earlier, I'd listened as a young woman tried to console another geisha who'd just learned that her new danna would be the business partner of the man she'd dreamed about. It had never occurred to me as I watched her that I might one day be in the same position myself.
Ma'am, I said, "may I ask? Is it part of your plan that Nobu-san will one day become my danna?"
Mameha answered me by lowering her makeup brush and staring at me in the mirror with a look that I honestly think would have stopped a train. "Nobu-san is a fine man. Are you suggesting you'd be ashamed to have him for a danna?" she asked.
No, ma'am, I don't mean it that way. I'm just wondering . . .
Very well. Then I have only two things to say to you. First, you're a fourteen-year-old girl with no reputation whatever. You'll be very fortunate ever to become a geisha with sufficient status for a man like Nobu to consider proposing himself as your danna. Secondly, Nobu-san has never found a geisha he likes well enough to take as a mistress. If you're the first, I expect you to feel very flattered.
I blushed with so much heat in my face I might almost have caught fire. Mameha was quite right; whatever became of me in the years ahead, I would be fortunate even to attract the notice of a man like Nobu. If Nobu'was beyond my reach, how much more unreach-able the Chairman must be. Since finding him again at the sumo exhibition, I'd begun to think of all the possibilities life presented to me. But now after Mameha's words I felt myself wading through an ocean of sorrow.
I dressed in a hurry, and Mameha led me up the street to the okiya where she'd lived until six years earlier, when she'd gained her independence. At the door we were greeted by an elderly maid, who smacked her lips and gave her head a shake.
We called the hospital earlier, the maid said. "The Doctor goes home at four o'clock today. It's nearly three-thirty already, you know.
We'll phone him before we go, Kazuko-san, Mameha replied. "I'm sure he'll wait for me."
I hope so. It would be terrible to leave the poor girl bleeding.
Who's bleeding? I asked in alarm; but the maid only looked at me with a sigh and led us up the stairs to a crowded little hallway on the second floor. In a space about the size of two tatami mats were gathered not only Mameha and me, as well as the maid who'd shown us up, but also three other young women and a tall, thin cook in a crisp apron. They all looked at me warily, except for the cook, who draped a towel over her shoulder and began to whet a knife of the sort used to chop the heads off fish. I felt like a slab of tuna the grocer had just delivered, because I could see now that I was the one who was going to do the bleeding.
Mameha-san ... I said.
Now, Sayuri, I know what you're going to say, she told me- which was interesting, because I had no idea myself what I was going to say. "Before I became your older sister, didn't you promise to do exactly as I told you?"
If I'd known it would include having my liver cut out-
No one's going to cut out your liver, said the cook, in a tone that was supposed to make me feel much better, but didn't.
Sayuri, we're going to put a little cut in your skin, Mameha said. "Just a little one, so you can go to the hospital and meet a certain doctor. You know the man I mentioned to you? He's a doctor."
Can't I just pretend to have a stomachache?
I was perfectly serious when I said this, but everyone seemed to think I'd made a clever joke, for they all laughed, even Mameha.
Sayuri, we all have your best interests at heart, Mameha said. "We only need to make you bleed a little, just enough so the Doctor will be willing to look at you."
In a moment the cook finished sharpening the knife and came to stand before me as calmly as if she were going to help me with my makeup-except that she was holding a knife, for heaven's sake. Kazuko, the elderly maid who had shown us in, pulled my collar aside with both hands. I felt myself beginning to panic; but fortunately Mameha spoke up.
We're going to put the cut on her leg, she said.
Not the leg, said Kazuko. "The neck is so much more erotic."
Sayuri, please turn around and show Kazuko the hole in the back of your kimono, Mameha said to me. When I'd done as she asked, she went on, "Now, Kazuko-san, how will we explain this tear in the back of her kimono if the cut is on her neck and not her leg?"
How are the two things related? Kazuko said. "She's wearing a torn kimono, and she has a cut on her neck."
I don't know what Kazuko keeps gabbing on about, the cook said. "Just tell me where you want me to cut her, Mameha-san, and I'll cut her."
I'm sure I should have been pleased to hear this, but somehow I wasn't.
Mameha sent one of the young maids to fetch a red pigment stick of the sort used for shading the lips, and then put it through the hole in my kimono and swiftly rubbed a mark high up on the back of my thigh.
You must place the cut exactly there, Mameha said to the cook.
I opened my mouth, but before I could even speak, Mameha told me, "Just lie down and be quiet, Sayuri. If you slow us down any further, I'm going to be very angry."
I'd be lying if I said I wanted to obey her; but of course, I had no choice. So I lay down on a sheet spread out on the wooden floor and closed my eyes while Mameha pulled my robe up until I was exposed almost to the hip.
Remember that if the cut needs to be deeper, you can always do it again, Mameha said. "Start with the shallowest cut you can make."
I bit my lip the moment I felt the tip of the knife. I'm afraid I may have let out a little squeal as well, though I can't be sure. In any case, I felt some pressure, and then Mameha said:
Not that shallow. You've scarcely cut through the first layer of skin.
It looks like lips, Kazuko said to the cook. "You've put a line right in the middle of a red smudge, and it looks like a pair of lips. The Doctor's going to laugh."
Mameha agreed and wiped off the makeup after the cook assured her she could find the spot. In a moment I felt the pressure of the knife again.
I've never been good at the sight of blood. You may recall how I fainted after cutting my lip the day I met Mr. Tanaka. So you can probably imagine how I felt when I twisted around and saw a rivulet of blood snaking down my leg onto a towel Mameha held against the inside of my thigh. I lapsed into such a state when I saw it that I have no memory at all of what happened next-of being helped into the rickshaw, or of anything at all about the ride, until we neared the hospital and Mameha rocked my head from side to side to get my attention.
Now listen to me! I'm sure you've heard over and over that your job as an apprentice is to impress other geisha, since they're the ones who will help you in your career, and not to worry about what the men think. Well, forget about all that! It isn't going to work that way in your case. Your future depends on two men, as I've told you, and you're about to meet one of them. You must make the right impression. Are you listening to me?
Yes, ma'am, every word, I muttered.
When you're asked how you cut your leg, the answer is, you were trying to go to the bathroom in kimono, and you fell onto something sharp. You don't even know what it was, because you fainted. Make up all the details you want; just be sure to sound very childish. And act helpless when we go inside. Let me see you do it.
Well, I laid my head back and let my eyes roll up into my head. I suppose that's how I was really feeling, but Mameha wasn't at all pleased.
I didn't say act dead. I said act helpless. Like this . . .
Mameha put on a dazed look, as if she couldn't make up her mind even where she should point her eyes, and kept her hand to her cheek as though she were feeling faint. She made me imitate that look until she was satisfied. I began my performance as the driver helped me to the entrance of the hospital. Mameha walked beside me, tugging my robe this way and that to be sure I still looked attractive.
We entered through the swinging wooden doors and asked for the hospital director; Mameha said he was expecting us. Finally a nurse showed us down a long hallway to a dusty room with a wooden table and a plain folding screen blocking the windows. While we waited, Mameha took off the towel she'd wrapped around my leg and threw it into a wastebasket.
Remember, Sayuri, she nearly hissed, "we want the Doctor to see you looking as innocent and as helpless as possible. Lie back and try to look weak."
I had no difficulty at all with this. A moment later the door opened and in came Dr. Crab. Of course, his name wasn't really Dr. Crab, but if you'd seen him I'm sure the same name would have occurred to you, because he had his shoulders hunched up and his elbows sticking out so much, he couldn't have done a better imitation of a crab if he'd made a study of it. He even led with one shoulder when he walked, just like a crab moving along sideways. He had a mustache on his face, and was very pleased to see Mameha, though more with an expression of surprise in his eyes than with a smile.
Dr. Crab was a methodical and orderly man. When he closed the door, he turned the handle first so the latch wouldn't make noise, and then gave an extra press on the door to be sure it was shut. After this
he took a case from his coat pocket and opened it very cautiously, as though he might spill something if he wasn't careful; but all it contained was another pair of glasses. When he'd exchanged the glasses he wore, he replaced the case in his pocket and then smoothed his coat with his hands. Finally he peered at me and gave a brisk little nod, whereupon Mameha said:
I'm so sorry to trouble you, Doctor. But Sayuri has such a bright future before her, and now she's had the misfortune of cutting her leg! What with the possibility of scars, and infections and the like, well, I thought you were the only person to treat her.
Just so, said Dr. Crab. "Now perhaps I might have a look at the injury?"
I'm afraid Sayuri gets weak at the sight of blood, Doctor, Mameha said. "It might be best if she simply turned away and let you examine the wound for yourself. It's on the back of her thigh."
I understand perfectly. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to ask that she lie on her stomach on the examination table?
I couldn't understand why Dr. Crab didn't ask me himself; but to seem obedient, I waited until I'd heard the words from Mameha. Then the Doctor raised my robe almost to my hips, and brought over a cloth and some sort of smelly liquid, which he rubbed on my thigh before saying, "Sayuri-san, please be kind enough to tell me how the wound was inflicted."
I took a deep, exaggerated breath, still doing my best to seem as weak as possible. "Well, I'm rather embarrassed," I began, "but the truth is that I was . . . drinking a good deal of tea this afternoon-"
Sayuri has just begun her apprenticeship, Mameha said. "I was introducing her around Gion. Naturally, everyone wanted to invite her in for tea."
Yes, I can imagine, the Doctor said.
In any case, I went on, "I suddenly felt that I had to ... well, you know ..."
Drinking excessive amounts of tea can lead to a strong urge to relieve the bladder, the Doctor said.
Oh, thank you. And in fact. . . well, 'strong urge' is an understatement, because I was afraid that in another moment everything would begin to look yellow to me, if you know what I mean ...
Just tell the Doctor what happened, Sayuri, said Mameha.
I'm sorry, I said. "I just mean to say that I had to use the toilet very bad ... so bad that when I finally reached it ... well, I was struggling with my kimono, and I must have lost my balance. When I fell, my leg came against something sharp. I don't even know what it was. I think I must have fainted."
It's a wonder you didn't void your bladder when you lost consciousness, said the Doctor.
All this time I'd been lying on my stomach, holding my face up off the examination table for fear of smudging my makeup, and talking while the Doctor looked at the back of my head. But when Dr. Crab made this last comment, I looked over my shoulder at Mameha as best I could. Happily, she was thinking faster than I was, because she said:
What Sayuri means is that she lost her balance when she tried to stand once again from a squatting position.
I see, the Doctor said. "The cut was made by a very sharp object. Perhaps you fell on broken glass or a strip of metal."
Yes, it certainly felt very sharp, I said. "As sharp as a knife!"
Dr. Crab said nothing more, but washed the cut as though he wanted to see how much he could make it hurt, and then afterward used more of the smelly liquid to remove the blood that had dried all down my leg. Finally he told me the cut would need nothing more than cream and a bandage, and gave me instructions on caring for it over the next few days. With this, he rolled my robe down and put away his glasses as though he might break them if he handled them too roughly.
I'm very sorry you've ruined such a fine kimono, he said. "But I'm certainly happy at the chance to have met you. Mameha-san knows I'm always interested in new faces."
Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine, Doctor, I said.
Perhaps I'll see you one evening quite soon at the Ichiriki Teahouse.
To tell the truth, Doctor, Mameha said, "Sayuri is a bit of a ... special property, as I'm sure you can imagine. She already has more admirers than she can handle, so I've been keeping her away from the Ichiriki as much as I can. Perhaps we might visit you at the Shirae Teahouse instead?"
Yes, I would prefer that myself, Dr. Crab said. And then he went through the whole ritual of changing his glasses again so that he could look through a little book he took from his pocket. "I'll be there ... let me see . . . two evenings from now. I do hope to see you."
Mameha assured him we would stop by, and then we left.
In the rickshaw on our way back to Gion, Mameha told me I'd done very well.
But, Mameha-san, I didn't do anything!
Oh? Then how do you account for what we saw on the Doctor's forehead?
I didn't see anything but the wooden table right in front of my face.
Let's just say that while the Doctor was cleaning the blood from your leg, his forehead was beaded with sweat as if we'd been in the heat of summer. But it wasn't even warm in the room, was it?
I don't think so.
Well, then! Mameha said.
I really wasn't sure what she was talking about-or exactly what her purpose had been in taking me to meet the Doctor, for that matter. But I couldn't very well ask, because she'd already made it clear she wouldn't tell me her plan. Then just as the rickshaw driver was pulling us across the Shijo Avenue Bridge into Gion once again, Mameha interrupted herself in the middle of a story.
You know, your eyes really are extraordinarily lovely in that kimono, Sayuri. The scarlets and yellows . . . they make your eyes shine almost silver! Oh, heavens, I can't believe I haven't thought of this idea sooner. Driver! she called out. "We've gone too far. Stop here, please."
You told me Gion Tominaga-cho, ma'am. I can't drop the poles in the middle of a bridge.
You may either let us out here or finish crossing the bridge and then take us back over it again. Frankly, I don't see much point in that.
The driver set down his poles where we were, and Mameha and I stepped out. A number of bicyclists rang their bells in anger as they passed, but Mameha didn't seem in the least concerned. I suppose she was so certain of her place in the world, she couldn't imagine anyone being troubled by a little matter like her blocking traffic. She took her time, holding up one coin after another from her silk change purse until she'd paid the exact fare, and then led me back across the bridge in the direction we'd come.
We're going to Uchida Kosaburo's studio, she announced. "He s a marvelous artist, and he's going to take a liking to your eyes, I'm sure of it. Sometimes he gets a little . . . distracted, you might say. And his studio is a mess. It may take him a while to notice your eyes, but just keep them pointed where he can see them."
I followed Mameha through side streets until we came to a little alley. At the end stood a bright red Shinto gate, miniature in size, pressed tightly between two houses. Beyond the gate, we passed between several small pavilions to a flight of stone steps leading up through trees in theirbrilliant fall coloring. The air wafting from the dank little tunnel of the steps felt as cool as water, so that it seemed to me I was entering a different world altogether. I heard a swishing sound that reminded me of the tide washing the beach, but it turned out to be a man with his back to us, sweeping water from the top step with a broom whose bristles were the color of chocolate.
Why, Uchida-san! Mameha said. "Don't you have a maid to tidy up for you?"
The man at the top stood in full sunlight, so that when he turned to peer down at us, I doubt he saw anything more than a few shapes under the trees. I could see him well, however, and he was quite a peculiar-looking man. In one corner of his mouth was a giant mole like a piece of food, and his eyebrows were so bushy they looked like caterpillars that had crawled down out of his hair and gone to sleep there. Everything about him was in disarray, not only his gray hair, but his kimono, which looked as if he'd slept in it the night before.
Who is that? he said.
Uchida-san! After all these years you still don't recognize my voice?
If you're trying to make me angry, whoever you are, you're off to a good start. I'm in no mood for interruptions! I'll throw this broom at you, if you don't tell me who you are.
Uchida-san looked so angry I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd bit off the mole from the corner of his mouth and spat it at us. But Mameha just continued right up the stairs, and I followed her- though I was careful to stay behind so she would be the one struck by the broom.
Is this how you greet visitors, Uchida-san? Mameha said as she stepped up into the light.
Uchida squinted at her. "So it's you. Why can't you just say who you are like everyone else? Here, take this broom and sweep the steps. No one's coming into my house until I've lit incense. Another of my mice has died, and the place smells like a coffin."
Mameha seemed amused at this and waited until Uchida had left before leaning the broom against a tree.
Have you ever had a boil? she whispered to me. "When Uchida's work goes badly, he gets into this terrible mood. You have to make him blow up, just like lancing a boil, so that he'll settle down again. If you don't give him something to get angry about, he'll start drinking and only get worse."
Does he keep pet mice? I whispered. "He said another of his mice had died."
Heavens, no. He leaves his ink sticks out, and the mice come and eat them and then die from poisoning. I gave him a box to put his inks in, but he won't use it.
Just then Uchida's door rolled partway open-for he'd given it a shove and gone right back inside. Mameha and I slipped out of our shoes. The interior was a single large room in the style of a farmhouse. I could see incense burning in a far corner, but it hadn't done any good yet, because the smell of dead mouse struck me with as much force as if someone had stuck clay up my nose. The room was even messier than Hatsumomo's at its worst. Everywhere were long brushes, some broken or gnawed, and big wooden boards with half-finished drawings in black-and-white. In the midst of it all was an unmade futon with ink stains on the sheets. I imagined that Uchida would have ink stains all over himself as well, and when I turned to find out, he said to me:
What are you looking at?
Uchida-san, may I present my younger sister, Sayuri, Mameha said. "She's come with me all the way from Gion for the honor of meeting you."
All the way from Gion wasn't really very far; but in any case, I knelt on the mats and went through the ritual of bowing and begging Uchida's favor, although I wasn't convinced he'd heard a word of what Mameha had told him.
I was having a fine day until lunchtime, he said, "and then look what happened!" Uchida crossed the room and held up a board. Fastened onto it with pins was a sketch of a woman from the back, looking to one side and holding an umbrella-except that a cat had evidently stepped in ink and walked across it, leaving perfectly formed paw prints. The cat himself was curled up asleep at the moment in a pile of dirty clothes.
I brought him in-here for the mice and look! he went on. "I've a mind to throw him out."
Oh, but the paw prints are lovely, said Mameha. "I think they improve the picture. What do you think, Sayuri?"
I wasn't inclined to say anything, because Uchida was looking very upset at Mameha's comment. But in a moment I understood that she was trying to "lance the boil," as she'd put it. So I put on my most enthusiastic voice and said:
I'm surprised at how attractive the paw prints are! I think the cat may be something of an artist.
I know why you don't like him, said Mameha. "You're jealous of his talent."
Jealous, am I? Uchida said. "That cat's no artist. He's a demon if he's anything!"
Forgive me, Uchida-san, Mameha replied. "It's just as you say. But tell me, are you planning to throw the picture away? Because if so, I'd be pleased to have it. Wouldn't it look charming in my apartment, Sayuri?"
When Uchida heard this, he tore the picture from the board and said, "You like it, do you? All right, I'll make you two presents of it!" And then he tore it into two pieces and gave them to her, saying, "Here's one! And here's the other! Now get out!"
I so wish you hadn't done that, Mameha said. "I think it was the most beautiful thing you've ever produced."
Get out!
Oh, Uchida-san, I can't possibly! I wouldn't be a friend if I didn't straighten your place a bit before leaving.
At this, Uchida himself stormed out of the house, leaving the door wide open behind him. We watched him kick the broom Mameha had left leaning against the tree and then nearly slip and fall as he started down the wet steps. We spent the next half hour straightening up the studio, until Uchida came back in a much improved mood, just as Mameha had predicted. He still wasn't what I would call cheerful; and in fact, he had a habit of chewing constantly at the mole in the corner of his mouth, which gave him the look of being worried. I think he felt embarrassed at his earlier behavior, because he never looked directly at either of us. Soon it became apparent that he wasn't going to notice my eyes at all, and so Mameha said to him:
Don't you think Sayuri is just the prettiest thing? Have you even bothered to look at her?
It was an act of desperation, I thought, but Uchida only flicked his eyes at me like brushing a crumb from a table. Mameha seemed very disappointed. The afternoon light was already beginning to fade, so we both rose to leave. She gave the most abbreviated bow in saying good-bye. When we stepped outside, I couldn't help stopping a moment to take in the sunset, which painted the sky behind the distant hills in rusts and pinks as striking as the loveliest kimono-even more so, because no matter how magnificent a kimono is, your hands will never glow orange in its light. But in that sunset my hands seemed to have been dipped in some sort of iridescence. I raised them up and gazed at them for a long moment.
Mameha-san, look, I said to her, but she thought I was talking about the sunset and turned toward it with indifference. Uchida was standing frozen in the entryway with an expression of concentration on his face, combing one hand through a tuft of his gray hair. But he wasn't looking at the sunset at all. He was looking at me.
If you've ever seen Uchida Kosaburo's famous ink painting of the young woman in a kimono standing in a rapturous state and with her eyes aglow . . . well, from the very beginning he insisted the idea came from what he saw that afternoon. I've never really believed him. I can't imagine such a beautiful painting could really be based on just a girl staring foolishly at her hands in the sunset.
That startling month in which I first came upon the Chairman again-and met Nobu, and Dr. Crab, and Uchida Kosaburo-made me feel something like a pet cricket that has at last escaped its wicker cage. For the first time in ages I could go to bed at night believing I might not always draw as little notice in Gion as a drop of tea spilled onto the mats. I still had no understanding of Mameha's plan, or of how it would lead me to success as a geisha, or whether success as a geisha would ever lead me to the Chairman. But every night I lay on my futon with his handkerchief pressed against my cheek, reliving again and again my encounter with him. I was like a temple bell that resonates long after it has been struck.
Some weeks passed without word from any of the men, and Mameha and I began to worry. But at last one morning a secretary from Iwamura Electric phoned the Ichiriki Teahouse to request my company for that evening. Mameha was delighted at this news, because she hoped the invitation had come from Nobu. I was delighted too; I hoped it was from the Chairman. Later that day, in Hatsumomo's presence, I told Auntie I would be entertaining Nobu and asked her to help me choose a kimono ensemble. To my astonishment Hatsumomo came along to lend a hand. I'm sure that a stranger seeing us would have imagined we were members of a close family. Hatsumomo never snickered, or made sarcastic comments, and in fact she was helpful. I think Auntie felt as puzzled as I did. We ended up settling on a powdery green kimono with a pattern of leaves in silver and vermilion, and a gray obi with gold threads. Hatsumomo promised to stop by so she could see Nobu and me together.
