Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

 

Matching the music of the samisen the geisha played, the two young apprentices danced with fans, their long sleeves swaying.

The girls were under Seno’o, taking advantage of the absence of their older sister to introduce themselves through this dance. Katsuragi sat before the stage lazily smoking a pipe, one leg propped up. Sitting diagonally across from him, Misao watched the girls dance too, but there was only one thing on his mind. His heart was somewhere else.

He distractedly served Katsuragi wine when the man held his cup out to him. Katsuragi drained the cup in a single gulp, then smirked at how unhappy Misao looked.

“Late night?” he asked sarcastically.

Misao poured him more wine and fixed his eyes on the bottle before responding dully, “I lost someone.”

Seemingly bored with Misao’s unusual lassitude, Katsuragi set his fresh cup of wine on the butterfly table unconsumed. Instead, he packed tobacco into his pipe and blew a cloud of purple smoke into Misao’s face.

“I heard you left the brothel to spend time with a man, you saucy boy. Your boss was awfully nice to let you do that.”

Katsuragi’s mouth was bent in a smile, but he spoke so quickly that there was no chance to respond. Misao turned his face away, pretending to find the smoke irritating. His eyes rested on the new girls, their fans twirling in the air.

He was jealous of the way the dancers seemed to have forgotten the world.

He wanted to dance like that. He didn’t want to think.

The purple smoke filled his eyes and made them burn.

“I heard the man went up to a girl’s room not five minutes after bringing you back here. And today is their third meeting, isn’t it?”

Katsuragi sounded more surprised than happy, and he gave a wry smile. Misao balled his hands up tightly on his knees.

He had to know how hurt Misao was.

The third meeting...

The first time that the customer was allowed into the courtesan’s inner circle and she would become willing to loosen her belt for him.

Tonight, Masaomi would sleep with Ukigumo.

“You tried to get one over on him, but he got you instead,” Katsuragi said quietly, as if reciting a poem. The smoke had stopped billowing from his pipe, and he tapped it lightly on the edge of his ashtray to loosen the tobacco.

He was implying that Misao had pursued this affair as some sort of game, and that he had come out the loser. But Misao had never thought of it like that.

His face hard and vacant, Misao cast a silent, apathetic glance at him, but Katsuragi only puffed at his pipe. The tiny pile of ashes fluttered on its tray.

“Master Katsuragi?”

Kazushi appeared in the hallway.

“Could I borrow Misao for a few minutes?”

“Who wants him?”

Katsuragi twirled the pipe in his fingers.

“I really couldn’t say,” Kazushi answered reluctantly, stealing a glance at Misao before returning his eyes to Katsuragi. “The customer isn’t interested in any substitutes, though.”

Kazushi’s explanation sent sparks flying across Misao’s vision. His expression changed instantly and he rose. It was a reflexive response to the knowledge that Masaomi was asking for him.

Katsuragi’s eyes narrowed at the change in Misao’s behavior, then he jerked his head at Kazushi. “Fine. Take him.”

“Thank you.” Kazushi dipped his head. “I believe Seno’o will be back soon.”

Katsuragi snorted at Kazushi’s attempt to placate him.

“I don’t need any empty promises. Take the lovesick puppy and go.”

He spoke imperiously, leaning on his folded knees. Kazushi called Misao over.

Misao bowed a hasty goodbye and hurried from the room. He followed Kazushi, who looked positively dumbfounded, down the hall. This was the third night, so Misao knew Masaomi had been shown to Ukigumo’s room. It was the finest bedroom in the brothel, and connected to a tea room.

Misao stopped at the end of the hallway.

He stood outside a corner room whose door frame was decorated with bamboo carvings. The room commanded a view over the railing of the tiled roofs of the district, but its doors were firmly shut.

Misao heard Masaomi’s muffled voice coming from inside. Ukigumo’s voice mingled coldly with his. The spring breeze played through Misao’s fine hair as he stood outside the door.

There was a surprisingly large gap in the door’s frame, but it was hard to hear through.

“What’s wrong?” Kazushi asked as he came down the hall, looking disappointed. “You were falling all over yourself to get here. Why are you still standing there?”

He sounded surprised and stood next to Misao, then dropped to his knees in a practiced motion. Misao looked down at him, then, drooping his eyelashes heavily, he sat down formally as well. He let out a long, slow breath and sat up straight.

