Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

 

Before the girls went out onto the street to attract customers as they had done every day before, they were called to a meeting in the tea house.

Passing through a curtained doorway, Misao arrived at a wide, open yard full of servants. Kazushi was beside him, fighting back a yawn every few minutes. Sometimes Misao caught the yawn, too.

Various girls stood on the wooden floor above the yard, some leaning against pillars fresh from their baths and dressed in robes, all looking disheveled. The director had smacked their bottoms many times and yelled at them to straighten up, but none of the girls wanted to stand straight and tall at an hour like this.

“I know some of you girls were working all night. So thank you, girls, for your dedication.”

A woman sitting next to the owner challenged the director in a clear, authoritative voice. She was fresh-faced and looked to be in her early thirties. Her hair was done up in a Western style, but she wore a staid kimono of gradated violet and an obi with a bamboo motif. But the thing that really made her stand out was that her face was as flamboyant as a Western rose.

The owner appeared to have been in a good mood for some time. He cleared his throat to draw everyone’s attention.

“As you all know, the lady of Oumi Tea House has been absent.”

The owner’s slack jaw tightened slightly as he addressed everyone.

The owner’s wife had borne the burden of managing the tea house’s affairs, but lately she was confined to her bed and had been away from the pleasure quarters. He seemed to be leading up to the announcement that the person who had replaced her was the woman with the commanding presence who sat beside him now.

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed already, but this is Miss Gikuyo, who’ll be coming to stay with us for a while to help around the house.”

The owner’s face filled with joy as he introduced the woman. In contrast, Gikuyo didn’t even smirk.

“Hello everybody,” she said briefly, as she stared down at the assembled faces.

Misao’s eyes locked with hers, and in that moment he decided that it was better to avoid approaching this strong-willed woman. He had no choice but to give a polite smile. Gikuyo, on the other hand, seemed to be sizing Misao up from head to foot. She thrust her pointed chin out and veritably snorted. It was clearly a derisive laugh.

Misao’s anger flared.

“That old hag,” he whispered poisonously.

Kazushi’s shoulders trembled in amusement beside him, but when Misao glared at him out of the corner of his eye, he gazed innocently up at the sky.

 

 

The tinkle of a bell was their signal, and the girls who were going into the street checked their shoes.

That sound was the signal to let the public in the streets know that the workday had begun in the tea house.

Those girls who didn’t yet have any appointments that night streamed onto the porch that they called their office, and sat down all lined up in a row. The office was open to the street, separated by a lattice. The girls sat and took elegant poses to be silhouetted against the lattice by the large lanterns behind them.

On the other hand, those girls who had had their customers arranged by the introductory tea house each left the brothel to go meet their respective clients. This travel was called being “on the road.”

“Misao! Misao!”

The owner called out to Misao urgently just as he was heading up to the second floor.

“Yes?”

Misao had gone halfway up the stairs and lazily came back down. It seemed the owner couldn’t wait for such a leisurely pace to bring Misao to him, so he ran up and grabbed Misao’s arm.

“Mister Sakai is coming back!” he declared joyously, as he pulled Misao into the yard.

“But hasn’t he retired?”

Misao’s voice was slightly brighter as he asked this.

Sakai was the customer who had been so nice to Misao when he was younger, an authority in forensic medicine. Now that he had reached his sixtieth year, he had left the field of medicine and was leading a leisurely life of retirement. For several years, Sakai had consistently been Oumi Tea House’s best customer. But he’d been having back trouble for the last few months and hadn’t been by for some time. If this long-standing customer of such great influence was making his return, it was understandable that the owner was dancing for joy.

“I sent Ukigumo out to meet him, and you’re going to meet him out in front of the display girls. Got it?”

The owner climbed down from the platform and disappeared into the curtained doorway. Misao waited at the entrance as he had been instructed, until he saw the director bearing a lantern with the name of the tea house and leading a line of people. Behind her, leaning on a cane, was Sakai. He wore a bowler hat, a short-sleeved kimono with loose pants, and two layers of jackets. Behind him came more girls, carrying lanterns with the letter “U” inside a circle, then came Ukigumo in her best regalia, surrounded by her maids and apprentices.