That evening I knelt in the hallway of the Ichiriki feeling that my whole life had led me to this moment. I listened to the sounds of muffled laughter, wondering if one of the voices was the Chairman's; and when I opened the door and saw him there at the head of the table, and Nobu with his back to me . . . well, I was so captivated by the Chairman's smile-though it was really only the residue of laughter from a moment earlier-that I had to keep myself from smiling back at him. I greeted Mameha first, and then the few other geisha in the room, and finally the six or seven men. When I arose from my knees, I went straight to Nobu, as Mameha expected me to do. I must have knelt closer to him than I realized, however, because he immediately slammed his sake cup onto the table in annoyance and shifted a little distance away from me. I apologized, but he paid me no attention, and Mameha only frowned. I spent the rest of the time feeling out of sorts. Later, as we were leaving together, Mameha said to me:
Nobu-san is easily annoyed. Be more careful not to irritate him in the future.
I'm sorry, ma'am. Apparently he isn't as fond of me as you thought ...
Oh, he's fond of you. If he didn't like your company, you'd have left the party in tears. Sometimes his temperament seems as gentle as a sack of gravel, but he's a kind man in his way, as you'll discover.
I was invited to the Ichiriki Teahouse again that week by Iwamura Electric and many times over the weeks that followed-and not always with Mameha. She cautioned me not to stay too long for fear of making myself look unpopular; so after an hour or so I always bowed and excused myself as though I were on my way to another party. Often while I was dressing for these evenings, Hatsumomo hinted she might stop by, but she never did. Then one afternoon when I wasn't expecting it, she informed me she had some free time that evening and would be absolutely certain to come.
I felt a bit nervous, as you can imagine; but things seemed still worse when I reached the Ichiriki and found that Nobu was absent. It was the smallest party I'd attended yet in Gion, with only two other geisha and four men. What if Hatsumomo should arrive and find me entertaining the Chairman without Nobu? I'd made no headway in thinking what to do, when suddenly the door slid open, and with a surge of anxiety I saw Hatsumomo there on her knees in the hallway.
My only recourse, I decided, was to act bored, as though the company of no one but Nobu could possibly interest me. Perhaps this would have been enough to save me that night; but by good fortune Nobu arrived a few minutes afterward in any case. Hatsumomo's lovely smile grew the moment Nobu entered the room, until her lips were as rich and full as drops of blood beading at the edge of a wound. Nobu made himself comfortable at the table, and then at once, Hatsumomo suggested in an almost maternal way that I go and pour him sake. I went to settle myself near him and tried to show all the signs of a girl enchanted. Whenever he laughed, for example, I flicked my eyes toward him as though I couldn't resist. Hatsumomo was delighted and watched us so openly that she didn't even seem aware of all the men's eyes upon her-or more likely, she was simply accustomed to the attention. She was captivatingly beautiful that evening, as she always was; the young man at the end of the table did little more than smoke cigarettes and watch her. Even the Chairman, who sat with his fingers draped gracefully around a sake cup, stole glimpses of her from time to time. I had to wonder if men were so blinded by beauty that they would feel privileged to live their lives with an actual demon, so long as it was a beautiful demon. I had a sudden image in my mind of the Chairman stepping up into the formal entrance hall of our okiya late one night to meet Hatsumomo, holding a fedora in his hand and smiling down at me as he began to unbutton his overcoat. I didn't think he'd ever really be so entranced by her beauty as to overlook the traces of cruelty that would show themselves. But one thing was certain: if Hatsumomo ever understood my feelings for him, she might very well try to seduce him, if for no other reason than to cause me pain.
Suddenly it seemed urgent to me that Hatsumomo leave the party. I knew she was there to observe the "developing romance," as she put it; so I made up my mind to show her what she'd come to see. I began by touching my fingertips to my neck or my hairstyle every so often, in order to seem worried about my appearance. When my fingers brushed one of my hair ornaments inadvertently, I came up with an idea. I waited until someone made a joke, and then while laughing and adjusting my hair, I leaned toward Nobu. Adjusting my hair was a strange thing for me to do, I'll admit, since it was waxed into place and hardly needed attention. But my purpose was to dislodge one of my hair ornaments-a cascade of yellow and orange safflowers in silk- and let it fall into Nobu's lap. As it turned out, the wooden spine holding the ornament in my hair was embedded farther than I'd realized; but I managed to slip it out at last, and it bounced against Nobu's chest and fell onto the tatami between his crossed legs. Most everyone noticed, and no one seemed to know what to do. I'd planned to reach into his lap and reclaim it with girlish embarrassment, but I couldn't bring myself to reach between his legs.
Nobu picked it up himself, and turned it slowly by its spine. "Fetch the young maid who greeted me," he said. "Tell her I want the package I brought."
I did as Nobu asked and returned to the room to find everyone waiting. He was still holding my hair ornament by the spine, so that the flowers dangled down above the table, and made no effort to take the package from me when I offered it to him. "I was going to give it to you later, on your way out. But it looks as if I'm meant to give it to you now," he said, and nodded toward the package in a way that suggested I should open it. I felt very embarrassed with everyone watching, but I unfolded the paper wrapping and opened the little wooden box inside to find an exquisite ornamental comb on a bed of satin. The comb, in the shape of a half-circle, was a showy red color adorned with bright flowers.
It's an antique I found a few days ago, Nobu said.
The Chairman, who was gazing wistfully at the ornament in its box on the table, moved his lips, but no sound came out at first, until he cleared his throat and then said, with a strange sort of sadness, "Why, Nobu-san, I had no idea you were so sentimental."
Hatsumomo rose from the table; I thought I'd succeeded in ridding myself of her, but to my surprise she came around and knelt near me. I wasn't sure what to make of this, until she removed the comb from the box and carefully inserted it into my hair just at the base of the large pincushionlike bun. She held out her hand, and Nobu gave her the ornament of dangling safflowers, which she replaced in my hair as carefully as a mother tending to a baby. I thanked her with a little bow.
Isn't she just the loveliest creature? she said, speaking pointedly to Nobu. And then she gave a very theatrical sigh, as though these few moments were as romantic as any she'd experienced, and left the party as I'd hoped she would.
It goes without saying that men can be as distinct from each other as shrubs that bloom in different times of the year. Because although
Nobu and the Chairman seemed to take an interest in me within a few weeks of the sumo tournament, several months passed and still we heard nothing from Dr. Crab or Uchida. Mameha was very clear that we ought to wait until we heard from them, rather than finding some pretext for approaching them again, but at length she could bear the suspense no longer and went to check on Uchida one afternoon.
It turned out that shortly after we'd visited him, his cat had been bitten by a badger and within a few days was dead from infection. Uchida had fallen into another drinking spell as a result. For a few days Mameha visited to cheer him up. Finally when his mood seemed to be turning the corner, she dressed me in an ice-blue kimono with multicolored ribbons embroidered at the hem-with only a touch of Western-style makeup to "accentuate the angles," as she put it-and sent me to him bearing a present of a pearl-white kitten that had cost her I don't know how much money. I thought the kitten was adorable, but Uchida paid it little attention and instead sat squinting his eyes at me, shifting his head this way and that. A few days later, the news came that he wanted me to model in his studio. Mameha cautioned me not to speak a word to him, and sent me off chaperoned by her maid Tatsumi, who spent the afternoon nodding off in a drafty corner while Uchida moved me from spot to spot, frantically mixing his inks and painting a bit on rice paper before moving me again.
If you were to go around Japan and see the various works Uchida produced while I modeled for him during that winter and the years that followed-such as one of his only surviving oil paintings, hanging in the boardroom of the Sumitomo Bank in Osaka-you might imagine it was a glamorous experience to have posed for him. But actually nothing could have been duller. Most of the time I did little more than sit uncomfortably for an hour or more. Mainly I remember being thirsty, because Uchida never once offered me anything to drink. Even when I took to bringing my own tea in a sealed jar, he moved it to the other side of the room so it wouldn't distract him. Following Mameha's instructions, I tried never to speak a word, even one bitter afternoon in the middle of February when I probably should have said something and didn't. Uchida had come to sit right before me and stare at my eyes, chewing on the mole in the corner of his mouth. He had a handful of ink sticks and some water that kept icing over, but no matter how many times he ground ink in various combinations of blue and gray, he was never quite satisfied with the color and took it outside to spill it into the snow. Over the course of the afternoon as his eyes bored into me, he became more and more angry and finally sent me away. I didn't hear a word from him for more than two weeks, and later found out he'd fallen into another drinking spell. Mameha blamed me for letting it happen.
As for Dr. Crab, when I first met him he'd as much as promised to see Mameha and me at the Shirae Teahouse; and yet as late as six weeks afterward, we hadn't heard a word from him. Mameha's concern grew as the weeks passed. I still knew nothing of her plan for catching Hatsu-momo off-balance, except that it was like a gate swinging on two hinges, one of which was Nobu and the other of which was Dr. Crab. What she was up to with Uchida, I couldn't say, but it struck me as a separate scheme-certainly not in the very center of her plans.
Finally in late February, Mameha ran into Dr. Crab at the Ichiriki Teahouse and learned that he'd been consumed with the opening of a new hospital in Osaka. Now that most of the work was behind him, he hoped to renew my acquaintance at the Shirae Teahouse the following week. You'll recall that Mameha had claimed I would be overwhelmed with invitations if I showed my face at the Ichiriki; this was why Dr. Crab asked that we join him at the Shirae instead. Mameha's real motive was to keep clear of Hatsumomo, of course; and yet as I prepared to meet the Doctor again, I couldn't help feeling uneasy that Hatsumomo might find us anyway. But the moment I set eyes on the Shirae I nearly burst out laughing, for it was certainly a place Hatsumomo would go out of her way to avoid. It made me think of one shriveled little blossom on a tree in full bloom. Gion continued to be a bustling community even during the last years of the Depression, but the Shirae Teahouse, which had never been important to begin with, had only withered further. The only reason a man as wealthy as Dr. Crab patronized such a place is that he hadn't always been so wealthy. During his early years the Shirae was probably the best he could do. Just because the Ichiriki finally welcomed him didn't mean he was free to sever his bond with the Shirae. When a man takes a mistress, he doesn't turn around and divorce his wife.
That evening in the Shirae, I poured sake while Mameha told a story, and all the while Dr. Crab sat with his elbows sticking out so much that he sometimes bumped one of us with them and turned to nod in apology. He was a quiet man, as I discovered; he spent most of his time looking down at the table through his little round glasses, and every so often slipped pieces of sashimi underneath his mustache in a way that made me think of a boy hiding something beneath a floor covering. When we finally left that evening I thought we'd failed and wouldn't see much of him-because normally a man who'd enjoyed himself so little wouldn't bother coming back to Gion. But as it turned out, we heard from Dr. Crab the next week, and nearly every week afterward over the following months.
Things went along smoothly with the Doctor, until one afternoon in the middle of March when I did something foolish and very nearly ruined all Mameha's careful planning. I'm sure many a young girl has spoiled her prospects in life by refusing to do something expected of her, or by behaving badly toward an important man, or some such thing; but the mistake I made was so trivial I wasn't even aware I'd done anything.
It happened in the okiya during the course of about a minute, not long after lunch one cold day while I knelt on the wooden walkway with my shamisen. Hatsumomo was strolling past on her way to the toilet. If I'd had shoes I would have stepped down onto the dirt corridor to get out of her way. But as it was, I could do nothing but struggle to get up from my knees, with my legs and arms nearly frozen. If I'd been quicker Hatsumomo probably wouldn't have bothered speaking to me. But during that moment while I rose to my feet, she said:
The German Ambassador is coming to town, but Pumpkin isn't free to entertain him. Why don't you ask Mameha to arrange for you to take Pumpkin's place? After this she let out a laugh, as if to say the idea of my doing such a thing was as ridiculous as serving a dish of acorn shells to the Emperor.
The German Ambassador was causing quite a stir in Gion at the time. During this period, in 1935, a new government had recently come to power in Germany; and though I've never understood much about politics, I do know that Japan was moving away from the United States during these years and was eager to make a good impression on the new German Ambassador. Everyone in Gion wondered who would be given the honor of entertaining him during his upcoming visit.
When Hatsumomo spoke to me, I ought to have lowered my head in shame and made a great show of lamenting the misery of my life compared with Pumpkin's. But as it happened, I had just been musing about how much my prospects seemed to have improved and how successfully Mameha and I had kept her plan from Hatsumomo-whatever her plan was. My first instinct when Hatsumomo spoke was to smile, but instead I kept my face like a mask, and felt pleased with myself that I'd given nothing away. Hatsumomo gave me an odd look; I ought to have realized right then that something had passed through her mind. I stepped quickly to one side, and she passed me. That was the end of it, as far as I was concerned.
Then a few days later, Mameha and I went to the Shirae Teahouse to meet Dr. Crab once again. But as we rolled open the door, we found Pumpkin slipping her feet into her shoes to leave. I was so startled to see her, I wondered what on earth could possibly have brought her there. Then Hatsumomo stepped down into the entryway as well, and of course I knew: Hatsumomo had outsmarted us somehow.
Good evening, Mameha-san, Hatsumomo said. "And look who's with you! It's the apprentice the Doctor used to be so fond of."
I'm sure Mameha felt as shocked as I did, but she didn't show it. "Why, Hatsumomo-san," she said, "I scarcely recognize you . . . but my goodness, you're aging well!"
Hatsumomo wasn't actually old; she was only twenty-eight or twenty-nine. I think Mameha was just looking for something nasty to say.
I expect you're on your way to see the Doctor, Hatsumomo said. "Such an interesting man! I only hope he'll still be happy to see you. Well, good-bye." Hatsumomo looked cheerful as she walked away, but in the light from the avenue I could see a look of sorrow on Pumpkin's face.
Mameha and I slipped out of our shoes without speaking a word; neither of us knew what to say. The Shirae's gloomy atmosphere seemed as thick as the water in a pond that night. The air smelled of stale makeup; the damp plaster was peeling in the corners of the rooms. I would have given anything to turn around and leave.
When we slid open the door from the hallway, we found the mistress of the teahouse keeping Dr. Crab company. Usually she stayed a few minutes even after -we'd arrived, probably to charge the Doctor for her time. But tonight she excused herself the moment we entered and didn't even look up as she passed. Dr. Crab was sitting with his back facing us, so we skipped the formality of bowing and went instead to join him at the table.
You seem tired, Doctor, Mameha said. "How are you this evening
Dr. Crab didn't speak. He just twirled his glass of beer on the table to waste time - even though he was an efficient man and never wasted a moment if he could help it.
Yes, I am rather tired, he said at last. "I don't feel much like talking."
And with that, he drank down the last of his beer and stood to leave. Mameha and I exchanged looks. When Dr. Crab reached the door to the room, he faced us and said, "I certainly do not appreciate when people I have trusted turn out to have misled me."
Afterward he left without closing the door.
Mameha and I were too stunned to speak. At length she got up and slid the door shut. Back at the table, she smoothed her kimono and then pinched her eyes closed in anger and said to me, "All right, Sayuri. What exactly did you say to Hatsumomo?"
Mameha-san, after all this work? I promise you I would never do anything to ruin my own chances.
The Doctor certainly seems to have thrown you aside as though you're no better than an empty sack. I'm sure there's a reason . . . but we won't find it out until we know what Hatsumomo said to him tonight.
How can we possibly do that?
Pumpkin was here in the room. You must go to her and ask.
I wasn't at all sure Pumpkin would speak with me, but I said I would try, and Mameha seemed satisfied with this. She stood and prepared to leave, but I stayed where I was until she turned to see what was keeping me.
Mameha-san, may I ask a question? I said. "Now Hatsumomo knows I've been spending time with the Doctor, and probably she understands the reason why. Dr. Crab certainly knows why. You know hy. Even Pumpkin may know why! I'm the only one who doesn't.
Won't you be kind enough to explain your plan to me?"
Mameha looked as if she felt very sorry I'd asked this question. For a long moment she looked everywhere but at me, but she finally let out a sigh and knelt at the table again to tell me what I wanted to know.
You know perfectly well, she began, "that Uchida-san looks at you with the eyes of an artist. But the Doctor is interested in something else, and so is Nobu. Do you know what is meant by 'the homeless eel'?"
I had no idea what she was talking about, and I said so.
Men have a kind of ... well, an 'eel' on them, she said. "Women don't have it. But men do. It's located-"
I think I know what you're talking about, I said, "but I didn't know it was called an eel."
It isn't an eel, really, Mameha said. "But pretending it's an eel makes things so much easier to understand. So let's think of it that way.
Here's the thing: this eel spends its entire life trying to find a home, and what do you think women have inside them? Caves, where the eels like to live. This cave is where the blood comes from every month when the 'clouds pass over the moon,' as we sometimes say."
I was old enough to understand what Mameha meant by the passage of clouds over the moon, because I'd been experiencing it for a few years already. The first time, I couldn't have felt more panicked if I'd sneezed and found pieces of my brain in the handkerchief. I really was afraid I might be dying, until Auntie had found me washing out a bloody rag and explained that bleeding was just part of being a woman.
You may not know this about eels, Mameha went on, "but they're quite territorial. When they find a cave they like, they wriggle around inside it for a while to be sure that . . . well, to be sure it's a nice cave, I suppose. And when they've made up their minds that it's comfortable, they mark the cave as their territory ... by spitting. Do you understand?"
If Mameha had simply told me what she was trying to say, I'm sure I would have been shocked, but at least I'd have had an easier time sorting it all out. Years later I discovered that things had been explained to Mameha in exactly the same way by her own older sister.
Here's the part that's going to seem very strange to you, Mameha went on, as if what she'd already told me didn't. "Men actually like doing this. In fact, they like it very much. There are even men who do little in their lives besides search for different caves to let their eels live in. A woman's cave is particularly special to a man if no other eel has ever been in it before. Do you understand? We call this 'mizuage! "
We call what 'mizuage''?
The first time a woman's cave is explored by a man's eel. That is what we call mizuage.
Now, mizu means "water" and age means "raise up" or "place on"; so that the term mizuage sounds as if it might have something to do with raising up water or placing something on the water. If you get three geisha in a room, all of them will have different ideas about where the term comes from. Now that Mameha had finished her explanation, I felt only more confused, though I tried to pretend it all made a certain amount of sense.
I suppose you can guess why the Doctor likes to play around in Gion, Mameha continued. "He makes a great deal of money from his hospital. Except for what he needs to support his family, he spends it in the pursuit of mizuage. It may interest you to know, Sayuri-san, thatyou are precisely the sort of young girl he likes best. I know this very well, because I was one myself."
As I later learned, a year or two before I'd first come to Gion, Dr. Crab had paid a record amount for Mameha's mizuage-maybe ￥7000 or ￥8000. This may not sound like much, but at that time it was a sum that even someone like Mother-whose every thought was about money and how to get more of it-might see only once or twice in a lifetime. Mameha's mizuage had been so costly partly because of her fame; but there was another reason, as she explained to me that afternoon. Two very wealthy men had bid against each other to be her mizuage patron. One was Dr. Crab. The other was a businessman named Fujikado. Ordinarily men didn't compete this way in Gion; they all knew each other and preferred to reach agreement on things. But Fujikado lived on the other side of the country and came to Gion only occasionally. He didn't care if he offended Dr. Crab. And Dr. Crab, who claimed to have some aristocratic blood in him, hated self-made men like Fujikado- even though, in truth, he was a self-made man too, for the most part.
When Mameha noticed at the sumo tournament that Nobu seemed taken with me, she thought at once of how much Nobu resembled Fujikado-self-made and, to a man like Dr. Crab, repulsive. With Hatsumomo chasing me around like a housewife chasing a cockroach, I certainly wasn't going to become famous the way Mameha had and end up with an expensive mizuage as a result. But if these two men found me appealing enough, they might start a bidding war, which could put me in the same position to repay my debts as if I'd been a popular apprentice all along. This was what Mameha had meant by "catching Hatsumomo off-balance." Hatsumomo was delighted that Nobu found me attractive; what she didn't realize was that my popularity with Nobu would very likely drive up the price of my mizuage.
Clearly we had to reclaim Dr. Crab's affections. Without him Nobu could offer what he wanted for my mizuage-that is, if he turned out to have any interest in it at all. I wasn't sure he would, but Mameha assured me that a man doesn't cultivate a relationship with a fifteen-year-old apprentice geisha unless he has her mizuage in mind.
You can bet it isn't your conversation he's attracted to, she told me.
I tried to pretend I didn't feel hurt by this.
Looking back, I can see that this conversation with Mameha marked a shift in my view of the world. Beforehand I'd known nothing about mizuage; I was still a naive girl with little understanding. But afterward I could begin to see what a man like Dr. Crab wanted from all the time and money he spent in Gion. Once you know this sort of thing, you can never unknow it. I couldn't think about him again in quite the same way.
Back at the okiya'later that night, I waited in my room for Hatsu-momo and Pumpkin to come up the stairs. It was an hour or so after midnight when they finally did. I could tell Pumpkin was tired from the way her hands slapped on the steps-because she sometimes came up the steep stairway on all fours like a dog. Before closing the door to their room, Hatsumomo summoned one of the maids and asked for a beer.
No, wait a minute, she said. "Bring two. I want Pumpkin to join me."
Please, Hatsumomo-san, I heard Pumpkin say. "I'd rather drink spit."
You're going to read aloud to me while I drink mine, so you might as well have one. Beside, I hate when people are too sober. It's sickening.
After this, the maid went down the stairs. When she came up a short time later, I heard glasses clinking on the tray she carried.
For a long while I sat with my ear to the door of my room, listening to Pumpkin's voice as she read an article about a new Kabuki actor. Finally Hatsumomo stumbled out into the hallway and rolled open the door to the upstairs toilet.
Pumpkin! I heard her say. "Don't you feel like a bowl of noodles?"
No, ma'am.