“Excuse me.”

Kazushi spoke loudly, so they would hear him inside the room, then pulled the door open without the slightest hesitation.

“Ukigumo, we need you.”

After he heard Kazushi call Ukigumo out, Misao slid into view past the doorframe. Ukigumo whispered something into Masaomi’s ear, then stood up gracefully.

Masaomi nodded slightly and watched her go. His face was filled with the pain of imagining Ukigumo going off to see another customer.

It assaulted Misao’s heart mercilessly.

Kazushi moved behind the doorframe, becoming invisible to those inside the room, then murmured Ukigumo’s next destination to her as she emerged with her maid. He started to lead her away.

Ukigumo looked back, only barely turning her head.

Misao continued sitting outside the tea room, and Ukigumo stared at him without saying a word.

How many customers had Ukigumo’s face taken prisoner, with its faint but real stability? Her eyes could see through any lie, Katsuragi had once said, scowling. Katsuragi was the only customer to have had a second meeting with Oumi Tea House’s premier courtesan.

Misao wondered what he must look like to her now.

Just a simple paramour, no doubt.

“Misao?”

A voice called to him from the room, and Ukigumo’s slender white neck shifted as she retreated silkily down the hall.

“What’s the matter? Come in.”

As if pulled in by Masaomi’s command, Misao turned to face him.

He sat with his back to a folding screen, sitting at ease in camel-colored trousers. He looked concerned at Misao’s reluctance to come in.

He had removed his flocked coat, but otherwise he was dressed exactly as he had been when he’d brought Misao back for the start of business that evening. But in a few short hours, he would change into a robe to prepare for bed. And soon after that, the robe would fall from his broad shoulders.

Misao’s nerves no longer controlled the rest of his body, as if a poison were gradually spreading through him. He realized he was staring at his knees. When had he done that? A shadow fell over them and camel-colored legs entered his vision before kneeling beside him.

“Do you feel sick?”

Masaomi’s voice was filled with concern. Misao rolled his eyes up from his knees as far as Masaomi’s chest.

He was wearing a dark brown vest.

That very morning Misao had awoken on that chest; but now it seemed impossibly far away.

It was like waking from a dream.

“Misao?”

Masaomi stroked Misao’s right cheek with the back of his fingers and Misao’s eyes trembled.

He reached out timidly to touch the man’s vest. He felt the solidity of the man’s chest beneath the costly fabric.

Misao leaned forward slightly.

He rested a cheek against the man’s chest, and Masaomi held Misao’s head against him.

Why did he feel like crying? This was a feeling totally unlike the emotions that had filled him upon seeing the raging expanse of the sea.

“You can lie down inside,” Masaomi said kindly. But at the same moment, they heard Kazushi call out to Masaomi uncomfortably from behind them.

Misao held his breath and pushed instantly away from the chest he had taken refuge in. In contrast to Misao’s flurry, Masaomi showed no signs of embarrassment. He looked down the hall with his normally calm expression.

Kazushi was crouching in the hall, his hands on his knees and his head bowed.

“I’m sorry for all these interruptions. Someone has insisted on seeing Misao briefly.”

“What? You mean he has to go to another room?”

Masaomi frowned.

Misao realized that he had still not properly explained to Masaomi what it was he did at the Oumi Tea House. But this didn’t seem like a good time to start.

“It’s Katsuragi, isn’t it? Why does he want to see me again after he gave me permission to go?” Misao asked angrily.

“Well, you see,” Kazushi began weakly, his lips twisting. “He just told me to bring you back at once. He said that if you didn’t come back, he would go home.”

Misao realized Katsuragi had outsmarted him.

He would let him taste the empty promise of being with Masaomi, then pull him away. That had been his plan all along.

Misao knew that even now, Katsuragi was chuckling at how perfectly it had worked out.

“I can’t believe that man,” Misao muttered hatefully as he began to rise.

He suddenly felt Masaomi’s hand gripping his arm.

Masaomi didn’t seem to believe that he could actually stop him, but his lips parted slightly and hesitation shone in his eyes. Masaomi’s face was clouded and disconsolate as he stared at Misao.

“Are you going?”

There was the shadow of an accusation in his question and Misao dropped his eyes sorrowfully to his arm. He laid his hand gently over Masaomi’s as it held onto him.

Don’t ask me that...