When the head of the line reached the front of the tea house, Misao bowed and held the curtains aside for the guest.

“It’s wonderful to see you again.”

He greeted Sakai as he approached, then lowered his eyes.

Sakai stopped in the doorway and peered at Misao, with a white beard like a mountain goat.

“I bet you thought I dropped dead, eh? I’m not that old yet!”

His eyes arched happily.

Misao was glad to see that the old man was still as cheerful as ever.

“I’ll be there to stand at your wake,” he answered with a charming, playful smile.

Sakai’s gruff voice was raised in laughter and he went into the yard. Ukigumo floated after him and her maid Sazu scurried along in the rear.

“Come along.”

The new manager Gikuyo greeted Sakai in the yard and took his cane.

“My, my.”

Sakai scrutinized Gikuyo’s face, then blinked blearily.

“Here’s another face I haven’t seen in a while.”

“I’ve just begun working as the manager for Oumi Tea House today. My name is Gikuyo. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

She bowed and Sakai nodded to her, then tottered onto the platform, wheezing with the effort.

“Sir, sir—is everything all right?”

Sazu ran up beside Sakai and tilted her head at him. Sakai found that amusing and just laughed and patted her on the head. Sazu was happy to be petted like this, and grinned toothily at him.

Misao watched their exchange out of the corner of his eye as he affixed pieces of string to the customers’ possessions in the coatroom. When Sakai and Sazu joined hands to frolic, he saw his younger self in the same scene.

It had been more than ten years since their first meeting, but Sakai hadn’t changed at all. Whenever Misao saw him, he was a completely carefree old man, like an inscrutable cloud floating in the sky, enjoying every day of his life.

“Come here, Misao.”

Sakai beckoned Misao over as he began climbing the stairs. He wanted Misao to come to the tea room with him.

Misao glanced over at Gikuyo for her approval.

“Mister Sakai is asking for you,” she said and nodded, and Misao climbed up to the room with Ukigumo.

Where the old gentleman was, there was always singing and drinking, and a general commotion.

Besides Ukigumo, to whom he was engaged for the night, girls streamed in and out all night to entertain him. When someone mentioned that they wanted some noodles, someone else suggested ordering sushi, and the servants delivered enough for ten people. One of the servants called Ukigumo away in the midst of all this and she withdrew with her maid. But Sakai didn’t let such a little thing upset him and the celebration showed no signs of dying down.

When Ukigumo came back to the room, they had already emptied several bottles of wine.

“I see you’re busy as usual!” Sakai teased Ukigumo as she sat down beside him.

The Oumi Tea House was unique in the western pleasure quarters because its courtesans traveled. That meant that they visited as many different rooms in one night as the lower-ranking girls.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” Ukigumo laughed, her eyes cast modestly down. She reached out casually with one hand and Misao handed her a bottle of wine, reading her wishes. Their fingers brushed briefly, her delicate fingers like slender white fish dancing around the bottle.

Of all the girls at the Oumi Tea House, Ukigumo was the only one Misao would say had inner beauty. No matter how unmatched the physical beauty, if the girls couldn’t hide the storms in their hearts the influence of such ghastly emotions would show on their faces. Women in the pleasure quarters were, each and every one, slowly corrupted by this festering environment. Some couldn’t bear the strain and left reality behind; many of those who overcame adversity were warped forever after.

But Ukigumo was just as she had been the day she was sold to the brothel: a core of beauty ran through her. At first glance she seemed like a supple spring flower in bloom. But she had a hardiness inside her. She was beautiful, inside and out.

Out of the corner of his eye, Misao watched Ukigumo gracefully serve Sakai another cup of wine, and he thought of Masaomi. In fact, Masaomi was never far from Misao’s thoughts, always clamoring for his attention, but Misao tried hard not to think about him.

There were many things in Misao’s heart that he could not confront directly. Among those things were his despair and his hopes. Anything that might upset the delicate balance inside him, he shut away behind a poorly-fitted door. It was only when he’d discovered that technique as a child that Misao had been able to stop crying.

“Hey, is that Kazushi? You’ve grown up!”