See if you can find the noodle vendor. And get some for yourself so you can keep me company.
Pumpkin sighed and went right down the stairs, but I had to wait for Hatsumomo to return to her room before creeping down to follow. I might not have caught up with Pumpkin, except that she was so exhausted she couldn't do much more than wander along at about the speed mud oozes down a hill, and with about as much purpose. When I finally found her, she looked alarmed to see me and asked what was the matter.
Nothing is the matter, I said, "except ... I desperately need your help."
Oh, Chiyo-chan, she said to me-I think she was the only person who still called me that-"I don't have any time! I'm trying to find noodles for Hatsumomo, and she's going to make me eat some too. I'm afraid I'll throw up all over her."
Pumpkin, you poor thing, I said. "You look like ice when it has begun to melt." Her face was drooping with exhaustion, and the weight of all her clothing seemed as if it might pull her right onto the ground. I told her to go and sit down, that I would find the noodles and bring them to her. She was so tired she didn't even protest, but simply handed me the money and sat down on a bench by the Shirakawa Stream.
It took me some time to find a noodle vendor, but at last I returned carrying two bowls of steaming noodles. Pumpkin was sound asleep with her head back and her mouth open as though she were hoping to catch raindrops. It was about two in the morning, and a few people were still strolling around. One group of men seemed to think Pumpkin was the funniest thing they'd seen in weeks-and I admit it was odd to see an apprentice in her full regalia snoring on a bench.
When I'd set the bowls down beside her and awakened her as gently as I knew how, I said, "Pumpkin, I want so much to ask you a favor, but. . . I'm afraid you won't be happy when you hear what it is."
It doesn't matter, she said. "Nothing makes me happy anymore."
You were in the room earlier this evening when Hatsumomo talked with the Doctor. I'm afraid my whole future may be affected by that conversation. Hatsumomo must have told him something about me that isn't true, because now the Doctor doesn't want to see me any longer.
As much as I hated Hatsumomo-as much as I wanted to know what she'd done that evening-I felt sorry at once for having raised the subject with Pumpkin. She seemed in such pain that the gentle nudge I gave her proved to be too much. All at once several teardrops came spilling onto her big cheeks as if she'd been filling up with them for years.
I didn't know, Chiyo-chan! she said, fumbling in her obi for a handkerchief. "I had no idea!"
You mean, what Hatsumomo was going to say? But how could anyone have known?
That isn't it. I didn't know anyone could be so evil! I don't understand it ... She does things for no reason at all except to hurt people. And the worst part is she thinks I admire her and want to be just like her. But I hate her! I've never hated anyone so much before.
By now poor Pumpkin's yellow handkerchief was smeared with white makeup. If earlier she'd been an ice cube beginning to melt, now she was a puddle.
Pumpkin, please listen to me, I said. "I wouldn't ask this of you if I had any other alternative. But I don't want to go back to being a maid all my life, and that's just what will happen if Hatsumomo has her way. She won't stop until she has me like a cockroach under her foot. I mean, she'll squash me if you don't help me to scurry away!"
Pumpkin thought this was funny, and we both began to laugh. While she was stuck between laughing and crying, I took her handkerchief and tried to smooth the makeup on her face. I felt so touched at seeing the old Pumpkin again, who had once been my friend, that my eyes grew watery as well, and we ended up in an embrace.
Oh, Pumpkin, your makeup is such a mess, I said to her afterward.
It's all right, she told me. "I'll just say to Hatsumomo that a drunken man came up to me on the street and wiped a handkerchief all over my face, and I couldn't do anything about it because I was carrying two bowls of noodles."
I didn't think she would say anything further, but finally she sighed heavily.
I want to help you, Chiyo, she said, "but I've been out too long. Hatsumomo will come looking for me if I don't hurry back. If she finds us together ..."
I only have to ask a few questions, Pumpkin. Just tell me, how did Hatsumomo find out I've been entertaining the Doctor at the Shirae Teahouse?
Oh, that, said Pumpkin. "She tried to tease you a few days ago about the German Ambassador, but you didn't seem to care what she said. You looked so calm, she thought you and Mameha must have some scheme going. So she went to Awajiumi at the registry office and asked what teahouses you've been billing at. When she heard the Shirae was one of them, she got this look on her face, and we started going there that same night to look for the Doctor. We went twice before we finally found him."
Very few men of consequence patronized the Shirae. This is why Hatsumomo would have thought of Dr. Crab at once. As I was now coming to understand, he was renowned in Gion as a "mizuage specialist." The moment Hatsumomo thought of him, she probably knew exactly what Mameha was up to.
What did she say to him tonight? When we called on the Doctor after you left, he wouldn't even speak with us.
Well, Pumpkin said, "they chatted for a while, and then Hatsumomo pretended that something had reminded her of a story. And she began it, 'There's a young apprentice named Sayuri, who lives in my okiya . . .'When the Doctor heard your name . . . I'm telling you, he sat up like a bee had stung him. And he said, 'You know her?' So Hatsumomo told him, 'Well, of course I know her, Doctor. Doesn't she live in my okiya?' After this she said something else I don't remember, and then, 'I shouldn't talk about Sayuri because . . . well, actually, I'm covering up an important secret for her.' "
I went cold when I heard this. I was sure Hatsumomo had thought of something really awful.
Pumpkin, what was the secret?
Well, I'm not sure I know, Pumpkin said. "It didn't seem like much. Hatsumomo told him there was a young man who lived near the okiya and that Mother had a strict policy against boyfriends. Hatsumomo said you and this boy were fond of each other, and she didn't mind covering up for you because she thought Mother was too strict. She said she even let the two of you spend time together alone in her room when Mother was out. Then she said something like, 'Oh, but . . . Doctor, I really shouldn't have told you! What if it gets back to Mother, after all the work I've done to keep Sayuri's secret!' But the Doctor said he was grateful for what Hatsumomo had told him, and he would be certain to keep it to himself."
I could just imagine how much Hatsumomo must have enjoyed her little scheme. I asked Pumpkin if there was anything more, but she said no.
I thanked her many times for helping me, and told her how sorry I was that she'd had to spend these past few years as a slave to Hatsumomo.
I guess some good has come of it, Pumpkin said. "Just a few days ago, Mother made up her mind to adopt me. So my dream of having someplace to live out my life may come true."
I felt almost sick when I heard these words, even as I told her how happy I was for her. It's true that I was pleased for Pumpkin; but I also knew that it was an important part of Mameha's plan that Mother adopt me instead.
In her apartment the next day, I told Mameha what I'd learned. The moment she heard about the boyfriend, she began shaking her head in disgust. I understood it already, but she explained to me that Hatsumomo had found a very clever way of putting into Dr. Crab's mind the idea that my "cave" had already been explored by someone else's "eel," so to speak.
Mameha was even more upset to learn about Pumpkin's upcoming adoption.
My guess, she said, "is that we have a few months before the adoption occurs. Which means that the time has come for your mizuage, Sayuri, whether you're ready for it or not."
Mameha went to a confectioner's shop that same week and ordered on my behalf a kind of sweet-rice cake we call ekubo, which is the Japanese word for dimple. We call them ekubo because they have a dimple in the top with a tiny red circle in the center; some people think they look very suggestive. I've always thought they looked like tiny pillows, softly dented, as if a woman has slept on them, and smudged red in the center from her lipstick, since she was perhaps too tired to take it off before she went to bed. In any case, when an apprentice geisha becomes available for mizuage, she presents boxes of these ekubo to the men who patronize her. Most apprentices give them out to at least a dozen men, perhaps many more; but for me there would be only Nobu and the Doctor-if we were lucky. I felt sad, in a way, that I wouldn't give them to the Chairman; but on the other hand, the whole thing seemed so distasteful, I wasn't entirely sorry he would be left out of it.
Presenting ekubo to Nobu was easy. The mistress of the Ichiriki arranged for him to come a bit early one evening, and Mameha and I met him in a small room overlooking the entrance courtyard. I thanked him for all his thoughtfulness-for he'd been extremely kind to me over the past six months, not only summoning me frequently to entertain at parties even when the Chairman was absent, but giving me a variety of gifts besides the ornamental comb on the night Hatsumomo came. After thanking him, I picked up the box of ekubo, wrapped in unbleached paper and tied with coarse twine, then bowed to him and slid it across the table. He accepted it, and Mameha and I thanked him several more times for all his kindness, bowing again and again until I began to feel almost dizzy. The little ceremony was brief, and Nobu carried his box out of the room in his one hand. Later when I entertained at his party, he didn't refer to it. Actually, I think the encounter made him a bit uncomfortable.
Dr. Crab, of course, was another matter. Mameha had to begin by going around to the principal teahouses in Gion and asking the mistresses to notify her if the Doctor should show up. We waited a few nights until word came that he'd turned up at a teahouse named Yashino, as the guest of another man. I rushed to Mameha's apartment to change my clothing and then set out for the Yashino with the box of ekubo wrapped up in a square of silk.
The Yashino was a fairly new teahouse, built in a completely Western style. The rooms were elegant in their own way, with dark wooden beams and so on; but instead of tatami mats and tables surrounded by cushions, the room into which I was shown that evening had a floor of hardwood, with a dark Persian rug, a coffee table, and a few overstuffed chairs. I have to admit it never occurred to me to sit on one of the chairs. Instead I knelt on the rug to wait for Mameha, although the floor was terribly hard on my knees. I was still in that position a half hour later when she came in.
What are you doing? she said to me. "This isn't a Japanese-style room. Sit in one of these chairs and try to look as if you belong."
I did as Mameha said. But when she sat down opposite me, she looked every bit as uncomfortable as I probably did.
The Doctor, it seemed, was attending a party in the next room. Mameha had been entertaining him for some time already. "I'm pouring him lots of beer so he'll have to go to the toilet," she told me. "When he does, I'll catch him in the hallway and ask that he step in here. You must give him the ekubo right away. I don't know how he'll react, but it will be our only chance to undo the damage Hatsumomo has done."
Mameha left, and I waited in my chair a long while. I was hot and nervous, and I worried that my perspiration would cause my white makeup to turn into a crumpled-looking mess as bad as a futon after being slept in. I looked for something to distract myself; but the best I could do was stand from time to time to catch a glimpse of my face in a mirror hanging on the wall.
Finally I heard voices, then a tapping at the door, and Mameha swung it open.
Just one moment, Doctor, if you please, she said. I could see Dr. Crab in the darkness of the hallway, looking as stern as those old portraits you see in the lobbies of banks. He was peering at me through his glasses. I wasn't sure what to do; normally I would have bowed on the mats, so I went ahead and knelt on the rug to bow in the same way, even though I was certain Mameha would be unhappy with me for doing it. I don't think the Doctor even looked at me.
I prefer to get back to the party, he said to Mameha. "Please excuse me."
Sayuri has brought something for you, Doctor, Mameha told him. "Just for a moment, if you please."
She gestured for him to come into the room and saw that he was seated comfortably in one of the overstaffed chairs. After this, I think she must have forgotten what she'd told me earlier, because we both knelt on the rug, one of us at each of Dr. Crab's knees. I'm sure the Doctor felt grand to have two such ornately dressed women kneeling at his feet that way.
I'm sorry that I haven't seen you in several days, I said to him. "And already the weather is growing warm. It seems to me as if an entire season has passed!"
The Doctor didn't respond, but just peered back at me.
Please accept these ekubo, Doctor, I said, and after bowing, placed the package on a side table near his hand. He put his hands in his lap as if to say he wouldn't dream of touching it.
Why are you giving me this?
Mameha interrupted. "I'm so sorry, Doctor. I led Sayuri to believe you might enjoy receiving ekubo from her. I hope I'm not mistaken?"
You are mistaken. Perhaps you don't know this girl as well as you think. I regard you highly, Mameha-san, but it's a poor reflection on you to recommend her to me.
I'm sorry, Doctor, she said. "I had no idea you felt that way. I've been under the impression you were fond of Sayuri."
Very well. Now that everything is clear, I'll go back to the party.
But may I ask? Did Sayuri offend you somehow? Things seem to have changed so unexpectedly.
She certainly did. As I told you, I'm offended by people who mislead me.
Sayuri-san, how shameful of you to mislead the Doctor! Mameha said to me. "You must have told him something you knew was untrue. What was it?"
I don't know! I said as innocently as I could. "Unless it was a few weeks ago when I suggested that the weather was getting warmer, and it wasn't really ..."
Mameha gave me a look when I said this; I don't think she liked it.
This is between the two of you, the Doctor said. "It is no concern of mine. Please excuse me."
But, Doctor, before you go, Mameha said, "could there be some misunderstanding? Sayuri's an honest girl and would never knowingly mislead anyone. Particularly someone who's been so kind to her."
I suggest you ask her about the boy in her neighborhood, the Doctor said.
I was very relieved he'd brought up the subject at last. He was such a reserved man, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd refused to mention it at all.
So that's the problem! Mameha said to him. "You must have been talking with Hatsumomo."
I don't see why that matters, he said.
She's been spreading this story all over Gion. It's completely untrue! Ever since Sayuri was given an important role on the stage in Dances of the Old Capital, Hatsumomo has spent all her energy trying to disgrace her.
Dances of the Old Capital was Gion's biggest annual event. Its opening was only six weeks away, at the beginning of April. All the dance roles had been assigned some months earlier, and I would have felt honored to take one. A teacher of mine had even suggested it, but as far as I knew, my only role would be in the orchestra and not on the stage at all. Mameha had insisted on this to avoid provoking Hatsumomo.
When the Doctor glanced at me, I did my best to look like someone who would be dancing an important role and had known it for some time.
I'm afraid to say this, Doctor, but Hatsumomo is a known liar, Mameha went on. "It's risky to believe anything she says."
If Hatsumomo is a liar, this is the first I've heard of it.
No one would dream of telling you such a thing, Mameha said, speaking in a quiet voice as though she really were afraid of being overheard. "So many geisha are dishonest! No one wants to be the first to make accusations. But either I'm lying to you now or else Hatsu-momo was lying when she told you the story. It's a matter of deciding which of us you know better, Doctor, and which of us you trust more."
I don't see why Hatsumomo would make up stories just because Sayuri has a role on the stage.
Surely you've met Hatsumomo's younger sister, Pumpkin. Hatsumomo hoped Pumpkin would take a certain role, but it seems Sayuri has ended up with it instead. And I was given the role Hatsumomo wanted! But none of this matters, Doctor. If Sayuri's integrity is in doubt, I can well understand that you might prefer not to accept the ekubo she has presented to you.
The Doctor sat a long while looking at me. Finally he said, "I'll ask one of my doctors from the hospital to examine her."
I'd like to be as cooperative as I can, Mameha replied, "but I'd have difficulty arranging such a thing, since you haven't yet agreed to be Sayuri's mizuage patron. If her integrity is in doubt . . . well, Sayuri will be presenting ekubo to a great many men. I'm sure most will be skeptical of stories they hear from Hatsumomo."
This seemed to have the effect Mameha wanted. Dr. Crab sat in silence a moment. Finally he said, "I hardly know the proper thing to do. This is the first time I've found myself in such a peculiar position."
Please accept the ekubo, Doctor, and let's put Hatsumomo's foolishness behind us.
I've often heard of dishonest girls who arrange mizuage for the time of month when a man will be easily deceived. I'm a doctor, you know. I won't be fooled so readily.
But no one is trying to fool you!
He sat just a moment longer and then stood with his shoulders hunched to march, elbow-first, from the room. I was too busy bowing good-bye to see whether he took the ekubo with him; but happily, after he and Mameha had left, I looked at the table and saw they were no longer there.
When Mameha mentioned my role on the stage, I thought she was making up a story on the spot to explain why Hatsumomo might lie about me. So you can imagine my surprise the next day when I learned she'd been telling the truth. Or if it wasn't exactly the truth, Mameha felt confident that it would be true before the end of the week.
At that time, in the mid-1950s, probably as many as seven or eight hundred geisha worked in Gion; but because no more than sixty were needed each spring for the production of Dances of the Old Capital, the competition for roles destroyed more than a few friendships over the years. Mameha hadn't been truthful when she said that she'd taken a role from Hatsumomo; she was one of the very few geisha in Gion guaranteed a solo role every year. But it was quite true that Hatsumomo had been desperate to see Pumpkin on the stage. I don't know where she got the idea such a thing was possible; Pumpkin may have earned the apprentice's award and received other honors besides, but she never excelled at dance. However, a few days before I presented ekubo to the Doctor, a seventeen-year-old apprentice with a solo role had fallen down a flight of stairs and hurt her leg. The poor girl was devastated, but every other apprentice in Gion was happy to take advantage of her misfortune by offering to fill the role. It was this role that in the end went to me. I was only fifteen at the time, and had never danced on the stage before-which isn't to say I wasn't ready to. I'd spent so many evenings in the okiya, rather than going from party to party like most apprentices, and Auntie often played the shamisen so that I could practice dance. This was why I'd already been promoted to the eleventh level by the age of fifteen, even though I probably possessed no more talent as a dancer than anyone else. If Mameha hadn't been so determined to keep me hidden from the public eye because of Hatsumomo, I might even have had a role in the seasonal dances the previous year.
This role was given to me in mid-March, so I had only a month or so to rehearse it. Fortunately my dance teacher was very helpful and often worked with me privately during the afternoons. Mother didn't find out what had happened-Hatsumomo certainly wasn't going to tell her-until several days afterward, when she heard the rumor during a game of mah-jongg. She came back to the okiya and asked if it was true I'd been given the role. After I told her it was, she walked away with the sort of puzzled look she might have worn if her dog Taku had added up the columns in her account books for her.
Of course, Hatsumomo was furious, but Mameha wasn't concerned about it. The time had come, as she put it, for us to toss Hatsumomo from the ring.
I ate one afternoon a week or so later, Mameha came up to me during a break in rehearsals, very excited about something. It seemed that on the previous day, the Baron had mentioned to her quite casually that he would be giving a party during the coming weekend for a certain kimono maker named Arashino. The Baron owned one of the best-known collections of kimono in all of Japan. Most of his pieces were antiques, but every so often he bought a very fine work by a living artist. His decision to purchase a piece by Arashino had prompted him to have a party.
I thought I recognized the name Arashino, Mameha said to me, "but when the Baron first mentioned it, I couldn't place it. He's one of Nobu's very closest friends! Don't you see the possibilities? I didn't think of it until today, but I'm going to persuade the .Baron to invite both Nobu and the Doctor to his little party. The two of them are certain to dislike each other. When the bidding begins for your mizuage, you can be sure that neither will sit still, knowing the prize could be taken by the other."
I was feeling very tired, but for Mameha's sake I clapped my hands in excitement and said how grateful I was to her for coming up with such a clever plan. And I'm sure it was a clever plan; but the real evidence of her cleverness was that she felt certain she'd have no difficulty persuading the Baron to invite these two men to his party. Clearly they would both be willing to come-in Nobu's case because the Baron was an investor in Iwamura Electric, though I didn't know it at the time; and in Dr. Crab's case because . . . well, because the Doctor considered himself something of an aristocrat, even though he probably had only one obscure ancestor with any aristocratic blood, and would regard it as his duty to attend any function the Baron invited him to. But as to why the Baron would agree to invite either of them, I don't know. He didn't approve of Nobu; very few men did. As for Dr. Crab, the Baron had never met him before and might as well have invited someone off the street.
But Mameha had extraordinary powers of persuasion, as I knew. The party was arranged, and she convinced my dance instructor to release me from rehearsals the following Saturday so I could attend it. The event was to begin in the afternoon and run through dinner- though Mameha and I were to arrive after the party was under way. So it was about three o'clock when we finally climbed into a rickshaw and headed out to the Baron's estate, located at the base of the hills in the northeast of the city. It was my first visit to anyplace so luxurious, and I was quite overwhelmed by what I saw; because if you think of the attention to detail brought to bear in making a kimono, well, that same sort of attention had been brought to the design and care of the entire estate where the Baron lived. The main house dated back to the time of his grandfather, but the gardens, which struck me as a giant brocade of textures, had been designed and built by his father. Apparently the house and gardens never quite fit together until the Baron's older brother-the year before his assassination-had moved the location of the pond, and also created a moss garden with stepping-stones leading from the moon-viewing pavilion on one side of the house. Black swans glided across the pond with a bearing so proud they made me feel ashamed to be such an ungainly creature as a human being.
We were to begin by preparing a tea ceremony the men would join when they were ready; so I was very puzzled when we passed through the main gate and made our way not to an ordinary tea pavilion, but straight toward the edge of the pond to board a small boat. The boat was about the size of a narrow room. Most of it was occupied with wooden seats along the edges, but at one end stood a miniature pavilion with its own roof sheltering a tatami platform. It had actual walls with paper screens slid open for air, and in the very center was a square wooden cavity filled with sand, which served as the brazier where Mameha lit cakes of charcoal to heat the water in a graceful iron teakettle. While she was doing this, I tried to make myself useful by arranging the implements for the ceremony. Already I was feeling quite nervous, and then Mameha turned to me after she had put the kettle on the fire and said:
You're a clever girl, Sayuri. I don't need to tell you what will become of your future if Dr. Crab or Nobu should lose interest in you. You mustn't let either of them think you're paying too much attention to the other. But of course a certain amount of jealousy won't do any harm. I'm certain you can manage it.
I wasn't so sure, but I would certainly have to try.
A half hour passed before the Baron and his ten guests strolled out from the house, stopping every so often to admire the view of the hillside from different angles. When they'd boarded the boat, the Baron guided us into the middle of the pond with a pole. Mameha made tea, and I delivered the bowls to each of the guests.
Afterward, we took a stroll through the garden with the men, and soon came to a wooden platform suspended above the water, where several maids in identical kimono were arranging cushions for the men to sit on, and leaving vials of warm sake on trays. I made a point of kneeling beside Dr. Crab, and was just trying to think of something to say when, to my surprise, the Doctor turned to me first.