“You won’t go home if I don’t stay with you, will you, Masaomi?” he teased quietly.

Misao felt the trembling that Masaomi tried to hide through his grip on his arm.

He pressed his lips tightly together.

After all, Masaomi’s interest in Oumi Tea House lay in Ukigumonot Misao.

“Manager”

Following close on Kazushi’s whisper came the rasping sound of socks shuffling over the wooden floor of the hall. When Misao turned to look, she was standing behind him.

“I’m very sorry, we’re having some problems tonight.”

Gikuyo smoothed her kimono as she dropped to her knees. Masaomi sat up a little straighter at this and put his hands on either side of his hips, then bowed profusely.

“I’ve been making so many selfish demands of you the past several days.”

“Would you like for me to attend you?” Gikuyo asked with a seductive smile.

Kazushi came up beside Misao and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was time to go.

“Misao”

Misao stood and was turning to walk away when Masaomi called to him, turning his single-minded gaze onto him.

“I want you to come see me whenever you can.”

Misao pressed his lips together firmly and nodded. He wanted so badly to linger, but he turned his back and forced himself to walk down the hall. Kazushi followed after, then came up beside him. He drew his mouth close to Misao’s ear, forcing a hesitant grin.

“I’ve never seen such a docile performance from you.”

“What does that mean?” Misao muttered back, neither stopping nor turning to look at him.

Kazushi gave a short laugh.

“Don’t be coy. I saw how you were clinging to him.”

Misao stopped suddenly and Kazushi turned to look at him curiously. As he stared at Misao, his mouth dropped open.

Normally, Misao would have deflected such jeering with a snort or some other impudent gesture. So Kazushi must have been shocked to see him now, looking so vulnerable, barely keeping his anger in check. Kazushi gaped at Misao, who looked so ashamed, but suddenly seemed to think of something. He whispered very low, “You’re joking, right? I’m not laughing.”

“I don’t care if you laugh or not,” Misao shot back awkwardly, then turned to go. But Kazushi caught his shoulder and turned him back around to face him. He berated Misao harshly with the force of the gesture.

“Are you stupid? Quit babbling! That guy’s about to join the courtesan’s entourage tonight! Where do you think you are?”

“Don’t you think I know that!” Misao shouted, not letting him finish.

Kazushi looked into Misao’s face as he struggled against his pain, and he choked himself off.

Silence fell between them.

“I know it.”

Misao’s voice was so thin that it seemed to disappear in the strains of a song they heard through the walls. He held his upper arm, squeezing the same place that Masaomi had held only moments before.

Kazushi let out a sigh that seemed to say everything and patted Misao on the back. “Anyway, right now you have to go back to Katsuragi.”

His voice was kind and soothing. Kazushi picked up two trays that had been set out in the hall and balanced them on his shoulders, returning to work. Misao, left alone now, turned unenthusiastically toward Seno’o’s room, where Katsuragi waited.

The doors were all thrown open and Katsuragi had an apprentice girl on either side of him laughingly filling his cup.

Misao stood menacingly over the tray. Katsuragi glanced up at him as he knocked back his drink, a cruel smile on his face.Look at the entertainment I managed to find, he seemed to say. Misao gazed into his face and quietly spit his words out. “I hope you die.”

The girls’ eyes widened in shock.

“What a thing to say, Misao!”

“How scary!”

Between the two trembling girls, Katsuragi roared with laughter.

 

 

 

“I’m lighting the lanterns,” Misao announced as he entered the bedroom.

The beds were sectioned off by screens, but these were mostly for decoration and the piles of cushions were easily seen through the large gaps in the wood.

Patrolling the rooms after the Hour of the Rat was routine and the customers paid it no mind. Misao, working as a servant, turned a blind eye to the things he saw.

On the thick beds, he saw men’s backs, bare white legs wrapped around their waists dangling red underwear, the movement of their muscles showing their vigor. The moment Misao overlaid the image of two other people on those shapes, he was so revolted with himself that he felt nauseous. He covered his mouth with his hand, which stank of lamp oil, and ran out of the room. Masaomi had offered him crumbs of affection on the other side of this railing, but he wasn’t careless enough to say so.