Sakai looked surprised and Misao turned to look.

Kazushi was kneeling in the hallway just outside the tea room, his hands resting on his thighs as he bowed to Sakai.

Sakai picked up a new cup of wine and held it up to Kazushi, waving it up and down.

“I shouldn’t.”

Kazushi inched into the room and sat across from Sakai. He accepted the cup with both hands and let Sakai serve him, then drained the contents in one shot and set the cup down again. He jerked his chin, asking for another. He glanced at Misao, then turned back to look at Sakai.

“I came to borrow Misao, actually.”

“That kid Katsuragi, is it?” the old gentleman asked with a knowing grin, but Kazushi denied it, laughing.

“Nope. Guess again.”

Who could it be? Misao searched his memory for several moments, but quickly cut off his conjecturing. The experience would be the same no matter who it was, so there was no point in speculating.

“You’ve become pretty popular,” Sakai teased Misao, but then his eyes went wide. “Oh, oh, oh! Wait a minute, I forgot. It must be my age—I forget everything lately. Here, here. I wanted to give you this.”

Sakai pulled a folded fan from his jacket pocket.

Kazushi moved politely to one side so that Misao could sit down across from Sakai.

He accepted the fan that Sakai offered him. He pulled it open, revealing a pure white field with a watermarked painting of cherry blossoms. It was elegant and of magnificent quality.

Sakai raised both his index fingers and drew twirling circles on either side of his merry face.

Following his wishes, Misao fluttered the fan elegantly by his face as he sat, sliding his index finger across each slat of wood in the frame every time he flicked his wrist, spinning the fan in a circle. Finally, he tossed the fan up and caught it in three fingers, all the while watching Sakai’s smiling face.

Sakai grinned toothily and clapped appreciatively.

“Beautiful.”

“Thank you. And thank you for this.”

Misao gave Sakai a quick bow, then stood up. Kazushi apologized for interrupting as well, then led Misao into the hallway. As Misao left the room, Sakai called out to him kindly. “I hope you come back.”

Out in the hall now, Misao bowed once more to Sakai.

Misao felt like his heart had been dashed with cold water, but he held his feelings in check and hurried over to fall in behind Kazushi, who stood slightly apart from him in the hall.

“Who is it?” Misao asked without pretext.

Kazushi drew so close he tilted his head.

“The Towa boy.”

When Misao heard the name whispered at his ear, he lost all sense of reality.

“What—?”

By the time Misao had collected himself enough to respond, Kazushi was already at the end of the hall.

“He’s in the Holly Room. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Kazushi turned back and summed the situation up simply, then headed down another hallway. Misao hurried after him.

“Hold on—”

He grabbed Kazushi’s arm and pulled him back.

Kazushi arched an eyebrow and looked at Misao. He had a strange look on his face. No, maybe Misao was the one acting strangely. Thrills were running through his entire body and he couldn’t stand still.

“But why me? If he wanted Ukigumo, she had two of her apprentices there with Mister Sakai, too. Don’t we usually make one of them fill in?”

“Well, that’s true.”

Kazushi scratched behind an ear, looking like he was at a total loss. He clearly didn’t want to be involved.

“I wish the guys would just say if they didn’t want an apprentice.”

Misao’s riotous senses calmed for an instant, and he gave a clumsy smile and a quick sigh. “He’s probably going to end up saying that, anyway. ‘Oh, no, I only wanted Ukigumo.’ I’m not even a girl,” he argued sulkily. He felt something nagging at him unpleasantly.

“Maybe so, but he’s a customer. You can’t just ignore him.”

Kazushi’s lips twisted into a rueful smile and he snorted.

“I thought you’d be happy, your dream is coming true.”

“Didn’t I tell you, it wasn’t like that?” Misao snapped in annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Kazushi patted Misao on the shoulder, almost reassuringly.

“Well, anyway, he’s all yours now.”

 

 

 

When they stopped in front of a tea room, its sliding doors firmly shut, they heard the sound of a zither coming from inside. It was truly accomplished playing.

Misao took a breath, then knelt beside the door.

“Sir?” he called, as he pulled the door open.