Has the laceration on your thigh healed satisfactorily? he asked.
This was during the month of March, you must understand, and I'd cut my leg way back in November. In the months between, I'd seen Dr. Crab more times than I could count; so I have no idea why he waited until that moment to ask me about it, and in front of so many people. Fortunately, I didn't think anyone had heard, so I kept my voice low when I answered.
Thank you so much, Doctor. With your help it has healed completely.
I hope the injury-hasn't left too much of a scar, he said.
Oh, no, just a tiny bump, really.
I might have ended the conversation right there by pouring him more sake, perhaps, or changing the subject; but I happened to notice that he was stroking one of his thumbs with the fingers of his other hand. The Doctor was the sort of man who never wasted a single movement. If he was stroking his thumb in this way while thinking about my leg ... well, I decided it would be foolish for me to change the subject.
It isn't much of a scar, I went on. "Sometimes when I'm in the bath, I rub my finger across it, and . . . it's just a tiny ridge, really. About like this."
I rubbed one of my knuckles with my index finger and held it out for the Doctor to do the same. He brought his hand up; but then he hesitated. I saw his eyes jump toward mine. In a moment he drew his hand back and felt his own knuckle instead.
A cut of that sort should have healed smoothly, he told me.
Perhaps it isn't as big as I've said. After all, my leg is very . . . well, sensitive, you see. Even just a drop of rain falling onto it is enough to make me shudder!
I'm not going to pretend any of this made sense. A bump wouldn't seem bigger just because my leg was sensitive; and anyway, when was the last time I'd felt a drop of rain on my bare leg? But now that I understood why Dr. Crab was really interested in me, I suppose I was half-disgusted and half-fascinated as I tried to imagine what was going on in his mind. In any case, the Doctor cleared his throat and leaned toward me.
And . . . have you been practicing?
Practicing?
You sustained the injury when you lost your balance while you were . . . well, you see what I mean. You don't want that to happen again. So I expect you've been practicing. But how does one practice such a thing?
After this, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was clear to me he expected to hear an answer longer than simply a word or two.
Well, you'll think me very silly, but every night ... I began; and then I had to think for a moment. The silence dragged on, but the Doctor never opened his eyes. He seemed to me like a baby bird just waiting for the mother's beak. "Every night," I went on, "just before I step into the bath, I practice balancing in a variety of positions. Sometimes I have to shiver from the cold air against my bare skin; but I spend five or ten minutes that way."
The Doctor cleared his throat, which I took as a good sign.
First I try balancing on one foot, and then the other. But the trouble is . . .
Up until this point, the Baron, on the opposite side of the platform from me, had been talking with his other guests; but now he ended his story. The next words I spoke were as clear as if I'd stood at a podium and announced them.
... when I don't have any clothing on-
I clapped a hand over my mouth, but before I could think of what to do, the Baron spoke up. "My goodness!" he said. "Whatever you two are talking about over there, it certainly sounds more interesting than what we've been saying!"
The men laughed when they heard this. Afterward the Doctor was kind enough to offer an explanation.
Sayuri-san came to me late last year with a leg injury, he said. "She sustained it when she fell. As a result, I suggested she work at improving her balance."
She's been working at it very hard, Mameha added. "Those robes are more awkward than they look."
Let's have her take them off, then! said one of the men- though of course, it was only a joke, and everyone laughed.
Yes, I agree! the Baron said. "I never understand why women bother wearing kimono in the first place. Nothing is as beautiful as a woman without an item of clothing on her body."
That isn't true when the kimono has been made by my good friend Arashino, Nobu said.
Not even Arashino's kimono are as lovely as what they cover up, the Baron said, and tried to put his sake cup onto the platform, though it ended up spilling. He wasn't drunk, exactly-though he was certainly much further along in his drinking than I'd ever imagined him. "Don't misunderstand me," he went on. "I think Arashino's robes are lovely. Otherwise he wouldn't be sitting here beside me, now would he? But if you ask me whether I'd rather look at a kimono or a naked woman . . . well!"
No one's asking, said Nobu. "I myself am interested to hear what sort of work Arashino has been up to lately."
But Arashino didn't have a chance to answer; because the Baron, who was taking a last slurp of sake, nearly choked in his hurry to interrupt.
Mmm . . . just a minute, he said. "Isn't it true that every man on this earth likes to see a naked woman? I mean, is that what you're saying, Nobu, that the naked female form doesn't interest you?"
That isn't what I'm saying, Nobu said. "What I'm saying is, I think it's time for us to hear from Arashino exactly what sort of work he's been up to lately."
Oh, yes, I'm certainly interested too, the Baron said. "But you know, I do find it fascinating that no matter how different we men may seem, underneath it all we're exactly the same. You can't pretend you're above it, Nobu-san. We know the truth, don't we? There isn't a man here who wouldn't pay quite a bit of money just for the chance to watch Sayuri take a bath. Eh? That's a particular fantasy of mine, I'll admit. Now come on! Don't pretend you don't feel the same way I do."
Poor Sayuri is only an apprentice, said Mameha. "Perhaps we ought to spare her this conversation."
Certainly not! the Baron answered. "The sooner she sees the world as it really is, the better. Plenty of men act as if they don't chase women just for the chance to get underneath all those robes, but you listen to me, Sayuri; there's only one kind of man! And while we're on this subject, here's something for you to keep in mind: Every man seated here has at some point this afternoon thought of how much he would enjoy seeing you naked. What do you think of that?"
I was sitting with my hands in my lap, gazing down at the wooden platform and trying to seem demure. I had to respond in some way to what the Baron had said, particularly since everyone else was completely silent; but before I could think of what to say, Nobu did something very kind. He put his sake cup down onto the platform and stood up to excuse himself.
I'm sorry, Baron, but I don't know the way to the toilet, he said. Of course, this was my cue to escort him.
I didn't know the way to the toilet any better than Nobu; but I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to remove myself from the gathering. As I rose to my feet, a maid offered to show me the way, and led me around the pond, with Nobu following along behind.
In the house, we walked down a long hallway of blond wood with windows on one side. On the other side, brilliantly lit in the sunshine, stood display cases with glass tops. I was about to lead Nobu down to the end, but he stopped at a case containing a collection of antique swords. He seemed to be looking at the display, but mostly he drummed the fingers of his one hand on the glass and blew air out his nose again and again, for he was still very angry. I felt troubled by what had happened as well. But I was also grateful to him for rescuing me, and I wasn't sure how to express this. At the next case-a display of tiny netsuke figures carved in ivory-I asked him if he liked antiques.
Antiques like the Baron, you mean? Certainly not.
The Baron wasn't a particularly old man-much younger than Nobu, in fact. But I knew what he meant; he thought of the Baron as a relic of the feudal age.
I'm so sorry, I said, "I was thinking of the antiques here in the case."
When I look at the swords over there, they make me think of the Baron. When I look at the netsuke here, they make me think of the Baron. He's been a supporter of our company, and I owe him a great debt. But I don't like to waste my time thinking about him when I don't have to. Does that answer your question?
I bowed to him in reply, and he strode off down the hallway to the toilet, so quickly that I couldn't reach the door first to open it for him.
Later, when we returned to the water's edge, I was pleased to see that the party was beginning to break up. Only a few of the men would remain for dinner. Mameha and I ushered the others up the path to the main gate, where their drivers were waiting for them on the side street. We bowed farewell to the last man, and I turned to find one of the Baron's servants ready to show us into the house.
Mameha and I spent the next hour in the servants' quarters, eating a lovely dinner that included tai no usugiri-paper-thin slices of sea bream, fanned out on a leaf-shaped ceramic plate and served with ponzu sauce. I would certainly have enjoyed myself if Mameha hadn't been so moody. She ate only a few bites of her sea bream and sat staring out the window at the dusk. Something about her expression made me think she would have liked to go back down to the pond and sit, biting her lip, perhaps, and peering in anger at the darkening sky.
We rejoined the Baron and his guests already partway through their dinner, in what the Baron called the "small banquet room." Actually, the small banquet room could have accommodated probably twenty or twenty-five people; and now that the party had shrunk in size, only Mr. Arashino, Nobu, and Dr. Crab remained. When we entered, they were eating in complete silence. The Baron was so drunk his eyes seemed to slosh around in their sockets.
Just as Mameha was beginning a conversation, Dr. Crab stroked a napkin down his mustache twice and then excused himself to use the toilet. I led him to the same hallway Nobu and I had visited earlier. Now that evening had come, I could hardly see the objects because of overhead lights reflected in the glass of the display cases. But Dr. Crab stopped at the case containing the swords and moved his head around until he could see them.
You certainly know your way around the Baron's house, he said.
Oh, no, sir, I'm quite lost in such a grand place. The only reason I can find my way is because I led Nobu-san along this hallway earlier.
I'm sure he rushed right through, the Doctor said. "A man like Nobu has a poor sensibility for appreciating the items in these cases."
I didn't know what to say to this, but the Doctor looked at me pointedly.
You haven't seen much of the world, he went on, "but in time you'll learn to be careful of anyone with the arrogance to accept an invitation from a man like the Baron, and then speak to him rudely in his own house, as Nobu did this afternoon."
I bowed at this, and when it was clear that Dr. Crab had nothing further to say, led him down the hallway to the toilet.
By the time we returned to the small banquet room, the men had fallen into conversation, thanks to the quiet skills of Mameha, who now sat in the background pouring sake. She often said the role of a geisha was sometimes just to stir the soup. If you've ever noticed the way miso settles into a cloud at the bottom of the bowl but mixes quickly with a few whisks of the chopsticks, this is what she meant.
Soon the conversation turned to the subject of kimono, and we all proceeded downstairs to the Baron's underground museum. Along the walls were huge panels that opened to reveal kimono suspended on sliding rods. The Baron sat on a stool in the middle of the room with his elbows on his knees-bleary-eyed still-and didn't speak a word while Mameha guided us through the collection. The most spectacular robe, we all agreed, was one designed to mimic the landscape of the city of Kobe, which is located on the side of a steep hill falling away to the ocean. The design began at the shoulders with blue sky and clouds; the knees represented the hillside; below that, the gown swept back into a long train showing the blue-green of the sea dotted with beautiful gold waves and tiny ships.
Mameha, the Baron said, "I think you ought to wear that one to my blossom-viewing party in Hakone next week. That would be quite something, wouldn't it?"
I'd certainly like to, Mameha replied. "But as I mentioned the other day, I'm afraid I won't be able to attend the party this year."
I could see that the Baron was displeased, for his eyebrows closed down like two windows being shut. "What do you mean? Who has booked an engagement with you that you can't break?"
I'd like nothing more than to be there, Baron. But just this one year, I'm afraid it won't be possible. I have a medical appointment that conflicts with the party.
A medical appointment? What on earth does that mean? These doctors can change times around. Change it tomorrow, and be at my party next week just like you always are.
I do apologize, Mameha said, "but with the Baron's consent, I scheduled a medical appointment some weeks ago and won't be able to change it."
I don't recall giving you any consent! Anyway, it's not as if you need to have an abortion, or some such thing . . .
A long, embarrassed silence followed. Mameha only adjusted her sleeves while the rest of us stood so quietly that the only sound was Mr. Arashino's wheezy breathing. I noticed that Nobu, who'd been paying no attention, turned to observe the Baron's reaction.
Well, the Baron said at last. "I suppose I'd forgotten, now that you mention it ... We certainly can't have any little barons running around, now can we? But really, Mameha, I don't see why you couldn't have reminded me about this in private ..."
I am sorry, Baron.
Anyway, if you can't come to Hakone, well, you can't! But what about the rest of you? It's a lovely party, at my estate in Hakone next weekend. You must all come! I do it every year at the height of the cherry blossoms.
The Doctor and Arashino were both unable to attend. Nobu didn't reply; but when the Baron pressed him, he said, "Baron, you don't honestly think I'd go all the way to Hakone to look at cherry blossoms."
Oh, the blossoms are just an excuse to have a party, said the Baron. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. We'll have that Chairman of yours. He comes every year."
I was surprised to feel flustered at the mention of the Chairman, for I'd been thinking of him on and off throughout the afternoon. I felt for a moment as if my secret had been exposed.
It troubles me that none of you will come, the Baron went on. "We were having such a nice evening until Mameha started talking about things she ought to have kept private. Well, Mameha, I have the proper punishment for you. You're no longer invited to my party this year. What's more, I want you to send Sayuri in your place."
I thought the Baron was making a joke; but I must confess, I thought at once how lovely it would be to stroll with the Chairman through the grounds of a magnificent estate, without Nobu or Dr. Crab, or even Mameha nearby.
It's a fine idea, Baron, said Mameha, "but sadly, Sayuri is busy with rehearsals."
Nonsense, said the Baron. "I expect to see her there. Why do you have to defy me every single time I ask something of you?"
He really did look angry; and unfortunately, because he was so drunk, a good deal of saliva came spilling out of his mouth. He tried to wipe it away with the back of his hand, but ended up smearing it into the long black hairs of his beard.
Isn't there one thing I can ask of you that you won't disregard? he went on. "I want to see Sayuri in Hakone. You could just reply, 'Yes, Baron,' and be done with it."
Yes, Baron.
Fine, said the Baron. He leaned back on his stool again, and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face clean.
I was very sorry for Mameha. But it would be an understatement to say I felt excited at the prospect of attending the Baron's party. Every time I thought of it in the rickshaw back to Gion, I think my ears turned red. I was terribly afraid Mameha would notice, but she just stared out to the side, and never spoke a word until the end of our ride, when she turned to me and said, "Sayuri, you must be very careful in Hakone."
Yes, ma'am, I will, I replied.
Keep in mind that an apprentice on the point of having her mizuage is like a meal served on the table. No man will wish to eat it, if he hears a suggestion that some other man has taken a bite.
I couldn't quite look her in the eye after she said this. I knew perfectly well she was talking about the Baron.
At this time in my life I didn't even know where Hakone was- though I soon learned that it was in eastern Japan, quite some distance from Kyoto. But I had a most agreeable feeling of importance the rest of that week, reminding myself that a man as prominent as the Baron had invited me to travel from Kyoto to attend a party. In fact, I had trouble keeping my excitement from showing when at last I took my seat in a lovely second-class compartment-with Mr. Itchoda, Mameha's dresser, seated on the aisle to discourage anyone from trying to talk with me. I pretended to pass the time by reading a magazine, but in fact I was only turning the pages, for I was occupied instead with watching out of the corner of my eye as people who passed down the aisle slowed to look at me. I found myself enjoying the attention; but when we reached Shizuoka shortly after noon and I stood awaiting the train to Hakone, all at once I could feel something unpleasant welling up inside me. I'd spent the day keeping it veiled from my awareness, but now I saw in my mind much too clearly the image of myself at another time, standing on another platform, taking another train trip-this one with Mr. Bekku-on the day my sister and I were taken from our home. I'm ashamed to admit how hard I'd worked over the years to keep from thinking about Satsu, and my father andmother, and our tipsy house on the sea cliffs. I'd been like a child with my head in a bag. All I'd seen day after day was Gion, so much so that I'd come to think Gion was everything, and that the only thing that mattered in the world was Gion. But now that I was outside Kyoto, I could see that for most people life had nothing to do with Gion at all; and of course, I couldn't stop from thinking of the other life I'd once led. Grief is a most peculiar thing; we're so helpless in the face of it. It's like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.
Late the following morning I was picked up at the little inn overlooking Mount Fuji, and taken by one of the Baron's motorcars to his summer house amid lovely woods at the edge of a lake. When we pulled into a circular drive and I stepped out wearing the full regalia of an apprentice geisha from Kyoto, many of the Baron's guests turned to stare at me. Among them I spotted a number of women, some in kimono and some in Western-style dresses. Later I came to realize they were mostly Tokyo geisha-for we were only a few hours from Tokyo by train. Then the Baron himself appeared, striding up a path from the woods with several other men.
Now, this is what we've all been waiting for! he said. "This lovely thing is Sayuri from Gion, who will probably one day be 'the great Sayuri from Gion.'You'll never see eyes like hers again, I can assure you. And just wait until you see the way she moves ... I invited you here, Sayuri, so all the men could have a chance to look at you; so you have an important job. You must wander all around-inside the house, down by the lake, all through the woods, everywhere! Now go along and get working!"
I began to wander around the estate as the Baron had asked, past the cherry trees heavy with their blossoms, bowing here and there to the guests and trying not to seem too obvious about looking around for the Chairman. I made little headway, because every few steps some man or other would stop me and say something like, "My heavens! An apprentice geisha from Kyoto!" And then he would take out his camera and have someone snap a picture of us standing together, or else walk me along the lake to the little moon-viewing pavilion, or wherever, so his friends could have a look at me-just as he might have done with some prehistoric creature he'd captured in a net. Mameha had warned me that everyone would be fascinated with my appearance; because there's nothing quite like an apprentice geisha from Gion, It's true that in the better geisha districts of Tokyo, such as Shimbashi and Akasaka, a girl must master the arts if she expects to make her debut. But manyof the Tokyo geisha at that time were very modern in their sensibilities, which is why some were walking around the Baron's estate in Western-style clothing.
The Baron's party seemed to go on and on. By midafternoon I'd practically given up any hope of finding the Chairman. I went into the house to look for a place to rest, but the very moment I stepped up into the entrance hall, I felt myself go numb. There he was, emerging from a tatami room in conversation with another man. They said good-bye to each other, and then the Chairman turned to me.
Sayuri! he said. "Now how did the Baron lure you here all the way from Kyoto? I didn't even realize you were acquainted with him."
I knew I ought to take my eyes off the Chairman, but it was like pulling nails from the wall. When I finally managed to do it, I gave him a bow and said:
Mameha-san sent me in her place. I'm so pleased to have the honor of seeing the Chairman.
Yes, and I'm pleased to see you too; you can give me your opinion about something. Come have a look at the present I've brought for the Baron. I'm tempted to leave without giving it to him.
I followed him into a tatami room, feeling like a kite pulled by a string. Here I was in Hakone so far-from anything I'd ever known, spending a few moments with the man I'd thought about more constantly than anyone, and it amazed me to think of it. While he walked ahead of me I had to admire how he moved so easily within his tailored wool suit. I could make out the swell of his calves, and even the hollow of his back like a cleft where the roots of a tree divide. He took something from the table and held it out for me to see. At first I thought it was an ornamented block of gold, but it turned out to be an antique cosmetics box for the Baron. This one, as the Chairman told me, was by an Edo period artist named Arata Gonroku. It was a pillow-shaped box in gold lacquer, with soft black images of flying cranes and leaping rabbits. When he put it into my hands, it was so dazzling I had to hold my breath as I looked at it.
Do you think the Baron will be pleased? he said. "I found it last week and thought of him at once, but-"
Chairman, how can you even imagine that the Baron might not feel pleased?
Oh, that man has collections of everything. He'll probably see this as third-rate.
I assured the Chairman that no one could ever think such a thing; and when I gave him back the box, he tied it up in a silk cloth again and nodded toward the door for me to follow. In the entryway I helped him with his shoes. While I guided his foot with my fingertips, I found myself imagining that we'd spent the afternoon together and that a long evening lay ahead of us. This thought transported me into such a state, I don't know how much time passed before I became aware of myself again. The Chairman showed no signs of impatience, but I felt terribly self-conscious as I tried to slip my feet into my okobo and ended up taking much longer than I should have.
He led me down a path toward the lake, where we found the Baron sitting on a mat beneath a cherry tree with three Tokyo geisha. They all rose to their feet, though the Baron had a bit of trouble. His face had red splotches all over it from drink, so that it looked as if someone had swatted him again and again with a stick.
Chairman! the Baron said. "I'm so happy you came to my party. I always enjoy having you here, do you know that? That corporation of yours just won't stop growing, will it? Did Sayuri tell you Nobu came to my party in Kyoto last week?"
I heard all about it from Nobu, who I'm sure was his usual self.
He certainly was, said the Baron. "A peculiar little man, isn't he?"
I don't know what the Baron was thinking, for he himself was lit-tler than Nobu. The Chairman didn't seem to like this comment, and narrowed his eyes.
I mean to say, the Baron began, but the Chairman cut him off.
I have come to thank you and say good-bye, but first I have something to give you. And here he handed over the cosmetics box. The Baron was too drunk to untie the silk cloth around it, but he gave it to one of the geisha, who did it for him.
What a beautiful thing! the Baron said. "Doesn't everybody think so? Look at it. Why, it might be even lovelier than the exquisite creature standing beside you, Chairman. Do you know Sayuri? If not, let me introduce you."
Oh, we're well acquainted, Sayuri and I, the Chairman said.
How well acquainted, Chairman? Enough for me to envy you? The Baron laughed at his own joke, but no one else did. "Anyway, this generous gift reminds me that I have something for you, Sayuri. But I can't give it to you until these other geisha have departed, because they'll start wanting one themselves. So you'll have to stay around until everyone has gone home."
The Baron is too kind, I said, "but really, I don't wish to make a nuisance of myself."
I see you've learned a good deal from Mameha about how to say no to everything. Just meet me in the front entrance hall after my guests have left. You'll persuade her for me, Chairman, while she walks you to your car.
If the Baron hadn't been so drunk, I'm sure it would have occurred to him to walk the Chairman out himself. But the two men said good-bye, and I followed the Chairman back to the house. While his driver held the door for him, I bowed and thanked him for all his kindness. He was about to get into the car, but he stopped.
Sayuri, he began, and then seemed uncertain how to proceed. "What has Mameha told you about the Baron?"
Not very much, sir. Or at least. . . well, I'm not sure what the Chairman means.
Is Mameha a good older sister to you? Does she tell you the things you need to know?