Mold had overgrown his damp heart, making it difficult to breathe, but still he couldn’t leave his work unfinished. Misao went to all of the rooms he was responsible for, lighting the lanterns. When he left the last one, he glanced up at the night sky. It was perfectly clear, shining with starlight. It showed no trace of the violent storm of the night before.

He walked down a hallway. He heard the wooden clappers sounding the time, and a sense of déjà vu washed over him.

He approached the central garden through a gap in the hall.

His hope and disappointment were all mixed up and his heart beat chaotically.

He let his eyes sink down.

Misao surrendered his body to the breeze that blew through the garden and slowly lifted his head.

Desperately, he looked up at the railing.

The person he sought was not there.

 

 

 

When it was nearly time to open shop that afternoon, Misao sat formally, gazing emptily at the pale shadows cast on the floor by the setting sun. At Misao’s knees lay Katsuragi, his head propped on one hand. He wore a luscious kimono about his naked shoulders, a thing Katsuragi had readied for himself. There was also an entire outfit of fine kimono fit for a courtesan, including high-quality lacquered combs and other hair ornaments. Katsuragi had brought these various expensive engagement gifts today not for his favorite, Seno’o, but for Misao.

When Katsuragi had arrived unusually early that afternoon, Seno’o had at first greeted him effervescently, but confronted by this cruel joke, she had wailed and gnashed her teeth, then shut herself in a back room and refused to come out.

“I don’t understand why you want to spend your fortune on stupid games like this,” Misao grumbled unhappily. Katsuragi snorted and picked up the pipe he’d tucked behind his ear. He pointed snippily at Misao’s head with the bowl of the pipe.

“Hey, isn’t that hairstyle supposed to be a little rounder on the sides? And a little wider too, like a butterfly wing.”

The young hairdresser who was brushing Misao’s hair with perfumed combs seemed to be considering Katsuragi’s suggestion. He mumbled “like a butterfly’s wings?” to himself, and reflected for a moment before making a sound of comprehension.

“You mean like the one Ukigumo had?”

“Now now, it’s a little early for that.”

Katsuragi tapped his pipe happily against the floor. Misao stared down at him in annoyance.

“Now I understand.”

He flung his explosive anger at Katsuragi quietly.

“You just want to beat me down, don’t you?”

“Watch your tongue. You should be a little more polite to me,” Katsuragi said lazily.

Misao’s face strained with his sorrow.

“You’re not going to let me complain, and still force me to dress up like a girl? Who do you think would submit to that kind of treatment and still be polite to you?”

Misao railed at him, but Katsuragi only smirked.

“It’s not my fault the boss had his head turned and jumped on board. He’s a pervert.”

The hairdresser cleared his throat loudly at Katsuragi’s insult of the tea house’s owner.

Katsuragi took his wallet out of his sleeve and tossed fifty yen onto the floor. It landed right beside the hairdresser. It was hush money. What a horrible way to use his money.

“I can’t believe you.”

Katsuragi went on, looking utterly innocent. “You’re the one who decided to dress as a woman anyway, right? You’re very good at using makeup, by the way.”

“It’s not at all the same thing,” Misao said reproachfully.

He had never felt ashamed to dance women’s roles. The fan became an extension of his arm, and he’d worn his fingers to blisters polishing his art. He had even grown his hair out so he could have a natural hair style. He had done everything for the art. Not for this crass charade.

“Oh, and about your...”

Katsuragi held up his thumb, an incorrigible look on his face.

“I hear he comes every single day. Any man who comes to a brothel must be real voracious. It must be a lot more tempting than the girls on the street, huh?”

What a creep.

This entire thing had been a game of Katsuragi’s. This realization outraged Misao.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, trying to expel the frustration, he slowly released the breath. He opened his eyes, expressionless. He fixed his eyes on a distant point and pretended he was speaking to someone besides Katsuragi.

Katsuragi snorted and lazily pushed himself up. He packed tobacco into his pipe, then pushed the bowl close to a flame to light it.

He puffed on the pipe with curling lips.

“How can someone who’s seduced oneor is it two, or three, or four guys?be getting so weak-kneed now?”

The purple smoke billowed up with his caustic comment.

Misao blinked once and was silent.

Even if he argued badly, it would only put him at a disadvantage.

When Misao thought Katsuragi was talking about something completely beside the point, Katsuragi would land a critical hit with his next blow and then calmly tell him he had only been joking. And before he knew it, Misao would take a heavy hit. That was all Katsuragi knew of human nature, probably. How impossible.