The delicate melody stopped.

Sitting behind the zither, his back straight and head tilted to one side, dressed to the nines, the man quietly turned his face to Misao. Misao looked into his eyes and caught sight of something unusual within them.

He was alone in the room. No geishas had been called. Misao guessed that he didn’t want many people around him.

Misao folded his hands in front of him and bowed, then moved to sit, not across from Masaomi, but a slight distance from the butterfly-leg table in the room.

He didn’t want to be a nuisance.

“I came to offer you some wine, but if I’m interrupting, I can leave.”

Masaomi shook his head gently. “No, it’s fine.”

He pulled the picks off of his fingertips and turned to face Misao, the little table between them. Misao relaxed and drew closer as well.

“Thank you for your help this morning.”

Masaomi thanked him, his face mild, in place of a greeting. Misao inclined his head ambiguously and held up a wine bottle. Masaomi raised his cup without objection.

“Did you get a chance to speak with Ukigumo?” Misao asked, his question weighty with implication as he tilted the wine bottle over Masaomi’s cup.

He was sure that when Ukigumo had left Sakai’s room earlier, it had been to come here.

“Well...”

Misao saw Masaomi smirk at his own evasiveness and he withdrew the wine bottle curiously.

“She was as tight-lipped as a clam, just like last night.”

“What?”

Misao’s voice slipped out at this unexpected information.

This was Masaomi’s second visit to the brothel. His second meeting with the courtesan. No matter how prideful the girl, she always spoke to a customer on his second visit to her.

“She was playing that zither there so that she wouldn’t have to talk, and she was kind enough to let me borrow it.”

Masaomi gazed at the zither anxiously, then turned his face back to Misao.

“I think she must hate me.”

His sorrowful smile stabbed into Misao’s heart.

“I can’t believe that,” he whispered.

It was exceedingly rare for a courtesan to brush off a customer. And what could she have possibly found to object to in Masaomi?

If it were me, Misao thought, then cut that train of thought off at once.

“Misao?”

The sound of his name flustered Misao more than it should have.

He was afraid he might drop the wine bottle, so he set it back on the table.

“Yes?”

He collected himself and tried to answer calmly, but he didn’t think he managed it very well.

“What sort of work do you do here?”

Misao was at a loss as to how to answer this question and searched for his words.

“Well... I do lots of things.”

“Such as?”

Cleaning the building, delivering trays to rooms, talking with the customers, lighting lamps: none of these things merited discussion. And the fact that he flirted with the customers to earn money was out of the question.

Misao looked down at the zither.

There was only one thing he did that he could be proud of with no qualifications.

And maybe it would cheer Masaomi up.

Misao drew Sakai’s gift from his sleeve and rested it on his knees. Once he was sure Masaomi had seen the fan, he said, “Would you play something for me?”

Masaomi glanced briefly at Misao’s composed features as he made this request, and after a languid pause he agreed. “Certainly.”

Masaomi stood and returned to the zither. He drew himself up beautifully and looked to Misao for his signal.

“What would you like?”

Misao’s mind went suddenly blank. His eyes dropped to the fan as he considered. He remembered the painting on the fan’s folded paper.

He looked up at Masaomi.

“Sakura, Sakura, please.”

Masaomi nodded and Misao rose to his feet, holding the fan.

Internalizing the plucking strings, he drew his feet together femininely and loosened his knees to take the beginning pose.

The beautiful strains of the song began.

He rested his left hand over his right and pulled open the fan, the right hand pulling it forward three slats and the left pulling it back five.

Each time a string reverberated, Misao imagined a single pink petal dancing through the air.

Gesturing with his left hand, he held the fan flat and lifted it as he twisted his legs, sliding them over the floor to turn around.

His mind was utterly silent.

Ever since childhood, dance was the only art of all those Misao had studied that he hadn’t hated.

It let him escape.

Like mist, or a cloud—he twirled the fan and slipped about the floor. Suddenly the sound of the zither stopped. But they had been approaching the final verse, so Misao simply continued dancing in the silence. He held the fan flat, then he flipped it over and danced low to the ground. He stretched the fan out, then brought it to the side of his face. He touched his right knee to the floor and held the pose, shaking his head three times to end the dance.