Oh, yes, Chairman. Mameha has helped me more than I can say. "Well," he said, "I'd watch out, if I were you, when a man like the Baron decides he has something to give you."
I couldn't think of how to respond to this, so I said something about the Baron being kind to have thought of me at all.
Yes, very kind, I'm sure. Just take care of yourself, he said, looking at me intently for a moment, and then getting into his car.
I spent the next hour strolling among the few remaining guests, remembering again and again all the things the Chairman had said to me during our encounter. Rather than feeling concerned about the warning he had given me, I felt elated that he had spoken with me for so long. In fact, I had no space in my mind at all to think about my meeting with the Baron, until at last I found myself standing alone in the entrance hall in the fading afternoon light. I took the liberty of going to kneel in a nearby tatami room, where I gazed out at the grounds through a plate-glass window.
Ten or fifteen minutes passed; finally the Baron came striding into the entrance hall. I felt myself go sick with worry the moment I saw him, for he wore nothing but a cotton dressing robe. He had a towel in one hand, which he rubbed against the long black hairs on his face that were supposed to be a beard. Clearly he'd just stepped out of the bath. I stood and bowed to him.
Sayuri, do you know what a fool I am! he said to me. "I've had too much to drink." That part was certainly true. "I forgot you were waiting for me! I hope you'll forgive rne when you see what I've put aside for you."
The Baron walked down the hallway toward the interior of the house, expecting me to follow him. But I remained where I was, think-
ing of what Mameha had said to me, that an apprentice on the point of having her mizuage was like a meal served on the table.
The Baron stopped. "Come along!" he said to me.
Oh, Baron. I really mustn't. Please permit me to wait here.
I have something I'd like to give you. Just come back into my quarters and sit down, and don't be a silly girl.
Why, Baron, I said, "I can't help but be a silly girl; for that's what I am!"
Tomorrow you'll be back under the watchful eyes of Mameha, eh? But there's no one watching you here.
If I'd had the least common sense at that moment, I would have thanked the Baron for inviting me to his lovely party and told him how much I regretted having to impose on him for the use of his motorcar to take me back to the inn. But everything had such a dreamlike quality ... I suppose I'd gone into a state of shock. All I knew for certain was how afraid I felt.
Come back with me while I dress, said the Baron. "Did you drink much sake this afternoon?"
A long moment passed. I was very aware that my face felt as though it had no expression on it at all, but simply hung from my head.
No, sir, I managed to say at last.
I don't suppose you would have. I'll give you as much as you like. Come along.
Baron, I said, "please, I'm quite sure I'm expected back at the inn."
Expected? Who is expecting you?
I didn't answer this.
I said, who is expecting you? I don't see why you have to behave this way. I have something to give you. Would you rather I went and fetched it?
I'm very sorry, I said.
The Baron just stared at me. "Wait here," he said at last, and walked back into the interior of the house. A short time later he emerged holding something flat, wrapped in linen paper. I didn't have to look closely to know it was a kimono.
Now then, he said to me, "since you insist on being a silly girl, I've gone and fetched your present. Does this make you feel better?"
I told the Baron I was sorry once again.
I saw how much you admired this robe the other day. I'd like you to have it, he said.
The Baron set the package down on the table and untied the strings to open it. I thought the kimono would be the one showing a landscape of Kobe; and to tell the truth, I felt as worried as I did hopeful, for I had no idea what I'd do with such a magnificent thing, or how I would explain to Mameha that the Baron had given it to me. But what I saw instead, when the Baron opened the wrapping, was a magnificent dark fabric with lacquered threads and embroidery in silver. He took the robe out and held it up by the shoulders. It was a kimono that belonged in a museum-made in the i86os, as the Baron told me, for the niece of the very last shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu. The design on the robe was of silver birds flying against a night sky, with a mysterious landscape of dark trees and rocks rising up from the hem.
'You must come back with me and try it on," he said. "Now don't be a silly girl! I have a great deal of experience tying an obi with my own hands. We'll put you back into your kimono so that no one will ever know."
I would gladly have exchanged the robe the Baron was offering me for some way out of the situation. But he was a man with so much authority that even Mameha couldn't disobey him. If she had no way of refusing his wishes, how could I? I could sense that he was losing patience; heaven knows he'd certainly been kind in the months since I'd made my debut, permitting me to attend to him while he ate lunch and allowing Mameha to bring me to the party at his Kyoto estate. And here he was being kind once again, offering me a stunning kimono.
I suppose I finally came to the conclusion that I had no choice but to obey him and pay the consequences, whatever they might be. I lowered my eyes to the mats in shame; and in this same dreamlike state I'd been feeling all along, I became aware of the Baron taking my hand and guiding me through the corridors toward the back of his house. A servant stepped'into the hallway at one point, but bowed and went back the moment he caught sight of us. The Baron never spoke a word, but led me along until we came to a spacious tatami room, lined along one wall with mirrors. It was his dressing room. Along the opposite wall were closets with all their doors closed.
My hands trembled with fear, but if the Baron noticed he made no comment. He stood me before the mirrors and raised my hand to his lips; I thought he was going to kiss it, but he only held the back of my hand against the bristles on his face and did something I found peculiar; he drew my sleeve above my wrist and took in the scent of my skin. His beard tickled my arm, but somehow I didn't feel it. I didn't seem to feel anything at all; it was as if I were buried beneath
layers of fear, and confusion, and dread . . . And then the Baron woke me from my shock by stepping behind me and reaching around my chest to untie my obijime. This was the cord that held my obi in place.
I experienced a moment of panic now that I knew the Baron really intended to undress me. I tried saying something, but my mouth moved so clumsily I couldn't control it; and anyway, the Baron only made noises to shush me. I kept trying to stop him with my hands, but he pushed them away and finally succeeded in removing my obijime. After this he stepped back and struggled a long while with the knot of the obi between my shoulderblades. I pleaded with him not to take it off-though my throat was so dry that several times when I tried to speak, nothing came out-but he didn't listen to me and soon began to unwind the broad obi, wrapping and unwrapping his arms around my waist. I saw the Chairman's handkerchief dislodge itself from the fabric and flutter to the ground. In a moment the Baron let the obi fall in a pile to the floor, and then unfastened the datejime-the waistband underneath. I felt the sickening sensation of my kimono releasing itself from around my waist. I clutched it shut with my arms, but the Baron pulled them apart. I could no longer bear to watch in the mirror. The last thing I recall as I closed my eyes was the heavy robe being lifted from around my shoulders with a rustle of fabric.
The Baron seemed to have accomplished what he'd set out to do; or at least, he went no further for the moment. I felt his hands at my waist, caressing the fabric of my underrobe. When at last I opened my eyes again, he stood behind me still, taking in the scent of my hair and my neck. His eyes were fixed on the mirror-fixed, it seemed to me, on the waistband that held my underrobe shut. Every time his fingers moved, I tried with the power of my mind to keep them away, but all too soon they began creeping like spiders across my belly, and in another moment had tangled themselves in my waistband and begun to pull. I tried to stop him several times, but the Baron pushed my hands away as he'd done earlier. Finally the waistband came undone; the Baron let it slip from his fingers and fall to the floor. My legs were trembling, and the room was nothing more than a blur to me as he took the seams of my underrobe in his hands and started to draw them open. I couldn't stop myself from grabbing at his hands once again.
Don't be so worried, Sayuri! the Baron whispered to me. "For heaven's sake, I'm not going to do anything to you I shouldn't do. I only want to have a look, don't you understand? There's nothing wrong in that. Any man would do the same."
A shiny bristle from his face tickled against my ear as he said this, so that I had to turn my head to one side. I think he must have interpreted this as a kind of consent, because now his hands began to move with more urgency. He pulled my robe open. I felt his fingers on my ribs, almost tickling me as he struggled to untie the strings holding my kimono undershirt closed. A moment later he'd succeeded. I couldn't bear the thought of what the Baron might see; so even while I kept my face turned away, I strained my eyes to look in the mirror. My kimono undershirt hung open, exposing a long strip of skin down the center of my chest.
By now the Baron's hands had moved to my hips, where they were busy with my koshimaki. Earlier that day, when I had wrapped the koshimaki several times around me, I'd tucked it more tightly at the waist than I probably needed to. The Baron was having trouble finding the seam, but after several tugs he loosened the fabric, so that with one long pull he was able to draw the entire length of it out from beneath my underrobe. As the silk slid against my skin, I heard a noise coming out of my throat, something like a sob. My hands grabbed for the koshimaki, but the Baron pulled it from my reach and dropped it to the floor. Then as slowly as a man might peel the cover from a sleeping child, he drew open my underrobe in a long breathless gesture, as though he were unveiling something magnificent. I felt a burning in my throat that told me I was on the point of crying; but I couldn't bear the thought that the Baron would see my nakedness and also see me cry. I held my tears back somehow, at the very edge of my vision, and watched the mirror so intently that for a long moment I felt as though time had stopped. I'd certainly never seen myself so utterly naked before. It was true that I still wore buttoned socks on my feet; but I felt more exposed now with the seams of my robe held wide apart than I'd ever felt even in a bathhouse while completely unclothed. I watched the Baron's eyes linger here and there on my reflection in the mirror. First he drew the robe still farther open to take in the outline of my waist. Then he lowered his eyes to the darkness that had bloomed on me in the years since I'd come to Kyoto. His eyes remained there a long while; but at length they rose up slowly, passing over my stomach, along my ribs, to the two plum-colored circles-first on one side, and then on the other. Now the Baron took away one of his hands, so that my underrobe settled against me on that side. What he did with his hand I can't say, but I never saw it again. At one point I felt a moment of panic when I saw a naked shoulder protruding from his bathrobe. I don't know what he was doing-and even though I could probablymake an accurate guess about it now, I much prefer not to think about it. All I know is that I became very aware of his breath warming my neck. After that, I saw nothing more. The mirror became a blur of silver; I was no longer able to hold back my tears.
At a certain point the Baron's breathing slowed again. My skin was hot and quite damp from fear, so that when he released my robe at last and let it fall, I felt the puff of air against my side almost as a breeze. Soon I was alone in the room; the Baron had walked out without my even realizing it. Now that he was gone, I rushed to dress myself with such desperation that while I knelt on the floor to gather up my undergarments, I kept seeing in my mind an image of a starving child grabbing at scraps of food.
I dressed again as best I could, with my hands trembling. But until I had help, I could go no further than to close my underrobe and secure it with the waistband. I waited in front of the mirror, looking with some concern at the smeared makeup on my face. I was prepared to wait there a full hour if I had to. But only a few minutes passed before the Baron came back with the sash of his bathrobe tight around his plump belly. He helped me into my kimono without a word, and secured it with my datejime just as Mr. Itchoda would have done. While he was holding my great, long obi in his arms, measuring it out in loops as he prepared to tie it around me, I began to feel a terrible feeling. I couldn't make sense of it at first; but it seeped its way through me just as a stain seeps across cloth, and soon I understood. It was the feeling that I'd done something terribly wrong. I didn't want to cry in front of the Baron, but I couldn't help it-and anyway, he hadn't looked me in the eye since coming back into the room. I tried to imagine I was simply a house standing in the rain with the water washing down the front of me. But the Baron must have seen, for he left the room and came back a moment later with a handkerchief bearing his monogram. He instructed me to keep it, but after I used it, I left it there on a table.
Soon he led me to the front of the house and went away without speaking a word. In time a servant came, holding the antique kimono wrapped once again in linen paper. He presented it to me with a bow and then escorted me to the Baron's motorcar. I cried quietly in the backseat on the way to the inn, but the driver pretended to take no notice. I was no longer crying about what had happened to me. Something much more frightful was on my mind-namely, what would happen when Mr. Itchoda saw my smeared makeup, and then helped me undress and saw the poorly tied knot in my obi, and then opened the package and saw the expensive gift I'd received. Before leaving thecar I wiped my face with the Chairman's handkerchief, but it did me little good. Mr. Itchoda took one look at me and then scratched his chin as though he understood everything that had happened. While he was untying my obi in the room upstairs, he said:
Did the Baron undress your
I'm sorry, I said.
He undressed you and looked at you in the mirror. But he didn't enjoy himself with you. He didn't touch you, or lie on top of you, did he?
No, sir.
That's fine, then, Mr. Itchoda said, staring straight ahead. Not another word was spoken between us.
I won't say my emotions had settled themselves by the time the train pulled into Kyoto Station early the following morning. After all, when a stone is dropped into a pond, the water continues quivering even after the stone has sunk to the bottom. But when I descended the wooden stairs carrying us from the platform, with Mr. Itchoda one step behind me, I came upon such a shock that for a time I forgot everything else.
There in a glass case was the new poster for that season's Dances of the Old Capital, and I stopped to have a look at it. Two weeks remained before the event. The poster had been distributed just the previous day, probably while I was strolling around the Baron's estate hoping to meet up with the Chairman. The dance every year has a theme, such as "Colors of the Four Seasons in Kyoto," or "Famous Places from Tale of the Heike." This year the theme was "The Gleaming Light of the Morning Sun." The poster, which of course was drawn by Uchida Kosaburo-who'd created nearly every poster since 1919- showed an apprentice geisha in a lovely green and orange kimono standing on an arched wooden bridge. I was exhausted after my long trip and had slept badly on the train; so I stood for a while before the poster in a sort of daze, taking in the lovely greens and golds of the background, before I turned my attention to the girl in the kimono. She was gazing directly into the bright light of the sunrise, and her eyes were a startling blue-gray. I had to put a hand on the railing to steady myself. I was the girl Uchida had drawn there on that bridge!
On the way back from the train station, Mr. Itchoda pointed out every poster we passed, and even asked the rickshaw driver to go out of his way so we could see an entire wall of them on the old Daimaru Department Store building. Seeing myself all over the city this way wasn't quite as thrilling as I would have imagined; I kept thinking of the poor girl in the poster standing before a mirror as her obi was untied by an older man. In any case, I expected to hear all sorts of congratulations over the course of the following few days, but I soon learned that an honor like this one never comes without costs. Ever since Mameha had arranged for me to take a role in the seasonal dances, I'd heard any number of unpleasant comments about myself. After the poster, things only grew worse. The next morning, for example, a young apprentice who'd been friendly the week before now looked away when I gave a bow to greet her.
As for Mameha, I went to visit her in her apartment, where she was recovering, and found that she was as proud as if she herself had been the one in the poster. She certainly wasn't pleased that I'd taken the trip to Hakone, but she seemed as devoted to my success as ever- strangely, perhaps even more so. For a while I worried she would view my horrible encounter with the Baron as a betrayal of her. I imagined Mr. Itchoda must have told her about it... but if he did, she never raised the subject between us. Neither did I.
Two weeks later the seasonal dances opened. On that first day in the dressing room at the Kaburenjo Theater, I felt myself almost overflowing with excitement, for Mameha had told me the Chairman and Nobu would be in the audience. While putting on my makeup, I tucked the Chairman's handkerchief beneath my dressing robe, against my bare skin. My hair was bound closely to my head with a silk strip, because of the wigs I would be wearing, and when I saw myself in the mirror without the familiar frame of hair surrounding my face, I found angles in my cheeks and around my eyes that I'd never before seen. It may seem odd, but when I realized that the shape of my own face was a surprise to me, I had the sudden insight that nothing in life is ever as simple as we imagine.
An hour later I was standing with the other apprentices in the wings of the theater, ready for the opening dance. We wore identical kimono of yellow and red, with obis of orange and gold-so that we looked, each of us, like shimmering images of sunlight. When the music began, with that first thump of the drums and the twang of all the shamisens, and we danced out together like a string of beads-our arms outstretched, our folding fans open in our hands-I had never before felt so much a part of something.
After the opening piece, I rushed upstairs to change my kimono. The dance in which I was to appear as a solo performer was called "The Morning Sun on the Waves," about a maiden who takes a morning swim in the ocean and falls in love with an enchanted dolphin. My costume was a magnificent pink kimono with a water design in gray, and I held blue silk strips to symbolize the rippling water behind me. The enchanted dolphin prince was played by a geisha named Umiyo; in addition, there were roles for geisha portraying wind, sunlight, and sprays of water-as well as a few apprentices in charcoal and blue kimono at the far reaches of the stage, playing dolphins calling their prince back to them.
My costume change went so quickly that I found myself with a few minutes to peek out at the audience. I followed the sound of occasional drumbeats to a narrow, darkened hallway running behind one of the two orchestra booths at the sides of the theater. A few other apprentices and geisha were already peering out through carved slits in the sliding doors. I joined them and managed to find the Chairman and Nobu sitting together-though it seemed to me the Chairman had given Nobu the better seat. Nobu was peering at the stage intently, but I was surprised to see that the Chairman seemed to be falling asleep. From the music I realized that it was the beginning of Mameha's dance, and went to the end of the hallway where the slits in the doors gave a view of the stage.
I watched Mameha no more than a few minutes; and yet the impression her dance made on me has never been erased. Most dances of the Inoue School tell a story of one kind or another, and the story of this dance-called "A Courtier Returns to His Wife"-was based on a Chinese poem about a courtier who carries on a long affair with a lady in the Imperial palace. One night the courtier's wife hides on the outskirts of the palace to find out where her husband has been spending his time. Finally, at dawn, she watches from the bushes as her husband takes leave of his mistress-but by this time she has fallen ill from the terrible cold and dies soon afterward.
For our spring dances, the story was changed to Japan instead of China; but otherwise, the tale was the same. Mameha played the wife who dies of cold and heartbreak, while the geisha Kanako played the role of her husband, the courtier. I watched the dance from the moment the courtier bids good-bye to his mistress. Already the setting was inspiringly beautiful, with the soft light of dawn and the slow rhythm of the shamisen music like a heartbeat in the background. The courtier performed a lovely dance of thanks to his mistress for their night together, and then moved toward the light of rising sun to capture its warmth for her. This was the moment when Mameha began to dance her lament of terrible sadness, hidden to one side of the stage out of view of the husband and mistress. Whether it was the beauty of Mameha's dance or of the story, I cannot say; but I found myself feeling such sorrow as I watched her, I felt as if I myself had been the victim of that terrible betrayal. At the end of the dance, sunlight filled the stage. Mameha crossed to a grove of trees to dance her simple death scene. I cannot tell you what happened after that. I was too overcome to watch any further; and in any case, I had to return backstage to prepare for my own entrance.
While I waited in the wings, I had the peculiar feeling that the weight of the entire building was pressing down on me-because of course, sadness has always seemed to me an oddly heavy thing. A good dancer often wears her white, buttoned socks a size too small, so she can sense the seams in the wooden stage with her feet. But as I stood there trying to find the strength within myself to perform, I had the impression of so much weight upon me that I felt not only the seams in the stage, but even the fibers in the socks themselves. At last I heard the music of the drums and shamisen, and the whisking noise of the clothing as the other dancers moved quickly past me onto the stage; but it's very hard for me to remember anything afterward. I'm sure I raised my arms with my folding fan closed and my knees bent-for this was the position in which I made my entrance. I heard no suggestion afterward that I'd missed-my cue, but all I remember clearly is watching my own arms with amazement at the sureness and evenness with which they moved. I'd practiced this dance any number of times; I suppose that must have been enough. Because although my mind had shut down completely, I performed my role without any difficulty or nervousness.
At every performance for the rest of that month, I prepared for my entrance in the same way, by concentrating on "The Courtier Returns to His Wife," until I could feel the sadness laying itself over me. We human beings have a remarkable way of growing accustomed to things; but when I pictured Mameha dancing her slow lament, hidden from the eyes of her husband and his mistress, I could no more have stopped myself from feeling that sadness than you could stop yourself from smelling an apple that has been cut open on the table before you.
One day in the final week of performances, Mameha and I stayed late in the dressing room, talking with another geisha. When we left the theater we expected to find no one outside-and indeed the crowd had gone. But as we reached the street, a driver in uniform stepped out of a car and opened the rear door. Mameha and I were on the point of walking right past when Nobu emerged.
Why, Nobu-san, Mameha said, "I was beginning to worry that you no longer cared for Sayuri's company! Every day this past month, we've hoped to hear something from you . . ."
Who are you to complain about being kept waiting? I've been outside this theater nearly an hour.
Have you just come from seeing the dances again? Mameha said. "Sayuri is quite a star."
I haven't just come from anything, Nobu said. "I've come from the dances a full hour ago. Enough time has passed for me to make a phone call and send my driver downtown to pick something up for me."
Nobu banged on the window of the car with his one hand, and startled the poor driver so badly his cap fell off. The driver rolled down the window and gave Nobu a tiny shopping bag in the Western style, made of what looked like silver foil. Nobu turned to me, and I gave him a deep bow and told him how happy I was to see him.
You're a very talented dancer, Sayuri. I don't give gifts for no reason, he said, though I don't think this was in any way true. "Probably that's why Mameha and others in Gion don't like me as much as other men."
Nobu-san! said Mameha. "Who has ever suggested such a thing?"
I know perfectly well what you geisha like. So long as a man gives you presents you'll put up with any sort of nonsense.
Nobu held out the small package in his hand for me to take.
Why, Nobu-san, I said, "what nonsense is it that you are asking me to put up with?" I meant this as a joke, of course; but Nobu didn't see it that way.
Haven't I just said I'm not like other men? he growled. "Why don't you geisha ever believe anything told to you? If you want this package, you'd better take it before I change my mind."
I thanked Nobu and accepted the package, and he banged on the window of the car once again. The driver jumped out to hold the door for him.
We bowed until the car had turned the corner and then Mameha led me back into the garden of the Kaburenjo Theater, where we took a seat on a stone bench overlooking the carp pond and peered into the bag Nobu had given me. It contained only a tiny box, wrapped in gold-colored paper embossed with the name of a famous jewelry store and tied with a red ribbon. I opened it to find a simple jewel, a ruby as big as a peach pit. It was like a giant drop of blood sparkling in the sunlight over the pond. When I turned it in my fingers, the glimmer jumped from one face to another. I could feel each of the jumps in my chest.