“All done,” the hairdresser announced, wiping his hands on a rag.

Misao realized that his head felt much heavier. Dangling silver ornaments caught the light at either corner of his vision. It strained his eyes terribly.

“Thank you,” Katsuragi said, sliding his payment to him. The hairdresser picked it up along with the hush money and slipped it all into his sleeve with practiced ease. He smiled at Katsuragi and bowed.

“Certainly, sir.”

Neither Misao nor Katsuragi looked at the hairdresser as he hurried from the room.

An unpleasant silence descended on them.

Misao was sure he was the only one who felt it. Katsuragi was completely unconcerned.

Misao looked up at the door.

The sun was dimming. The afternoon shift would be over soon. There was less than two hours before the night shift began.

He wondered if Masaomi would come again that night.

He was lost in his conflicting thoughts.

Misao wanted to see Masaomi, but he didn’t want him to come. Both of those feelings stubbornly refused to give ground.

He had never believed that in only a few daysno, a single momenta person’s heart could be so thoroughly conquered. And it would take so long to rebuild.

He heard Katsuragi’s pipe tapping against the ashtray. Misao turned his head sluggishly. Katsuragi was looking at him out of the corner of his eye in boredom.

“What are you doing?”

Katsuragi’s eyes glinted. “Would you strip for me?”

Misao glared silently at Katsuragi. Then he turned his face back to the front and stood up resolutely. He untied his belt without even thinking about it. He threw his top kimono onto the floor. When he was down to the final layer of clothing, Misao stood menacingly in front of him. But Katsuragi barely spared him a disinterested glance as he lit a fresh bowl of tobacco.

He exhaled the smoke to one side, his face twisted as if it tasted bitter, and he remarked apathetically, “You don’t wear women’s underwear too, do you?”

“What do you care?” Misao asked sourly, looking away.

Katsuragi took a slow drag on the pipe and paused.

He looked at Misao through the billowing smoke and smirked.

“Ridiculous.”

 

 

 

Misao rouged his lips with the tip of his ring finger.

Kazushi sat with one knee propped up, holding the mirror up for Misao. He was slowly narrowing his left eye in distaste.

“You’re scary,” he mumbled.

Misao finished coloring his lips and traced the corners of his eyes in red, then looked away from the mirror. He raised one eyebrow in annoyance and Kazushi looked back at him with the same expression.

Misao sighed with something close to resignation and grazed his fingers over the face in the mirror.

“Thanks. I’m done.”

“What a disaster.”

Kazushi’s voice was sympathetic as he set Misao’s mirror aside and stood up.

They were in the men’s bedroom on the first floor of the brothel. It wasn’t a very big room, and there were several futons stacked up in a corner. Just before the night shift had started, the men had come in and out of the room with utter disregard, covertly laughing at Misao’s situation. But now it was quiet.

Everyone knew that the reason Misao worked at the Oumi Tea House was because he was a favorite of the owner. So none of the workers ever did or said anything too bad to Misao, in case it angered the owner. But that just meant they didn’t do it to his face. They did it out of his sight, which got on his nerves, of course. Kazushi was the only exception. Maybe because he was closest to Misao in age. Ever since his first big fight with Kazushi, they had been close. That had happened seven years agoancient history.

Kazushi went back to work, so Misao was alone in the room.

He wiped off his ring finger, still stained with his makeup, on a bit of paper he’d kept on his knee. He slipped the rest into the inner pocket of his kimono.

He stood up. The long train of his kimono dragged on the floor with a heavy swish.

Misao laid both hands on the doors to the adjacent room and opened them wide.

Katsuragi was lying on the floor, his head propped in his right hand as he served himself some wine. He looked up at Misao and drained his cup.

Earlier, in Seno’o’s room, Misao had allowed Katsuragi to provoke him and had gone so far as to throw his discarded underwear at the man’s feet. At that very instant, Seno’o had come out of hiding.

Of course, in her rage Seno’o had chased Misao away, and Katsuragi as well. So now they were here. Really, it was a stupid story.

“They’ve opened for business. How long do you plan to lie there?” Misao asked coldly. He wasn’t hiding how he felt.

“What are you talking about? Obviously I’ve been waiting for you to get ready.”

Katsuragi sat up ponderously and stretched his neck. Misao was sure he hadn’t actually strained any muscles. He sighed.