Silence reigned for several beats until it was broken by modest applause. Casting his eyes to Masaomi, Misao’s gaze asked him wordlessly why he had stopped playing.

Masaomi answered earnestly. “I realized that I couldn’t properly appreciate your dance if I was playing.”

Misao’s eyelashes fluttered twice, struck speechless by his serious answer. Then he whispered, “It was nothing, really.”

He laid three fingers over his heart and bowed. Masaomi returned the gesture.

“I feel better now. Thank you. You’ve been very kind to me.”

He looked at Misao with a tender smile.

“You’re a wonderful person.”

Misao felt a sharp pain, as if tiny threads were tightening around his heart.

His brow wrinkled and he shook his head. He rushed with mincing steps to Masaomi’s side and drew out the thing that he had kept tucked inside his kimono. He knelt on the tatami floor and swept up one of Masaomi’s hands in both of his own as Masaomi stared at him in shock.

He never said a word. He only stared at Misao. And Misao stared up at him. He felt there had never been a moment this serious in all his life.

“All I wanted was the handkerchief.”

Misao slowly, tenderly pulled his hands away from Masaomi’s.

“I did that because I wanted to,” he said quietly.

Masaomi’s gaze rested on Misao’s face, then slid to the door.

“Welcome back,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing with a smile as Ukigumo came in, Sazu in tow. Her face held none of its usual mildness; it was harsh as she looked back and forth from the money in Masaomi’s hand to Misao’s face. Sazu looked up at Ukigumo, frightened by this change in her older sister’s usual behavior.

“Omi—”

Ukigumo called to him, her hard voice almost scolding, and she took a step into the room.

Masaomi seemed taken aback for a moment to hear Ukigumo speak to him, but he quickly regained his calm and smiled at her.

Misao’s breath was arrested, as if he’d taken a blow to the chest.

Ukigumo sat coquettishly next to Masaomi.

There was no way she was brushing him off.

Seeing the two of them beside each other, Misao realized what the near future held.

Ukigumo glanced meaningfully at Misao, obviously wanting a word with him. Misao bowed his head and left the room. He heard Masaomi call out to him quietly, but Misao could never have turned to look back.

Don’t think about it,he warned himself.Don’t brood over it.

Over what?

There was no way he would find an answer when his heart was so deeply entangled.

The only thing he knew for certain was that Masaomi had contracted Ukigumo.

That’s what a man like him would do.

And the fact that Masaomi had been captivated by Ukigumo was as natural as snow melting in running water.

They were beautiful together. Misao recognized how perfect it all was. But then why was his heart still so muddled?

 

 

 

There was a shooting pain in the middle finger of his right hand.

Misao had been daydreaming while he was heating some wine, and he had burned his hand. It didn’t blister, but the piercing pain would not go away.

Misao gazed up at the bulbous moon as it floated in the night sky, wondering what he had been thinking. In the distance he heard the sound of wooden clappers.

He let out a short sigh and left the railing. As he turned to walk down the hall, a breeze from the garden gusted through his long hair, throwing it into disarray.

He frowned and pushed his troublesome hair behind his ears. He didn’t have anything to tie it back, so he held it with one hand.

He went down the enclosed hallway to the stairs.

His feet stopped in almost exactly the same spot as the night before.

He blinked slowly.

Masaomi was leaning against the railing, all alone, dressed in a light robe.

He had red thread laced between his fingers; he was making shapes. Ukigumo or Sazu must have left it with him. He seemed uninterested in his moving fingers, apparently thinking about something else. But he had noticed Misao’s approach and slowly turned his head.

He slipped one hand free of the thread, and it danced fitfully in the breeze.

The red thread threatened to fly away, and Misao caught it against the railing. He had to lean forward to catch it.

His bundled hair flew back in the breeze.

He went up on his tiptoes, then fell back onto his heels and let out a breath.

He held the thread out to Masaomi and looked up at him. He saw in his face that Masaomi had been waiting for him, and his heart trembled.

“I thought if I waited here, I might see you again.”

“What?”