I can see how thrilled you are, Mameha said, "and I'm very happy for you. But don't enjoy it too much. You'll have other jewels in your life, Sayuri-plenty of them, I should think. But you'll never have this opportunity again. Take this ruby back to your okiya, and give it to Mother."
To see this beautiful jewel, and the light that seeped out of it painting my hand pink, and to think of Mother with her sickly yellow eyes and their meat-colored rims . . . well, it seemed to me that giving this jewel to her would be like dressing up a badger in silk. But of course, I had to obey Mameha.
When you give it to her, she went on, "you must be especially sweet and say, 'Mother, I really have no need for a jewel like this and would be honored if you'd accept it. I've caused you so much trouble over the years.' But don't say more, or she'll think you're being sarcastic."
When I sat in my room later, grinding an ink stick to write a note of thanks to Nobu, my mood grew darker and darker. If Mameha herself had asked me for the ruby, I could have given it to her cheerfully . . . but to give it to- Mother! I'd grown fond of Nobu, and was sorry that his expensive gift would go to such a woman. I knew perfectly well that if the ruby had been from the Chairman, I couldn't have given it up at all. In any case, I finished the note and went to Mother's room to speak with her. She was sitting in the dim light, petting her dog and smoking.
What do you want? she said to me. "I'm about to send for a pot of tea."
I'm sorry to disturb you, Mother. This afternoon when Mameha and I left the theater, President Nobu Toshikazu was waiting for me-
Waiting for Mameha-san, you mean.
I don't know, Mother. But he gave me a gift. It's a lovely thing, but I have no use for it.
I wanted to say that I would be honored if she would take it, but Mother wasn't listening to me. She put her pipe down onto the table and took the box from my hand before I could even offer it to her. I tried again to explain things, but Mother just turned over the box to dump the ruby into her oily fingers.
What is this? she asked.
It's the gift President Nobu gave me. Nobu Toshikazu, of Iwa-mura Electric, I mean.
Don't you think I know who Nobu Toshikazu is?
She got up from the table to walk over to the window, where she slid back the paper screen and held the ruby into the stream of late-afternoon sunlight. She was doing what I had done on the street, turning the gem around and watching the sparkle move from face to face. Finally she closed the screen again and came back.
You must have misunderstood. Did he ask you to give it to Mameha?
Well, Mameha was with me at the time.
I could see that Mother's mind was like an intersection with too much traffic in it. She put the ruby onto the table and began to puff on her pipe. I saw every cloud of smoke as a little confused thought released into the air. Finally she said to me, "So, Nobu Toshikazu has an interest in you, does he?"
I've been honored by his attention for some time now.
At this, she put the pipe down onto the table, as if to say that the conversation was about to grow much more serious. "I haven't watched you as closely as I should have," she said. "If you've had any boyfriends, now is the time to tell me."
I've never had a single boyfriend, Mother.
I don't know whether she believed what I'd said or not, but she dismissed me just the same. I hadn't yet offered her the ruby to keep, as Mameha had instructed me to do. I was trying to think of how to raise the subject. But when I glanced at the table where the gem lay on its side, she must have thought I wanted to ask for it back. I had no time to say anything further before she reached out and swallowed it up in her hand.
Finally it happened, one afternoon only a few days later. Mameha came to the okiya and took me into the reception room to tell me that the bidding for my mizuage had begun. She'd received a message from the mistress of the Ichiriki that very morning.
I couldn't be more disappointed at the timing, Mameha said, "because I have to leave for Tokyo this afternoon. But you won't need me. You'll know if the bidding goes high, because things will start to happen."
I don't understand, I said. "What sorts of things?" "All sorts of things," she said, and then left without even taking a cup of tea.
She was gone three days. At first my heart raced every time I heard one of the maids approaching. But two days passed without any news. Then on the third day, Auntie came to me in the hallway to say that Mother wanted me upstairs.
I'd just put my foot onto the first step when I heard a door slide open, and all at once Pumpkin came rushing down. She came like water poured from a bucket, so fast her feet scarcely touched the steps, and midway down she twisted her finger on the banister. It must have hurt, because she let out a cry and stopped at the bottom to hold it.
Where is Hatsumomo? she said, clearly in pain. "I have to find her!"
It looks to me as if you've hurt yourself badly enough, Auntie said. "You have to go find Hatsumomo so she can hurt you more?"
Pumpkin looked terribly upset, and not only about her finger; but when I asked her what was the matter, she just rushed to the entryway and left.
Mother was sitting at the table when I entered her room. She began to pack her pipe with tobacco, but soon thought better of it and put it away. On top of the shelves holding the account books stood a beautiful European-style clock in a glass case. Mother looked at it every so often, but a few long minutes passed and still she said nothing to me. Finally I spoke up. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mother, but I was told you wanted to see me."
The doctor is late, she said. "We'll wait for him." I imagined she was referring to Dr. Crab, that he was coming to the okiya to talk about arrangements for my mizuage. I hadn't expected such a thing and began to feel a tingling in my belly. Mother passed the time by patting Taku, who quickly grew tired of her attentions and made little growling noises.
At length I heard the maids greeting someone in the front entrance hall below, and Mother went down the stairs. When she came back a few minutes later she wasn't escorting Dr. Crab at all, but a much younger man with smooth silver hair, carrying a leather bag. "This is the girl," Mother said to him. I bowed to the young doctor, who bowed back to me. "Ma'am," he said to Mother, "where shall we . . . ?"
Mother told him the room we were in would be fine. The way she closed the door, I knew something unpleasant was about to happen. She began by untying my obi and folding it on the table. Then she slipped the kimono from my shoulders and hung it on a stand in the corner. I stood in my yellow underrobe as calmly as I knew how, but in a moment Mother began to untie the waistband that held my underrobe shut. I couldn't quite stop myself from putting my arms in her way-though she pushed them aside just as the Baron had done, which gave me a sick feeling. After she'd removed the waistband, she reached inside and pulled out my koshimaki-once again, just as it had happened in Hakone. I didn't like this a bit, but instead of pulling open my robe as the Baron had, she refolded it around me and told me to lie down on the mats.
The doctor knelt at my feet and, after apologizing, peeled open my underrobe to expose my legs. Mameha had told me a little about mizuage, but it seemed to me I was about to learn more. Had the bidding ended, and this young doctor emerged the winner? What about Dr. Crab and Nobu? It even crossed my mind that Mother might be intentionally sabotaging Mameha's plans. The young doctor adjusted my legs and reached between them with his hand, which I had noticed was smooth and graceful like the Chairman's. I felt so humiliated and exposed that I had to cover my face. I wanted to draw my legs together, but I was afraid anything that made his task more difficult would only prolong the encounter. So I lay with my eyes pinched shut, holding my breath. I felt as little Taku must have felt the time he choked on a needle, and Auntie held his jaws open while Mother put her fingers down his throat. At one point I think the doctor had both of his hands between my legs; but at last he took them away, and folded my robe shut. When I opened my eyes, I saw him wiping his hands on a cloth.
The girl is intact, he said.
Well, that's fine news! Mother replied. "And will there be much blood?"
There shouldn't be any blood at all. I only examined her visually.
No, I mean during mizuage.
I couldn't say. The usual amount, I should expect.
When the young silver-haired doctor had taken his leave, Mother helped me dress and instructed me to sit at the table. Then without any warning, she grabbed my earlobe and pulled it so hard I cried out. She held me like that, with my head close to hers, while she said:
You're a very expensive commodity, little girl. I underestimated you. I'm lucky nothing has happened. But you may be very sure I'm going to watch you more closely in the future. What a man wants from you, a man will pay dearly to get. Do you follow me?
Yes, ma'am! I said. Of course, I would have said yes to anything, considering how hard she was pulling on my ear.
If you give a man freely what he ought to pay for, you'll be cheating this okiya. You'll owe money, and I'll take it from you. And I'm not just talking about this! Here Mother made a gruesome noise with her free hand-rubbing her fingers against her palm to make a squishing sound.
Men will pay for that, she went on. "But they'll pay just to chat with you too. If I find you sneaking off to meet a man, even if it's just for a little talk . . ."And here she finished her thought by giving another sharp tug on my earlobe before letting it go.
I had to work hard to catch my breath. When I felt I could speak again, I said, "Mother . . . I've done nothing to make you angry!"
Not yet, you haven't. If you're a sensible girl, you never will.
I tried to excuse myself, but Mother told me to stay. She tapped out her pipe, even though it was empty; and when she'd filled it and lit it, she said, "I've come to a decision. Your status here in the okiya is about to change."
I was alarmed by this and began to say something, but Mother stopped me.
You and I will perform a ceremony next week. After that, you'll be my daughter just as if you'd been born to me. I've come to the decision to adopt you. One day, the okiya will be yours.
I couldn't think of what to say, and I don't remember much of what happened next. Mother went on talking, telling me that as the daughter of the okiya I would at some point move into the larger room occupied by Hatsumomo and Pumpkin, who together would share the smaller room where I'd-lived up to now. I was listening with only half my mind, until I began slowly to realize that as Mother's daughter, I would no longer have to struggle under Hatsumomo's tyranny. This had been Mameha's plan all along, and yet I'd never really believed it would happen. Mother went on lecturing me. I looked at her drooping lip and her yellowed eyes. She may have been a hateful woman, but as the daughter of this hateful woman, I would be up on a shelf out of Hatsumomo's reach.
In the midst of all of this, the door slid open, and Hatsumomo herself stood there in the hallway.
What do you want? Mother said. "I'm busy."
Get out, she said to me. "I want to talk with Mother."
If you want to talk with me, Mother said, "you may ask Sayuri if she'll be kind enough to leave."
Be kind enough to leave, Sayuri Hatsumomo said sarcastically.
And then for the first time in my life, I spoke back to her without the fear that she would punish me for it.
I'll leave if Mother wants me to, I told her.
Mother, would you be kind enough to make Little Miss Stupid leave us alone? Hatsumomo said.
Stop making a nuisance of yourself! Mother told her. "Come in and tell me what you want."
Hatsumomo didn't like this, but she came and sat at the table anyway. She was midway between Mother and me, but still so close that I could smell her perfume.
Poor Pumpkin has just come running to me, very upset, she began. "I promised her I'd speak with you. She told me something very strange. She said, 'Oh, Hatsumomo! Mother has changed her mind!' But I told her I doubted it was true."
I don't know what she was referring to. I certainly haven't changed my mind about anything recently.
That's just what I said to her, that you would never go back on your word. But I'm sure she'd feel better, Mother, if you told her yourself.
Told her what?
That you haven't changed your mind about adopting her.
Whatever gave her that idea? I never had the least intention of adopting her in the first place.
It gave me a terrible pain to hear this, for I couldn't help thinking of how Pumpkin had rushed down the stairs looking so upset . . . and no wonder, for no one could say anymore what would become of her in life. Hatsumomo had been wearing that smile that made her look like an expensive piece of porcelain, but Mother's words struck her like rocks. She looked at me with hatred.
So it's true! You're planning to adopt her. Don't you remember, Mother, when you said you were going to adopt Pumpkin? You asked me to tell her the news!
What you may have said to Pumpkin is none of my concern. Besides, you haven't handled Pumpkin's apprenticeship as well as I expected. She was doing well for a time, but lately . . .
You promised, Mother, Hatsumomo said in a tone that frightened me.
Don't be ridiculous! You know I've had my eye on Sayuri for years. Why would I turn around and adopt Pumpkin?
I knew perfectly well Mother was lying. Now she went so far as to turn to me and say this:
Sayuri-san, when was the first time I raised the subject of adopting you? A year ago, perhaps?
If you've ever seen a mother cat teaching its young to hunt-the way she takes a helpless mouse and rips it apart-well, I felt as though Mother was offering me the chance to learn how I could be just like her. All I had to do was lie as she lied and say, "Oh, yes, Mother, you mentioned the subject to me many times!" This would be my first step in becoming a yellow-eyed old woman myself one day, living in a gloomy room with my account books. I could no more take Mother's side than Hatsumomo's. I kept my eyes to the mats so I wouldn't have to see either of them, and said that I didn't remember.
Hatsumomo's face was splotched red from anger. She got up and walked to the door, but Mother stopped her.
Sayuri will be my daughter in one week, she said. "Between now and then, you must learn how to treat her with respect. When you go downstairs, ask one of the maids to bring tea for Sayuri and me."
Hatsumomo gave a little bow, and then she was gone.
Mother, I said, "I'm very sorry to have been the cause of so much trouble. I'm sure Hatsumomo is quite wrong about any plans you may have made for Pumpkin, but . . . may I ask? Wouldn't it be possible to adopt both Pumpkin and me?"
Oh, so you know something about business now, do you? she replied. "You want to try telling me how to run the okiya?"
A few minutes later, a maid arrived bearing a tray with a pot of tea and a cup-not two cups, but only a single one. Mother didn't seem to care. I poured her cup full and she drank from it, staring at me with her red-rimmed eyes.
Then Mameha returned to town the following day and learned that Mother had decided to adopt me, she didn't seem as pleased as I would have expected. She nodded and looked satisfied, to be sure; but she didn't smile. I asked if things hadn't turned out exactly as she'd hoped.
Oh, no, the bidding between Dr. Crab and Nobu went just as I'd hoped, she told me, "and the final figure was a considerable sum. The moment I found out, I knew Mrs. Nitta would certainly adopt you. I couldn't be more pleased!"
This is what she said. But the truth, as I came to understand in stages over the following years, was something quite different. For one thing, the bidding hadn't been a contest between Dr. Crab and Nobu at all. It had ended up a contest between Dr. Crab and the Baron. I can't imagine how Mameha must have felt about this; but I'm sure it accounts for why she was suddenly so cold to me for a short time, and why she kept to herself the story of what had really happened.
I don't mean to suggest that Nobu was never involved. He did bid quite aggressively for my mizuage, but only during the first few days, until the figure passed ￥8000. When he ended up dropping out, it probably wasn't because the bidding had gone too high. Mameha knew from the beginning that Nobu could bid against anyone, if he wanted to. The trouble, which Mameha hadn't anticipated, was that Nobu had no more than a vague interest in my mizuage. Only a certain kind of man spends his time and money chasing after mizuage, and it turned out that Nobu wasn't one of them. Some months earlier, as you may remember, Mameha had suggested that no man would cultivate a relationship with a fifteen-year-old apprentice unless he was interested in her mizuage. This was during the same discussion when she told me, "You can bet it isn't your conversation he's attracted to." She may have been right about my conversation, I don't know; but whatever attracted Nobu to me, it wasn't my mizuage either.
As for Dr. Crab, he was a man who would probably have chosen suicide the old-fashioned way before allowing someone like Nobu to take a mizuage away from him. Of course he wasn't really bidding against Nobu after the first few days, but he didn't know that, and the mistress of the Ichiriki made up her mind not to tell him. She wanted the price to go as high as it could. So when she spoke to him on the telephone she said things like, "Oh, Doctor, I've just received word from Osaka, and an offer has come in for five thousand yen." She probably had received word from Osaka-though it might have been from her sister, because the mistress never- liked to tell outright lies. But when she mentioned Osaka and an offer in the same breath, naturally Dr. Crab assumed the offer was from Nobu, even though it was actually from the Baron.
As for the Baron, he knew perfectly well his adversary was the Doctor, but he didn't care. He wanted the mizuage for himself and pouted like a little boy when he began to think he might not win it. Sometime later a geisha told me about a conversation she'd had with him around this time. "Do you hear what has been happening?" the Baron said to her. "I'm trying to arrange a mizuage, but a certain annoying doctor keeps getting in my way. Only one man can be the explorer of an undiscovered region, and I want to be that man! But what am I to do? This foolish doctor doesn't seem to understand that the numbers he throws about represent real money!"
As the bidding went higher and higher, the Baron began to talk about dropping out. But the figure had already come so close to a new record that the mistress of the Ichiriki made up her mind to push things still higher by misleading the Baron, just as she'd misled the Doctor. On the telephone she told him that the "other gentleman" had made a very high bid, and then added, "However, many people believe he's the sort of gentleman who will go no higher." I'm sure there may have been people who believed such a thing about the Doctor, but the mistress herself wasn't one of them. She knew that when the Baron made his last bid, whatever it was, the Doctor would top it.
In the end, Dr. Crab agreed to pay ￥11,500 for my mizuage. Up to that time, this was the highest ever paid for a mizuage in Gion, and possibly in any of the geisha districts in Japan. Keep in mind that in those days, one hour of a geisha's time cost about ￥4, and an extravagant kimono might have sold for ￥1500. So it may not sound like a lot, but it's much more than, say, a laborer might have earned in a year.
I have to confess I don't know much about money. Most geisha pride themselves on never carrying cash with them, and are accustomed to charging things wherever they go. Even now in New York City, I live just the same way. I shop at stores that know me by sight, where the clerks are kind enough to write down the items I want. When the bill comes at the end of the month, I have a charming assistant who pays it for me. So you see, I couldn't possibly tell you how much money I spend, or how much more a bottle of perfume costs than a magazine. So I may be one of the worst people on earth to try explaining anything at all about money. However, I want to pass on to you something a close friend once told me-who I'm sure knows what he's talking about, because he was Japan's Deputy Minister of Finance for a time during the 19605. Cash, he said, is often worth less one year than it was the year before, and because of this, Mameha's mizuage in 1929 actually cost more than mine in 1935, even though mine was ￥11,500 while Mameha's was more like ￥7000 or ￥8000.
Of course, none of this mattered back at the time my mizuage was sold. As far as everyone was concerned I had set a new record, and it remained until 1951, when Katsumiyo came along-who in my opinion was one of the greatest geisha of the twentieth century. Still, according to my friend the Deputy Minister of Finance, the real record remained Mameha's until the 19605. But whether the real record belonged to me, or to Katsumiyo, or to Mameha-or even to Mamemitsu back in the 18905-you can well imagine that Mother's plump little hands began to itch when she heard about a record amount of cash.
It goes without saying that this is why she adopted me. The fee for my mizuage was more than enough to repay all my debts to the okiya. If Mother hadn't adopted me, some of that money would have fallen into my hands-and you can imagine how Mother would have felt about this. When I became the daughter of the okiya, my debts ceased to exist because the okiya absorbed them all. But all of my profits went to the okiya as well, not only then, at the time of my mizuage, but forever afterward.
The adoption took place the following week. Already my given name had changed to Sayuri; now my family name changed as well. Back in my tipsy house on the sea cliffs, I'd been Sakamoto Chiyo. Now my name was Nitta Sayuri.
Of all the important moments in the life of a geisha, mizuage certainly ranks as high as any. Mine occurred in early July of 1935, when I was fifteen years old. It began in the afternoon when Dr. Crab and I drank sake in a ceremony that bound us together. The reason for this ceremony is that even though the mizuage itself would be over with quickly, Dr. Crab would remain my mizuage patron until the end of his life- not that it gave him any special privileges, you understand. The ceremony was performed at the Ichiriki Teahouse, in the presence of Mother, Auntie, and Mameha. The mistress of the Ichiriki attended as well, and Mr. Bekku, my dresser-because the dresser is always involved in ceremonies of this sort, representing the interests of the geisha. I was dressed in the most formal costume an apprentice wears, a black, five-crested robe and an underrobe of red, which is the color of new beginnings. Mameha instructed me to behave very sternly, as though I had no sense of humor at all. Considering my nervousness, I found it easy to look stern as I walked down the hallway of the Ichiriki Teahouse, with the train of my kimono pooled around my feet.
After the ceremony we all went to a restaurant known as Kitcho for dinner. This was a solemn event too, and I spoke little and ate even less. Sitting there at dinner, Dr. Crab had probably already begun thinking about the moment that would come later, and yet I've never seen a man who looked more bored. I kept my eyes lowered throughout the meal in the interests of acting innocent, but every time I stole a glance in his direction, I found him peering down through his glasses like a man at a business meeting.
When dinner was over, Mr. Bekku escorted me by rickshaw to a beautiful inn on the grounds of the Nanzen-ji Temple. He'd already visited there earlier in the day to arrange my clothing in an adjoining room. He helped me out of my kimono and changed me into a more casual one, with an obi that required no padding for the knot-since padding would be awkward for the Doctor. He tied the knot in such a way that it would come undone quite easily. After I was fully dressed, I felt so nervous that Mr. Bekku had to help me back into my room and arrange me near the door to await the Doctor's arrival. When he left me there, I felt a horrible sense of dread, as if I'd been about to have an operation to remove my kidneys, or my liver, or some such thing.
Soon Dr. Crab arrived and asked that I order him sake while he bathed in the bath attached to the room. I think he may have expected me to help undress him, because he gave me a strange look. But my hands were so cold and awkward, I don't think I could have done it. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a sleeping robe and slid open the doors to the garden, where we sat on a little wooden balcony, sipping sake and listening to the sound of the crickets and the little stream below us. I spilled sake on my kimono, but the Doctor didn't notice. To tell the truth, he didn't seem to notice much of anything, except a fish that splashed in the pond nearby, which he pointed out to me as if I might never have seen such a thing. While we were there, a maid came and laid out both our futons, side by side.
Finally the Doctor left me on the balcony and went inside. I shifted in such a way as to watch him from the corner of my eye. He unpacked two white towels from his suitcase and set them down on the table, arranging them this way and that until they were just so. He did the same with the pillows on one of the futons, and then came and stood at the door until I rose from my knees and followed him.