“All right, let’s go.”

Katsuragi slipped past Misao and into the men’s bedroom. Misao followed him with his eyes. “Go where?”

“Seno’o’s room, of course. She is my favorite, after all,” Katsuragi answered coolly, his back still turned. He walked through the bedroom and into the hall.

He seemed entirely unconcerned by the thought of Seno’o’s anger.

“He’s got some nerve,” Misao muttered, as he too left the bedroom. The hall opened into a veranda and continued past the garden. The sun had fully set now. Parties had already begun on the second floor and Misao could hear the singing and general excitement.

“If only you’d been born as a girl, you could have had all that.”

Without turning to look at him, Katsuragi suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

“Oh?” Misao asked, tutting. “You’re the one who made me dress up like this, so could you please stop saying such awful, selfish things?” Misao packed as many reproaches into his response as he could.

The man stopped walking.

He turned his face back to look at Misao. His expression was much more decent than he’d expected.

“If you’d been born as a woman, you would have been even more beautiful and unhappy. Since you’re a man, there’s still hope for you.”

Misao stared at him, wondering what he meant. By the time he realized, Katsuragi had begun walking again.

“You’re just doing it to amuse yourself,” he muttered to the man’s back.

“Of course I am,” Katsuragi answered indifferently. “Why would I pay for something that wasn’t amusing?”

What did he mean by that?

Misao felt sick, as if he were riding something that swayed and bucked unpredictably. If he took Katsuragi at his word, this would end badly. There was nothing lucky about it.

They crossed an arched bridge and stood before the grand staircase. Misao came to a sudden stop then. Katsuragi twisted his head around to look at him, as if he’d sensed something. Misao was peering over Katsuragi’s other shoulder, looking intently at the front door of the tea house.

Masaomi was coming toward them, wearing his flocked coat and discussing something with Ukigumo. They were only a few feet away.

Masaomi’s gaze shifted from Ukigumo, and he saw Misao. But Masaomi gave him only a polite smile, as if they were merely acquaintances meeting on the street. Then he tried to look smoothly away. In fact, he did look away from Misao’s face. But then he blinked and turned back. He appeared shocked.

“Misao?”

Masaomi left Ukigumo’s side and hurried up to Misao. Misao had no idea what sort of expression he should wear, but he turned his entire body to the side. His ears burned. He hadn’t expected to be this shy.

“Ahh,” Katsuragi said from the sidelines, looking at Masaomi with a smarmy smile. “So you’re the one who doesn’t take any substitutes.”

He was astoundingly rude considering this was their very first meeting.

Masaomi looked past Misao at Katsuragi and narrowed his eyes slightly, then inclined his head. He didn’t look as if his mood had been punctured, but rather as if he wasn’t quite sure what Katsuragi had meant. Misao, on the other hand, hated Katsuragi for it and slapped his arm.

“Don’t be stupid,” he chided under his breath. Katsuragi looked entirely unrepentant and twisted his mouth into a smile, raising one eyebrow at Masaomi. This time Masaomi’s face clearly showed his displeasure. He glowered and looked over at Misao.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

His voice sounded almost accusatory, and Misao hesitated.

He couldn’t answer.

He could never explain.

“Because I paid for it,” Katsuragi cut in. His voice was sardonic, as if amazed at how naïve Masaomi must be to not understand that.

“You paid?”

The expression disappeared from Masaomi’s face.

What...?

Misao’s heart fluttered at the tense atmosphere.

“Omi?”

Ukigumo, who had watched the proceedings in silence until then, called out demurely to Masaomi. Behind her, holding up the train of her kimono, Sazu stood gaping at Misao.

“You go ahead.”

Masaomi raised a hand and answered her without looking. His gaze was fixed unswervingly on Katsuragi.

Her features as placid as the surface of a lake, Ukigumo caught Sazu’s eye and they slowly ascended the staircase.

This was a bizarre development.

“How much?” Masaomi asked, his words hard against his emotions. “How much did you pay for him?”

Hearing those words, Misao finally realized how horribly Masaomi had misunderstood.

“Well now” Katsuragi answered patronizingly, smirking thoughtfully. “All together, I’d say it came to three hundred and twenty yen.”

“I’ll pay twice that. For you to leave him alone,” Masaomi shouted instantly, open hostility plain on his face. Misao’s eyes nearly popped.