Misao’s face was full of confusion, and Masaomi flicked his eyes away.

Misao felt uncomfortable. Had Masaomi ever been the one to look away from him before? It felt unnatural.

A sense of unknown dread cast its shadow over his heart.

“Would you come with me for a while?”

Misao hesitated at Masaomi’s invitation, which sounded slightly tense, but he had no way to refuse. So he nodded.

He followed Masaomi away from the railing and into his room.

“Is something the matter?” Misao asked the man’s wide back as they passed through the door.

Masaomi seemed in no hurry to begin talking. He didn’t even look at Misao or sit down, so Misao could do nothing but stand as well, silent.

He felt awkward, and when he lowered his eyes his hair brushed over his ears. He immediately let out a small sound of annoyance and pulled his hand away from his hair. His hair had touched the burn on his finger.

Masaomi turned around and looked at him. His eyebrows knitted in concern and he turned to face Misao.

“What happened to your hand?”

Masaomi took Misao’s hand, startling him.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Misao tried to pull his hand away, but Masaomi held fast. “Let me see it.”

Masaomi laid a hand on Misao’s shoulder and drew him over to sit beside a lantern.

He inspected Misao’s hand in the light.

“Oh, I see it. It’s all red.”

“It’s just a little burn.”

Misao’s hand still rested in Masaomi’s.

“I want you to take care of yourself,” Masaomi whispered, as he looked at the burn on Misao’s finger.

Misao tried to laugh the comment off as overprotective, but faced with Masaomi’s serious face raised solemnly to his own, he couldn’t say anything.

“I think I may have offended you,” Masaomi began, by way of preface. “Ukigumo told me about your situation.”

Instantly, Misao’s cheeks drew taut and he slipped his hand free of Masaomi’s hold.

The tip of his middle finger pulsed with pain, just like his heart.

“Would you mind if I asked you about it?”

Masaomi’s face was almost frighteningly earnest.

“What sort of work do you do here?”

“Do you want to hear me say that I sell my body to men?” Misao asked contemptuously. Masaomi did not deny it.

Misao was the lovechild of the most popular courtesan at the time and her lover. As soon as Misao’s father had found out the girl was pregnant, he’d headed for the hills.

After that, she talked about retiring from the business and left little Misao at Oumi Tea House. He had no memory of her. Born and raised in the brothel, Misao had no relatives and he had no choice but to serve the tea house. The child of a beautiful courtesan and her lover, who had been widely rumored to be a playboy, Misao was a beautiful child, for better or worse. When he’d begun serving as a maid, the owner had become partial to him. He was taught everything from literature to the arts of the tea house, and all the expenses rested on Misao’s back, to be paid off by work in the brothel. Before he realized it, Misao was buried in debt, bound to Oumi Tea House, no different from the girls who had been sold into service there.

He wanted to be free.

And the only way he could do that was to pay off his debt to the owner.

He flirted with the customers to earn money.

Sometimes he was contracted more than the prostitutes. He knew that the girls resented him for being more successful even though he was a man. But the trick that Misao had used all this time was to give his full attention to the customer, so they would come again and again. And he had never once crossed the line.

“You’ve been very kind to me,” Masaomi said without hesitation. “I want you to tell me how much you need to leave this place.”

Misao’s mouth fell open slightly and his eyes widened.

His head shook minutely, all on its own.

He was shocked himself at how afraid he was of burdening this man or causing him any trouble.

“Or is this just more of my arrogance, wanting to pay you back somehow?”

Misao gazed at Masaomi’s pure face, at the heart that had thought so fervently of him.

“You gave me your handkerchief,” he countered, dazed, and Masaomi’s eyes fell. He was hurt.

Why is he upset?

All at once, he thought of something. His head hung down, which made it difficult to speak, but the desire bubbled out of his heart and past his lips.

“Actually, there is something...”

He lifted his head.

“Can you take me outside the gate?”

It wasn’t an outlandish request and Misao need not have hesitated. Masaomi’s face showed not the slightest distress.

That was the most he had done to help Misao all evening.

“All I want is one afternoon.”

His voice trembled slightly with this request, even as his lips pulled into a faint smile.