While I was still standing, he removed my obi and told me to make myself comfortable on one of the futons. Everything seemed so strange and frightening to me, I couldn't have been comfortable no matter what I'd done. But I lay down on my back and used a pillow stuffed with beans to prop up my neck. The Doctor opened my robe and took a long while to loosen each of the garments beneath it step by step, rubbing his hands over my legs, which I think was supposed to help me relax. This went on for a long time, but at last he fetched the two white towels he'd unpacked earlier. He told me to raise my hips and then spread them out beneath me.
These will absorb the blood, he told me.
Of course, a mizuage often involves a certain amount of blood, but no one had explained to me exactly why. I'm sure I should have kept quiet or even thanked the Doctor for being so considerate as to put down towels, but instead I blurted out, "What blood?" My voice squeaked a little as I said it, because my throat was so dry. Dr. Crab began explaining how the "hymen"-though I didn't know what that could possibly be-frequently bled when torn . . . and this, that, and the other ... I think I became so anxious hearing it all that I rose up a little from the futon, because the Doctor put his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me back down.
I'm sure this sort of talk would be enough to quash some men's appetite for what they were about to do; but the Doctor wasn't that sort of man. When he'd finished his explanation, he said to me, "This is the second time I will have the opportunity of collecting a specimen of your blood. May I show you?"
I'd noticed that he'd arrived with not only his leather overnight bag, but also a small wooden case. The Doctor fetched a key ring from the pocket of his trousers in the closet and unlocked the case. He brought it over and swung it open down the middle to make a kind of freestanding display. On both sides were shelves with tiny glass vials, all plugged with corks and held in place by straps. Along the bottom shelf were a few instruments, such as scissors and tweezers; but the rest of the case was crowded with these glass vials, perhaps as many as forty or fifty of them. Except for a few empty ones on the top shelf, they all held something inside, but I had no idea what. Only when the Doctor brought the lamp from the table was I able to see white labels along the tops of each vial, marked with the names of various geisha. I saw Mameha's name there, as well as the great Mamekichi's. I saw quite a number of other familiar names as well, including Hatsu-momo's friend Korin.
This one, the Doctor said as he removed one of the vials, "belongs to you."
He'd written my name wrong, with a different character for the "ri" of Sayuri. But inside the vial was a shriveled-looking thing I thought resembled a pickled plum, though it was brownish rather than purple. The Doctor removed the cork and used tweezers to take it out.
This is a cotton swab that was drenched in your blood, he said, "from the time you cut your leg, you'll recall. I don't normally save the blood of my patients, but I was . . . very taken with you. After collecting this sample, I made up my mind that I would be your mizuage patron. I think you'll agree it will make an unusual specimen, to possess not just a sample of your blood collected at mizuage, but also a sample taken from a laceration on your leg quite a number of months earlier."
I hid my disgust while the Doctor went on to show me several other vials, including Mameha's. Hers contained not a cotton swab, but a small wadding of white fabric that was stained the color of rust and had grown quite stiff. Dr. Crab seemed to find all these samples fascinating, but for my part . . . well, I pointed my face in their direction in order to be polite, but when the Doctor wasn't watching, I looked elsewhere.
Finally he closed his case and set it aside before taking off his glasses, folding them and putting them on the table nearby. I was afraid the moment had come, and indeed, Dr. Crab moved my legs apart and arranged himself on his knees between them. I think my heart was beating at about the same speed as a mouse's. When the Doctor untied the sash of his sleeping robe, I closed my eyes and brought a hand up to cover my mouth, but I thought better of it at the last moment in case I should make a bad impression, and let my hand settle near my head instead.
The Doctor's hands burrowed around for a while, making me very uncomfortable in much the same way as the young silver-haired doctor had a few weeks earlier. Then he lowered himself until his body was poised just above mine. I put all the force of my mind to work in making a sort of mental barrier between the Doctor and me, but it wasn't enough to keep me from feeling the Doctor's "eel," as Mameha might have called it, bump against the inside of my thigh. The lamp was still lit, and I searched the shadows on the ceiling for something to distract me, because now I felt the Doctor pushing so hard that my head shifted on the pillow. I couldn't think what to do with my hands, so I grabbed the pillow with them and squeezed my eyes tighter. Soon there was a great deal of activity going on above me, and I could feel all sorts of movement inside me as well. There must have been a very great deal of blood, because the air had an unpleasant metallic smell. I kept reminding myself how much the Doctor had paid for this privilege; and I remember hoping at one point that he was enjoying himself more than I was. I felt no more pleasure there than if someone had rubbed a file over and over against the inside of my thigh until I bled.
Finally the homeless eel marked its territory, I suppose, and the Doctor lay heavily upon me, moist with sweat. I didn't at all like being so close to him, so I pretended to have trouble breathing in the hopes he would take his weight off me. For a long while he didn't move, but then all at once he got to his knees and was very businesslike again. I didn't watch him, but from the corner of my eye I couldn't help seeing that he wiped himself off using one of the towels beneath me. He tied the sash of his robe, and then put on his glasses, not noticing a little smear of blood at the edge of one lens, and began to wipe between my legs using towels and cotton swabs and the like, just as though we were back in one of the treatment rooms at the hospital. The worst of my discomfort had passed by this time, and I have to admit I was almost fascinated lying there, even with my legs spread apart so revealingly, as I watched him open the wooden case and take out the scissors. He cut away a piece of the bloody towel beneath me and stuffed it, along with a cotton ball he'd used, into the glass vial with my misspelled name on it. Then he gave a formal bow and said, "Thank you very much." I couldn't very well bow back while lying down, but it made no difference, because the Doctor stood at once and went off to the bath again.
I hadn't realized it, but I'd been breathing very quickly from nervousness. Now that it was over and I was able to catch my breath, I probably looked as though I were in the middle of being operated upon, but I felt such relief I broke into a smile. Something about the whole experience seemed so utterly ridiculous to me; the more I thought about it, the funnier it seemed, and in a moment I was laughing. I had to keep quiet because the Doctor was in the next room. But to think that the course of my entire future had been altered by this? I imagined the mistress of the Ichiriki making telephone calls to Nobu and the Baron while the bidding was under way, all the money that had been spent, and all the trouble. How strange it would have been with Nobu, since I was beginning to think of him as a friend. I didn't even want to wonder what it might have been like with the Baron.
While the Doctor was still in the bath, I tapped on the door to Mr. Bekku's room. A maid rushed in to change the bedsheets, and Mr. Bekku came to help me put on a sleeping robe. Later, after the Doctor had fallen asleep, I got up again and bathed quietly. Mameha had instructed me to stay awake all night, in case the Doctor should awaken and need something. But even though I tried not to sleep, I couldn't help drifting off. I did manage to awaken in the morning in time to make myself presentable before the Doctor saw me.
After breakfast, I saw Dr. Crab to the front door of the inn and helped him into his shoes. Just before he walked away, he thanked me for the evening and gave me a small package. I couldn't make up my mind whether it might be a jewel like Nobu had given me or a few cuttings from the bloody towel of the night before! But when I worked up my courage to open it back in the room, it turned out to be a package of Chinese herbs. I didn't know what to make of them until I asked Mr. Bekku, who said I should make tea once a day with the herbs to discourage pregnancy. "Be cautious with them, because they're very costly," he said. "But don't be too cautious. They're still cheaper than an abortion."
It's strange and very hard to explain, but the world looked different to me after mizuage. Pumpkin, who hadn't yet had hers, now seemed inexperienced and childlike to me somehow, even though she was older. Mother and Auntie, as well as Hatsumomo and Mameha had all been through it, of course, and I was probably much more aware than they were of having this peculiar thing in common with them. After mizuage an apprentice wears her hair in a new style, and with a red silk band at the base of the pincushion bun, rather than a patterned one. For a time
I was so aware of which apprentices had red hair bands and which had patterned ones that I scarcely seemed to notice anything else while walking along the street, or in the hallways of the little school. I had a new respect for the ones who had been through mizuage, and felt much more worldly than the ones who hadn't.
I'm sure all apprentices feel changed by the experience of mizuage in much the same way I did. But for me it wasn't just a matter of seeing the world differently. My day-to-day life changed as well, because of Mother's new view of me. She was the sort of person, I'm sure you realize, who noticed things only if they had price tags on them. When she walked down the street, her mind was probably working like an abacus: "Oh, there's little Yukiyo, whose stupidity cost her poor older sister nearly a hundred yen last year! And here comes Ichimitsu, who must be very pleased at the payments her new danna is making." If Mother were to walk alongside the Shirakawa Stream on a lovely spring day, when you could almost see beauty itself dripping into the water from the tendrils of the cherry trees, she probably wouldn't even notice any of it-unless ... I don't know . . . she had a plan to make money from selling the trees, or some such thing.
Before my mizuage, I don't think it made any difference to Mother that Hatsumomo was causing trouble for me in Gion. But now that I had a high price tag on me, she put a stop to Hatsumomo's trou-blemaking without my even having to ask it of her. I don't know how she did it. Probably she just said, "Hatsumomo, if your behavior causes problems for Sayuri and costs this okiya money, you'll be the one to pay it!" Ever since my mother had grown ill, my life had certainly been difficult; but now for a time, things became remarkably uncomplicated. I won't say I never felt tired or disappointed; in fact, I felt tired much of the time. Life in Gion is hardly relaxing for the women who make a living there. But it was certainly a great relief to be freed from the threat of Hatsumomo. Inside the okiya too, life was almost pleasurable. As the adopted daughter, I ate when I wanted. I chose my kimono first instead of waiting for Pumpkin to choose hers-and the moment I'd made my choice, Auntie set to work sewing the seams to the proper width, and basting the collar onto my underrobe, before she'd touched even Hatsumomo's. I didn't mind when Hatsumomo looked at me with resentment and hatred because of the special treatment I now received. But when Pumpkin passed me in the okiya with a worried look, and kept her eyes averted from mine even when we were face-to-face, it caused me terrible pain. I'd always had the feeling our friendship would have grown if only circumstances hadn't come between us. I didn't have that feeling any longer.
With my mizuage behind me, Dr. Crab disappeared from my life almost completely. I say "almost" because even though Mameha and I no longer went to the Shirae Teahouse to entertain him, I did run into him occasionally at parties in Gion. The Baron, on the other hand, I never saw again. I didn't yet know about the role he'd played in driving up the price of my mizuage, but as I look back I can understand why Mameha may have wanted to keep us apart. Probably I would have felt every bit as uncomfortable around the Baron as Mameha would have felt having me there. In any case, I can't pretend I missed either of these men.
But there was one man I was very eager to see again, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you I'm talking about the Chairman. He hadn't played any role in Mameha's plan, so I didn't expect my relationship with him to change or come to an end just because my mizuage was over. Still, I have to admit I felt very relieved a few weeks afterward to learn that Iwamura Electric had called to request my company once again. When I arrived that evening, both the Chairman and Nobu were present. In the past I would certainly have gone to sit beside Nobu; but now that Mother had adopted me, I wasn't obliged to think of him as my savior any longer. As it happened, a space beside the Chairman was vacant, and so with a feeling of excitement I went to take it. The Chairman was very cordial when I poured him sake, and thanked me by raising his cup in the air before drinking it; but all evening long he never looked at me. Whereas Nobu, whenever I glanced in his direction, glared back at me as though I were the only person in the room he was aware of. I certainly knew what it was like to long for someone, so before the evening was over I made a point of going to spend a bit of time with him. I was careful never to ignore him again after this.
A month or so pass-ed, and then one evening during a party, I happened to mention to Nobu that Mameha had arranged for me to appear in a festival in Hiroshima. I wasn't sure he was listening when I told him, but the very next day when I returned to the okiya after my lessons, I found in my room a new wooden travel trunk he'd sent me as a gift. The trunk was much finer even than the one I'd borrowed from Auntie for the Baron's party in Hakone. I felt terribly ashamed of myself for having thought I could simply discard Nobu now that he was no longer central to any plans Mameha might have had. I wrote him a note of thanks, and told him I looked forward to expressing my gratitude in person when I saw him the following week, at a large party Iwamura Electric had planned some months in advance.
But then a peculiar thing happened. Shortly before the party I received a message that my company wouldn't be needed after all. Yoko, who worked at the telephone in our okiya, was under the impression the party had been canceled. As it happened, I had to go to the Ichiriki that night anyway for another party. Just as I was kneeling in the hallway to enter, I saw the door to a large banquet room down at the end slide open, and a young geisha named Katsue came out. Before she closed the door, I heard what I felt certain was the sound of the Chairman's laughter coming from inside the room. I was very puzzled by this, so I rose from my knees and went to catch Katsue before she left the teahouse.
I'm very sorry to trouble you, I said, "but have you just come from the party given by Iwamura Electric?"
Yes, it's quite lively. There must be twenty-five geisha and nearly fifty men ...
And . . . Chairman Iwamura and Nobu-san are both there? I asked her.
Not Nobu. Apparently he went home sick this morning. He'll be very sorry to have missed it. But the Chairman is there; why do you ask?
I muttered something-I don't remember what it was-and she left.
Up until this moment I'd somehow imagined that the Chairman valued my company as much as Nobu did. Now I had to wonder whether it had all been an illusion, and Nobu was the only one who cared.
Mameha may already have won her bet with Mother, but she still had quite a stake in my future. So during the next few years she worked to make my face familiar to all her best customers, and to the other geisha in Gion as well. We were still emerging from the Depression at this time; formal banquets weren't as common as Mameha would have liked. But she took me to plenty of informal gatherings, not only parties in the teahouses, but swimming excursions, sightseeing tours, Kabuki plays, and so on. During the heat of summer when everyone felt most relaxed, these casual gatherings were often quite a lot of fun, even for those of us supposedly hard at work entertaining. For example, a group of men sometimes decided to go floating in a canal boat along the Kamo River, to sip sake and dangle their feet in the water. I was too young to join in the carousing, and often ended up with the job of shaving ice to make snow cones, but it was a pleasant change nevertheless.
Some nights, wealthy businessmen or aristocrats threw geisha parties just for themselves. They spent the evening dancing and singing, and drinking with the geisha, often until well after midnight. I remember on one of these occasions, the wife of our host stood at the door to hand out envelopes containing a generous tip as we left. She gave Mameha two of them, and asked her the favor of delivering the second to the geisha Tomizuru, who had "gone home earlier with a headache," as she put it. Actually she knew as well as we did that Tomizuru was her husband's mistress, and had gone with him to another wing of the house to keep him company for the night.
Many of the glamorous parties in Gion were attended by famous artists, and writers, and Kabuki actors, and sometimes they were very exciting events. But I'm sorry to tell you that the average geisha party was something much more mundane. The host was likely to be the division head of a small company, and the guest of honor one of his suppliers, or perhaps one of his employees he'd just promoted, or something along those lines. Every so often, some well-meaning geisha admonished me that as an apprentice, my responsibility-besides trying to look pretty-was to sit quietly and listen to conversations in the hopes of one day becoming a clever conversationalist myself. Well, most of the conversations I heard at these parties didn't strike me as very clever at all. A man might turn to the geisha beside him and say, "The weather certainly is unusually warm, don't you think?" And the geisha would reply with something like, "Oh, yes, very warm!" Then she'd begin playing a drinking game with him, or try to get all the men singing, and soon the man who'd spoken with her was too drunk to remember he wasn't having as good a time as he'd hoped. For my part, I always considered this a terrible waste. If a man has come to Gion just for the purpose of having a relaxing time, and ends up involved in some childish game such as paper-scissors-stone . . . well, in my view he'd have been better off staying at home and playing with his own children or grandchildren-who, after all, are probably more clever than this poor, dull geisha he was so unfortunate as to sit beside.
Every so often, though, I was privileged to overhear a geisha who really was clever, and Mameha was certainly one of these. I learned a great deal from her conversations. For example, if a man said to her, "Warm weather, don't you think?" she had a dozen replies ready. If he was old and lecherous, she might say to him, "Warm? Perhaps it's just the effect on you of being around so many lovely women!" Or if he was an arrogant young businessman who didn't seem to know his place, she might take him off his guard by saying, "Here you are sitting with a half-dozen of the best geisha in Gion, and all you can think to talk about is the weather." One time when I happened to be watching her, Mameha knelt beside a very young man who couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty; he probably wouldn't have been at a geisha party at all if his father hadn't been the host. Of course, he didn't know what to say or how to behave around geisha, and I'm sure he felt nervous; but he turned to Mameha very bravely and said to her, "Warm, isn't it?" She lowered her voice and answered him like this:
Why, you're certainly right about it being warm. You should have seen me when I stepped out of the bath this morning! Usually when I'm completely naked, I feel so cool and relaxed. But this morning, there were little beads of sweat covering my skin all the way up my body- along my thighs, and on my stomach, and . . . well, other places too.
When that poor boy set his sake cup down on the table, his fingers were trembling. I'm sure he never forgot that geisha party for the rest of his life.
If you ask me why most of these parties were so dull, I think probably there are two reasons. First, just because a young girl has been sold by her family and raised from an early age to be a geisha doesn't mean she'll turn out to be clever, or have anything interesting to say. And second, the same thing goes for the men. Just because a man has made enough money to come to Gion and waste it however he chooses doesn't mean he's fun to be around. In fact, many of the men are accustomed to being treated with a great deal of respect. Sitting back with their hands on their knees and big frowns on their faces is about as much work as they plan to do in the way of being entertaining. One time I listened to Mameha spend an entire hour telling stories to a man who never even looked in her direction, but just watched the others in the room while she talked. Oddly enough, this was just what he wanted, and he always asked for Mameha when he came to town.
After two more years of parties and outings-all the while continuing with my studies and participating in dance performances whenever I could-I made the shift from being an apprentice to being a geisha. This was in the summer of 1938, when I was eighteen years old. We call this change "turning the collar," because an apprentice wears a red collar while a geisha wears a white one. Though if you were to see an apprentice and a geisha side by side, their collars would be the last thing you'd notice. The apprentice, with her elaborate, long-sleeved kimono and dangling obi, would probably make you think of a Japanese doll, whereas the geisha would look simpler, perhaps, but also more womanly.
The day I turned my collar was one of the happiest days of Mother's life; or at least, she acted more pleased than I'd ever seen her. I didn't understand it at the time, but it's perfectly clear to me nowwhat she was thinking. You see, a geisha, unlike an apprentice, is available to a man for more than just pouring his tea, provided the terms are suitable. Because of my connection with Mameha and my popularity in Gion, my standing was such that Mother had plenty of cause for excitement-excitement being, in Mother's case, just another word for money.
Since moving to New York I've learned what the word "geisha" really means to most Westerners. From time to time at elegant parties, I've been introduced to some young woman or other in a splendid dress and jewelry. When she learns I was once a geisha in Kyoto, she forms her mouth into a sort of smile, although the corners don't turn up quite as they should. She has no idea what to say! And then the burden of conversation falls to the man or woman who has introduced us-because I've never really learned much English, even after all these years. Of course, by this time there's little point even in trying, because this woman is thinking, "My goodness ... I'm talking with a prostitute . . ." A moment later she's rescued by her escort, a wealthy man a good thirty or forty years older than she is. Well, I often find myself wondering why she can't sense how much we really have in common. She is a kept woman, you see, and in my day, so was I.
I'm sure there are a great many things I don't know about these young women in their splendid dresses, but I often have the feeling that without their wealthy husbands or boyfriends, many of them would be struggling to get by and might not have the same proud opinions of themselves. And of course the same thing is true for a first-class geisha. It is all very well for a geisha to go from party to party and be popular with a great many men; but a geisha who wishes to become a star is completely dependent on having a danna. Even Mameha, who became famous on her own because of an advertising campaign, would soon have lost her standing and been just another geisha if the Baron hadn't covered the expenses to advance her career.
No more than three weeks after I turned my collar, Mother came to me one day while I was eating a quick lunch in the reception room, and sat across the table a long while puffing on her pipe. I'd been reading a magazine, but I stopped out of politeness-even though Mother didn't seem at first to have much to say to me. After a time she put down her pipe and said, "You shouldn't eat those yellow pickles. They'll rot your teeth. Eook at what they did to mine."
It had never occurred to me that Mother believed her stained teeth had anything to do with eating pickles. When she'd finished giving me a good view of her mouth, she picked up her pipe again and took in a puff of smoke.
Auntie loves yellow pickles, ma'am, I said, "and her teeth are fine."
Who cares if Auntie's teeth are fine? She doesn't make money from having a pretty little mouth. Tell the cook not to give them to you. Anyway, I didn't come here to talk with you about pickles. I came to tell you that this time next month you'll have a danna.
A danna? But, Mother, I'm only eighteen . . .
Hatsumomo didn't have a danna until she was twenty. And of course, that didn't last. . . You ought to be very pleased.
Oh, I am very pleased. But won't it require a lot of my time to keep a danna happy? Mameha thinks I should establish my reputation first, just for a few years.
Mameha! What does she know about business? The next time I want to know when to giggle at a party, I'll go and ask her.
Nowadays young girls, even in Japan, are accustomed to jumping up from the table and shouting at their mothers, but in my day we bowed and said, "Yes, ma'am," and apologized for having been troublesome; and that's exactly how I responded.
Leave the business decisions to me, Mother went on. "Only a fool would pass up an offer like the one Nobu Toshikazu has made."
My heart nearly stopped when I heard this. I suppose it was obvious that Nobu would one day propose himself as my danna. After all, he'd made an offer for my mizuage several years earlier, and since then had certainly asked for my company more frequently than any other man. I can't pretend I hadn't thought of this possibility; but that isn't to say I'd ever believed it was the course my life would really take. On the day I first met Nobu at the sumo tournament, my almanac reading had been, "A balance of good and bad can open the door to destiny." Nearly every day since, I'd thought of it in one way or another. Good and bad . . . well, it was Mameha and Hatsumomo; it was my adoption by Mother and the mizuage that had brought it about; and of course it was the Chairman and Nobu. I don't mean to suggest I disliked Nobu. Quite the opposite. But to become his mistress would have closed off my life from the Chairman forever.