“Masaomi!”

“Be quiet!” Masaomi shouted sharply without looking at him.

Misao felt the anger gushing out of the man.

“Thanks.”

Katsuragi gave Misao a little shove. Misao stumbled and almost fell, but Masaomi caught him in one arm and brought him to his chest. But it felt very different from the sensation he had experienced so many times before now. He felt like he was being treated in a very business-like way. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, as if someone had dropped ice on it.

“You can pay me later. You can have that.”

Katsuragi jerked his chin at Misao, then started climbing to the second floor, his business with them completed.

“Oh, by the way.”

When he’d gotten halfway up the stairs, he turned around, as if he’d just remembered something.

“A nice old gentleman by the name of Sakai who’s very fond of Misao is coming soon, so could you leave his clothes on until he gets here? He really wanted to see it.”

Misao was ready now for any horrible thing that Katsuragi might say. But the coolness in the hand that held his shoulder and the blankness on the face he saw above him were enough to hurt him.

Masaomi said nothing.

Katsuragi snorted. It was like a laugh, but since he turned around as soon as it was out of him, it was hard to say for sure.

Masaomi removed his hand from Misao’s shoulder and fell back a step.

“Masaomi”

Misao called to him, but Masaomi turned his face away; he wouldn’t look at Misao. Misao watched his flocked coat walk away in silent shock for a long moment.

He took a shuddering breath and when it caught in his throat, he ran up the stairs after him.

He caught up with Masaomi on the second floor.

“Please don’t misunderstand.”

Misao tried desperately to explain, but Masaomi refused to listen. He didn’t even glance at Misao.

“Masaomi!”

He didn’t stop, and Misao’s face contorted at the sheer coldness of his retreating figure.

Still, he pleaded with him desperately.

“I don’t care about the money. I’ll pay it back to Katsuragi!”

“Katsuragi”

Masaomi repeated in a murmur, coming to a stop. He turned a frighteningly lucid expression on Misao.

“I’ve heard that name before.”

His anger flared white-hot.

That was all the explanation he gave for a long, burning instant. He said nothing else.

“Omi?”

Ukigumo approached elegantly from the hallway that surrounded the interior garden. Sazu and one of the men from the tea house trailed after her. Her mincing steps stopped in front of Masaomi.

“I have come to escort you to the room, sir.”

Ukigumo spoke modestly, her eyes raised only to the level of Masaomi’s lips.

“After you, if you please, sir.”

Masaomi lowered his face slightly in obvious self-loathing and let out a short sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

Ukigumo looked up at him in silence. She slowly blinked her clear eyes once, then turned them to Misao.

He didn’t want to face her. But still, he couldn’t look away. Maybe because part of him sensed that this was a competition. If he looked away, it would be like acknowledging his guilt.

“How beautiful,” Ukigumo whispered, her eyes rapturous. She took a step forward, her kimono sweeping behind her. “Work well.”

As she passed Misao, she left him with these cool words.

He was astounded.

She hadn’t confronted him at all.

Did her unwavering assurance come from the fact that Masaomi cared for her? She looked as if she had absolutely no need to worry about Misao, whom Masaomi was only a little fond of. He watched Masaomi disconsolately as Ukigumo left, expecting to see him miserably watch her disappear. Instead, he was surprised to find Masaomi looking at him, a complex expression on his face.

It was a shock.

Misao was flustered. Shutting off all the emotion in his face, Masaomi called to him. “Let’s go.”

Of course, Misao fell in behind him without argument, but it was not an atmosphere that encouraged him to speak.

They walked down the hall and Masaomi led them unerringly to Ukigumo’s tea room. He was clearly already in Ukigumo’s inner circle. It was difficult to contain the searing pain of that fact, and Misao’s eyelids drooped.

Wine had already been laid out when they reached the room, but Masaomi did not sit down at the table; instead, he continued on to the window. It was wide enough for several people to sit all at once.

The shutters were open, allowing a playful night breeze to steal in.

Masaomi sat on the edge of the windowsill.

“It’s so red.”

Masaomi said this as he gazed out at the pleasure district.

“Everywhere you look in this place, you see red.”

His face twisted painfully and he looked desperately up at Misao, who could only stand there.

“I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Misao had not the faintest idea how to respond to this.