Mother must have noticed something of the shock I felt at hearing her words-or in any case, she wasn't pleased at my reaction. But before she could respond we heard a noise in the hallway outside like someone suppressing a cough, and in a moment Hatsumomo stepped into the open doorway. She was holding a bowl of rice, which was very rude of her-she never should have walked away from the table with it. When she'd swallowed, she let out a laugh.
Mother! she said. "Are you trying to make me choke?" Apparently she'd been listening to our conversation while she ate her lunch. "So the famous Sayuri is going to have Nobu Toshikazu for her danna," she went on. "Isn't that sweet!"
If you've come here to say something useful, then say it, Mother told her.
Yes, I have, Hatsumomo said gravely, and she came and knelt at the table. "Sayuri-san, you may not realize it, but one of the things that goes on between a geisha and her danna can cause the geisha to become pregnant, do you understand? And a man will become very upset if his mistress gives birth to another man's child. In your case, you must be especially careful, because Nobu will know at once, if the child should happen to have two arms like the rest of us, that it can't possibly be his!"
Hatsumomo thought her little joke was very funny.
Perhaps you should cut off one of your arms, Hatsumomo, said Mother, "if it will make you as successful as Nobu Toshikazu has been."
And probably it would help, too, if my face looked like this! she said, smiling, and picked up her rice bowl so we could see what was in it. She was eating rice mixed with red adzuki beans and, in a sickening way, it did look like blistered skin.
As the afternoon progressed I began to feel dizzy, with a strange buzzing in my head, and soon made my way to Mameha's apartment to talk with her. I sat at her table sipping at my chilled barley tea-for we were in the heat of summer-and trying not to let her see how I felt. Reaching the Chairman was the one hope that had motivated me all through my training. If my life would be nothing more than Nobu, and dance recitals, and evening after evening in Gion, I couldn't think why I had struggled so.
Already Mameha had waited a long while to hear why I'd come, but when I set my glass of tea down on the table, I was afraid my voice would crack if I tried to speak. I took a few more moments to compose myself, and then finally swallowed and managed to say, "Mother tells me that within a month it's likely I'll have a danna."
Yes, I know. And the danna will be Nobu Toshikazu.
By this time I was concentrating so hard on holding myself back from crying, I could no longer speak at all.
Nobu-san is a good man, she said, "and very fond of you."
Yes, but, Mameha-san ... I don't know how to say it ... this was never what I imagined!
What do you mean? Nobu-san has always treated you kindly.
But, Mameha-san, I don't want kindness!
Don't you? I thought we all wanted kindness. Perhaps what you mean is that you want something more than kindness. And that is something you're in no position to ask.
Of course, Mameha was quite right. When I heard these words, my tears simply broke through the fragile wall that had held them, and with a terrible feeling of shame, I laid my head upon the table and let them drain out of me. Only when I'd composed myself afterward did Mameha speak.
What did you expect, Sayuri? she asked.
Something besides this!
I understand you may find Nobu difficult to look at, perhaps But-
Mameha-san, it isn't that. Nobu-san is a good man, as you say. It's just that-
It's just that you want your destiny to be like Shizue's. Is that it?
Shizue, though she wasn't an especially popular geisha, was considered by everyone in Gion to be the most fortunate of women. For thirty years she'd been the mistress of- a pharmacist. He wasn't a wealthy man, and she wasn't a beauty; but you could have looked all over Kyoto and not found two people who enjoyed each other's company as they did. As usual, Mameha had come closer to the truth than I wanted to admit.
You're eighteen years old, Sayuri, she went on. "Neither you nor I can know your destiny. You may never know it! Destiny isn't always like a party at the end of the evening. Sometimes it's nothing more than struggling through life from day to day."
But, Mameha-san, how cruel!
Yes, it is cruel, she said. "But none of us can escape destiny."
Please, it isn't a matter of escaping my destiny, or anything of that sort. Nobu-san is a good man, just as you say. I know I should feel nothing but gratitude for his interest, but . . . there are so many things I've dreamed about.
And you're afraid that once Nobu has touched you, after that they can never be? Really, Sayuri, what did you think life as a geisha would be like? We don't become geisha so our lives will be satisfying. We become geisha because we have no other choice.
Oh, Mameha-san . . . please . . . have I really been so foolish to keep my hopes alive that perhaps one day-
Young girls hope all sorts of foolish things, Sayuri. Hopes are like hair ornaments. Girls want to wear too many of them. When they become old women they look silly wearing even one.
I was determined not to lose control of my feelings again. I managed to hold in all my tears except the few that squeezed out of me like sap from a tree.
Mameha-san, I said, "do you have . . . strong feelings for the Baron?"
The Baron has been a good danna to me.
Yes, of course that's true, but do you have feelings for him as a man? I mean, some geisha do have feelings for their danna, don't they?
The Baron's relationship with me is convenient for him, and very beneficial to me. If our dealings were tinged with passion . . . well, passion can quickly slip over into jealousy, or even hatred. I certainly can't afford to have a powerful man upset with me. I've struggled for years to carve out a place for myself in Gion, but if a powerful man makes up his mind to destroy me, well, he'll do it! If you want to be successful, Sayuri, you must be sure that men's feelings remain always under your control. The Baron may be hard to take at times, but he has plenty of money, and he's not afraid to spend it. And he doesn't want children, thank heavens. Nobu will certainly be a challenge for you. He knows his own mind much too well. I won't be surprised if he expects more of you than the Baron has expected of me.
But, Mameha-san, what about your own feelings? I mean, hasn't there ever been a man ...
I wanted to ask if there had ever been a man who brought out feelings of passion in her. But I could see that her irritation with me, if it had been only a bud until then, had burst into full bloom now. She drew herself up with her hands in her lap; I think she was on the point of rebuking me, but I apologized for my rudeness at once, and she settled back again.
You and Nobu have an en, Sayuri, and you can't escape it, she said.
I knew even then that she was right. An en is a karmic bond lasting a lifetime. Nowadays many people seem to believe their lives are entirely a matter of choice; but in my day we viewed ourselves as pieces of clay that forever show the fingerprints of everyone who has touched them. Nobu's touch had made a deeper impression on me than most. No one could tell me whether he would be my ultimate destiny, but I had always sensed the en between us. Somewhere in the landscape of my life Nobu would always be present. But could it really be that of all the lessons I'd learned, the hardest one lay just ahead of me? Would I really have to take each of my hopes and put them away where no one would ever see them again, where not even I would ever see them?
Go back to the okiya, Sayuri, Mameha told me. "Prepare for the evening ahead of you. There's nothing like work for getting over a disappointment."
I looked up at her with the idea of making one last plea, but when I saw the expression on her face, I thought better of it. I can't say what she was thinking; but she seemed to be peering into nothingness with her perfect oval face creased in the corners of her eyes and mouth from strain. And then she let out a heavy breath, and gazed down into her teacup with what I took as a look of bitterness.
A woman living in a grand house may pride herself on all her lovely things; but the moment she hears the crackle of fire she decides very quickly which are the few she values most. In the days after Mameha and I had spoken, I certainly came to feel that my life was burning down around me; and yet when I struggled to find even a single thing that would still matter to me after Nobu had become my danna, I'm sorry to say that I failed. One evening while I was kneeling at a table in the Ichiriki Teahouse, trying not to think too much about my feelings of misery, I had a sudden thought of a child lost in the snowy woods; and when I looked up at the white-haired men I was entertaining, they looked so much like snowcapped trees all around me that I felt for one horrifying moment I might be the sole living human in all the world.
The only parties at which I managed to convince myself that my life might still have some purpose, however small, were the ones attended by military men. Already in 1938, we'd all grown accustomed to daily reports about the war in Manchuria; and we were reminded every day of our troops overseas by things like the so-called Rising Sun Lunch Box-which was a pickled plum in the center of a box of rice, looking like the Japanese flag. For several generations, army and navy officers had come to Gion to relax. But now they began to tell us, with watery eyes after their seventh or eighth cup of sake, that nothing kept their spirits up so much as their visits to Gion. Probably this was the sort of thing military officers say to the women they talk with. But the idea that I-who was nothing more than a young girl from the seashore-might truly be contributing something important to the nation ... I won't pretend these parties did anything to lessen my suf-fering; but they did help remind me just how selfish my suffering really was.
A few weeks passed, and then one evening in a hallway at the Ichiriki, Mameha suggested the time had come to collect on her bet with Mother. I'm sure you'll recall that the two of them had wagered about whether my debts would be repaid before I was twenty. As it turned out, of course, they'd been repaid already though I was only eighteen. "Now that you've turned your collar," Mameha said to me, "I can't see any reason to wait longer."
This is what she said, but I think the truth was more complicated. Mameha knew that Mother hated settling debts, and would hate settling them still more when the stakes went higher. My earnings would go up considerably after I took a danna; Mother was certain to grow only more protective of the income. I'm sure Mameha thought it best to collect what she was owed as soon as possible, and worry about future earnings in the future.
Several days afterward, I was summoned downstairs to the reception room of our okiya to find Mameha and Mother across the table from each other, chatting about the summer weather. Beside Mameha was a gray-haired woman named Mrs. Okada, whom I'd met a number of times. She was mistress of the okiya where Mameha had once lived, and she still took care of Mameha's accounting in exchange for a portion of the income. I'd never seen her look more serious, peering down at the table with no interest in the conversation at all.
There you are! Mother said to me. "Your older sister has kindly come to visit, and has brought Mrs. Okada with her. You certainly owe them the courtesy of joining us."
Mrs. Okada spoke up, with her eyes still on the tabletop. "Mrs. Nitta, as Mameha may have mentioned on the telephone, this is more a business call than a social call. There's no need for Sayuri to join us. I'm sure she has other things to do."
I won't have her showing disrespect to the two of you, Mother replied. "She'll join us at the table for the few minutes you're here."
So I arranged myself beside Mother, and the maid came in to serve tea. Afterward Mameha said, "You must be very proud, Mrs. Nitta, of how well your daughter is doing. Her fortunes have surpassed expectations! Wouldn't you agree?"
Well now, what do I know about your expectations, Mameha-san? said Mother. After this she clenched her teeth and gave one of her peculiar laughs, looking from one of us to the other to be sure we
appreciated her cleverness. No one laughed with her, and Mrs. Okada just adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. Finally Mother added, "As for my own expectations, I certainly wouldn't say Sayuri has surpassed them."
When we first discussed her prospects a number of years ago, Mameha said, "I had the impression you didn't think much of her. You were reluctant even to have me take on her training."
I wasn't sure it was wise to put Sayuri's future in the hands of someone outside the okiya, if you'll forgive me, said Mother. "We do have our Hatsumomo, you know."
Oh, come now, Mrs. Nitta! Mameha said with a laugh. "Hatsumomo would have strangled the poor girl before she'd have trained her!"
I admit Hatsumomo can be difficult. But when you spot a girl like Sayuri with something a little different, you have to be sure to make the right decisions at the right times-such as the arrangement you and I made, Mameha-san. I expect you've come here today to settle our account?
Mrs. Okada has been kind enough to write up the figures, Mameha replied. "I'd be grateful if you would have a look at them."
Mrs. Okada straightened her glasses and took an accounting book from a bag at her knee. Mameha-and I sat in silence while she opened it on the table and explained her columns of figures to Mother. "These figures for Sayuri's earnings over the past year," Mother interrupted. "My goodness, I only wish we'd been so fortunate as you seem to think! They're higher even than the total earnings for our okiya."
Yes, the numbers are most impressive, Mrs. Okada said, "but I do believe they are accurate. I've kept careful track through the records of the Gion Registry Office."
Mother clenched her teeth and laughed at this, I suppose because she was embarrassed at having been caught in her lie. "Perhaps I haven't watched the accounts as carefully as I should have," she said. After ten or fifteen minutes the two women agreed on a figure representing how much I'd earned since my debut. Mrs. Okada took a small abacus from her bag and made a few calculations, writing down numbers on a blank page of the account book. At last she wrote down a final figure and underscored it. "Here, then, is the amount Mameha-san is entitled to receive."
Considering how helpful she has been to our Sayuri, Mother said, "I'm sure Mameha-san deserves even more. Unfortunately, according to our arrangements, Mameha agreed to take half of what a geisha in her position might usually take, until after Sayuri had repaid her debts. Now that the debts are repaid, Mameha is of course entitled to the other half, so that she will have earned the full amount."
My understanding is that Mameha did agree to take half wages, Mrs. Okada said, "but was ultimately to be paid double. This is why she agreed to take a risk. If Sayuri had failed to repay her debts, Mameha would have received nothing more than half wages. But Sayuri has succeeded, and Mameha is entitled to double."
Really, Mrs. Okada, can you imagine me agreeing to such terms? Mother said. "Everyone in Gion knows how careful I am with money. It's certainly true that Mameha has been helpful to our Sayuri. I can't possibly pay double, but I'd like to propose offering an additional ten percent. If I may say so, it seems generous, considering that our okiya is hardly in a position to throw money around carelessly."
The word of a woman in Mother's position should have been assurance enough-and with any woman but Mother, it certainly would have been. But now that she'd made up her mind to lie ... well, we all sat in silence a long moment. Finally Mrs. Okada said, "Mrs. Nitta, I do find myself in a difficult position. I remember quite clearly what Mameha told me."
Of course you do, Mother said. "Mameha has her memory of the conversation, and I have mine. What we need is a third party, and happily, we have one here with us. Sayuri may only have been a girl at the time, but she has quite a head for numbers."
I'm sure her memory is excellent, Mrs. Okada remarked. "But one can hardly say she has no personal interest. After all, she is the daughter of the okiya."
Yes, she is, said Mameha; and this was the first time she'd spoken up in quite a while. "But she's also an honest girl. I'm prepared to accept her answer, provided that Mrs. Nitta will accept it too."
Of course I will, Mother said, and put down her pipe. "Now then, Sayuri, which is it?"
If I'd been given a choice between sliding off the roof to break my arm again just the way I did as a child, or sitting in that room until I came up with an answer to the question they were asking me, I certainly would have marched right up the stairs and climbed the ladder onto the roof. Of all the women in Gion, Mameha and Mother were the two most influential in my life, and it was clear to me I was going to make one of them angry. I had no doubt in my mind of the truth; but on the other hand, I had to go on living in the okiya with Mother. Of course, Mameha had done more for me than anyone in Gion. I could hardly take Mother's side against her.
Well? Mother said to me.
As I recall, Mameha did accept half wages. But you agreed to pay her double earnings in the end, Mother. I'm sorry, but this is the way I remember it.
There was a pause, and then Mother said, "Well, I'm not as young as I used to be. It isn't the first time my memory has misled me."
We all have these sorts of problems from time to time, Mrs. Okada replied. "Now, Mrs. Nitta, what was this about offering Mameha an additional ten percent? I assume you meant ten percent over the double you originally agreed to pay her."
If only I were in a position to do such a thing, Mother said.
But you offered it only a moment ago. Surely you haven't changed your mind so quickly?
Mrs. Okada wasn't gazing at the tabletop any longer, but was staring directly at Mother. After a long moment she said, "I suppose we'll let it be. In any case, we've done enough for one day. Why don't we meet another time to work out the final figure?"
Mother wore a stern expression on her face, but she gave a little bow of assent and thanked the two of them for coming.
I'm sure you must be very pleased, Mrs. Okada said, while putting away her abacus and her accounting book, "that Sayuri will soon be taking a danna. And at only eighteen years of age! How young to take such a big step."
Mameha would have done well to take a danna at that age herself, Mother replied.
Eighteen is a bit young for most girls, Mameha said, "but I'm certain Mrs. Nitta has made the right decision in Sayuri's case."
Mother puffed on her pipe a moment, peering at Mameha across the table. "My advice to you, Mameha-san," she said, "is that you stick to teaching Sayuri about that pretty way of rolling her eyes. When it comes to business decisions, you may leave them to me."
I would never presume to discuss business with you, Mrs. Nitta. I'm convinced your decision is for the best. . . But may I ask? Is it true the most generous offer has come from Nobu Toshikazu?
His has been the only offer. I suppose that makes it the most generous.
The only offer? What a pity . . . The arrangements are so much more favorable when several men compete. Don't you find it so?
As I say, Mameha-san, you can leave the business decisions to me. I have in mind a very simple plan for arranging favorable terms with Nobu Toshikazu.
If you don't mind, Mameha said, "I'd be very eager to hear it."
Mother put her pipe down on the table. I thought she was going to reprimand Mameha, but in fact she said, "Yes, I'd like to tell it to you, now that you mention it. You may be able to help me. I've been thinking that Nobu Toshikazu will be more generous if he finds out an Iwamura Electric heater killed our Granny. Don't you think so?"
Oh, I know very little about business, Mrs. Nitta.
Perhaps you or Sayuri should let it slip in conversation the next time you see him. Let him know what a terrible blow it was. I think he'll want to make it up to us.
Yes, I'm sure that's a good idea, Mameha said. "Still, it's disappointing ... I had the impression another man had expressed interest in Sayuri."
A hundred yen is a hundred yen, whether it comes from this man or that one.
That would be true in most cases, Mameha said. "But the man I'm thinking of is General Tottori Junnosuke . . ."
At this point in the conversation, I lost track of what the two of them were saying; for I'd begun to realize that Mameha was making an effort to rescue me from Nobu. I certainly hadn't expected such a thing. I had no idea whether she'd changed her mind about helping me, or whether she was thanking me for taking her side against Mother . . . Of course, it was possible she wasn't really trying to help me at all, but had some other purpose. My mind went on racing with these thoughts, until I felt Mother tapping my arm with the stem of her pipe.
Well? she said.
Ma'am?
I asked if you know the General.
I've met him a few times, Mother, I said. "He comes to Gion often."
I don't know why I gave this response. The truth is, I'd met the General more than a few times. He came to parties in Gion every week, though always as the guest of someone else. He was a bit on the small side-shorter than I was, in fact. But he wasn't the sort of person you could overlook, any more than you could overlook a machine gun. He moved very briskly and was always puffing on one cigarette after another, so that wisps of smoke drifted in the air around him like the clouds around a train idling on the tracks. One evening while slightly drunk, the General had talked to me for the longest time about all the various ranks in the army and found it very funny that I kept mixing them up. General Tottori's own rank was sho-jo, which meant "little general"-that is to say, the lowest of the generals-and foolish girl that I was, I had the impression this wasn't very high. He may have played down the importance of his rank from modesty, and I didn't know any better than to believe him.
By now Mameha was telling Mother that the General had just taken a new position. He'd been put in charge of something called "military procurement"-though as Mameha went on to explain it, the job sounded like nothing more than a housewife going to the market. If the army had a shortage of ink pads, for example, the General's job was to make sure it got the ink pads it needed, and at a very favorable price.
With his new job, said Mameha, "the General is now in a position to take a mistress for the first time. And I'm quite sure he has expressed an interest in Sayuri."
Why should it matter to me if he's expressed an interest in Sayuri? Mother said. "These military men never take care of a geisha the way a businessman or an aristocrat does."
That may be true, Mrs. Nitta. But I think you'll find that General Tottori's new position could be of great help to the okiya.
Nonsense! I don't need help taking care of the okiya. All I need is steady, generous income, and that's the one thing a military man can't give me.
Those of us in Gion have been fortunate so far, Mameha said. "But shortages will affect us, if the war continues."
I'm sure they would, if the war continued, Mother said. "This war will be over in six months."
And when it is, the military will be in a stronger position than ever before. Mrs. Nitta, please don't forget that General Tottori is the man who oversees all the resources of the military. No one in Japan is in a better position to provide you with everything you could want, whether the war continues or not. He approves every item passing through all the ports in Japan.
As I later learned, what Mameha had said about General Tottori wasn't quite true. He was in charge of only one of five large administrative areas. But he was senior to the men who oversaw the other districts, so he may as well have been in charge. In any case, you should have seen how Mother behaved after Mameha had said this. You could almost see her mind at work as she thought about having the help of a man in General Tottori's position. She glanced at the teapot, and I could just imagine her thinking, "Well, I haven't had any trouble getting tea; not yet. . . though the price has gone up . . ." And then probably without even realizing what she was doing, she put one handinside her obi and squeezed her silk bag of tobacco as if to see how much remained.
Mother spent the next week going around Gion and making one phone call after another to learn as much as she could about General Tottori. She was so immersed in this task that sometimes when I spoke to her, she didn't seem to hear me. I think she was so busy with her thoughts, her mind was like a train pulling too many cars.
During this period I continued seeing Nobu whenever he came to Gion, and did my best to act as though nothing had changed. Probably he'd expected I would be his mistress by the middle of July. Certainly I'd expected it; but even when the month came to a close, his negotiations seemed to have led nowhere. Several times during the following weeks I noticed him looking at me with puzzlement. And then one night he greeted the mistress of the Ichiriki Teahouse in the cur-test manner I'd ever seen, by strolling past without so much as a nod. The mistress had always valued Nobu as a customer, and gave me a look that seemed surprised and worried all at once. When I joined the party Nobu was giving, I couldn't help noticing signs of anger-a rippling muscle in his jaw, and a certain briskness with which he tossed sake into his mouth. I can't say I blamed him for feeling as he did. I thought he must consider me heartless, to have repaid his many kindnesses with neglect. I fell into a gloomy spell thinking these thoughts, until the sound of a sake cup set down with a tick startled me out of it. When I looked up, Nobu was watching me. Guests all around him were laughing and enjoying themselves, and there he sat with his eyes fixed on me, as lost in his thoughts as I had been in mine. We were like two wet spots in the midst of burning charcoal.