He didn’t recognize this man.

“Let me take your jacket.”

His voice shook.

Masaomi stood up without a word, so Misao walked over to help him. As he was reaching for his collar, the man’s hands took strong hold of his fingers.

Misao gasped.

“Why?” Masaomi asked, his forehead wrinkling in intense pain.

“You told me you weren’t a male prostitute. I was so glad to learn that. I believed you. Why did you say that?”

“You believed?” Misao smiled as he repeated the words. But his lips began trembling instantly and he shouted. “It was all a lie!”

The tremor that ran through Masaomi’s eyes at this show of rage did not escape Misao’s notice. He glared into those eyes and tore open his kimono with one hand.

He was practically in tears.

“Katsuragi said he paid, but he meant he bought this kimono. He never told you he paid for my body, did he? So why did you think that’s what he meant? Huh? Why? Do you even know?”

Masaomi sucked in a breath and Misao knew he was holding it in.

He awkwardly released his grip on Misao’s wrists.

He was sad.

The wail of his heart came quietly to his lips.

“Because that’s what you thought I was.”

Masaomi’s thin eyelids finally broke his gaze on Misao as they fell over his eyes. He hung his head. After a long sigh, Masaomi shook his head weakly and put a hand to his head. He sat back down at the window.

“You’re right. I thought I wouldn’t care even if you were a prostitute. But”

Masaomi raised his head to look at Misao. His lips quirked sadly.

“When I was actually confronted with the idea, I just couldn’t think straight anymore. I’m sorry.”

Misao pushed back his tears and stared at Masaomi for several seconds, then the tension suddenly broke inside him and he laughed sadly.

“You almost sounded like you were jealous.”

As Misao realized what it meant to truly be on the brink of tears, he whispered his forgiveness to Masaomi.

He wasn’t going to lecture him anymore. He just wanted to laugh about it and forget it. But Masaomi nodded seriously.

“Yes. Iwasjealous.”

Misao’s mouth fell open slightly.

He felt as if he might sink to the floor.

What was this man telling him?

A faint, breathy voice passed his lips. “Are you just trying to trick me, Masaomi?”

“What?”

Misao smiled ruefully at the perplexed expression on Masaomi’s face.

“You’re very good at making me dream,” he whispered. He sat at Masaomi’s feet.

“Dream?” Masaomi repeated, taking off his flocked coat. Misao started to rise to take it, but Masaomi stopped him. He folded it in half and set it on the windowsill.

“What do you dream of?”

Masaomi tilted his head, the same peaceful expression on his face as always, and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He seemed to be looking into Misao’s face with his entire body.

If he leaned his head forward just a little more, he would be close enough to kiss.

Why couldn’t they close such a small distance?

Even wishing for it was a dream.

Misao closed his eyes gently.

“I feel like I’m going to wake up, and all this will be a dream.”

As he spoke, he lifted his eyelids. Masaomi watched him, waiting for him to continue. His light brown eyes narrowed slightly with a smile, urging him to go on.

“If I tell you, do you promise to forget all about it?”

Masaomi took a laughing breath at Misao’s self-serious provision.

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” he agreed in amusement.

Misao gently rested his fingers on Masaomi’s right knee. He lifted his face and stretched out his neck.

The smile disappeared from Masaomi’s face.

His lips moved slightly:Mi

Then Misao’s lips covered them.

His fingers trembled slightly on Masaomi’s knee. Tremors ran through his rouged lips as well, and he meekly pulled his mouth away.

Masaomi’s glistening eyes stared at Misao wonderingly. Gazing back at him, Misao confessed the secret of his heart.

“I want to be loved.”

As he said it, loneliness cut across his heart.

“By you.”

Shock filled Masaomi’s handsome face and trapped his voice.

“More than anyone in the world.”

They stayed silent for a long moment, their eyes locked together.

The music of a samisen floated in from one of the other rooms.

Masaomi opened his mouth slowly, a complicated expression on his face.

“That’s what you dream of?”

Misao didn’t answer, and only continued to gaze at Masaomi. Finally, he slowly dropped his eyes and bowed his head. It shook from side to side.

“Please forget I told you that.”

Misao reminded him of the promise reluctantly. He lifted his fingers from Masaomi’s leg, but Masaomi took them in his hand.

“What a cruel thing to ask of me.”

His voice was fierce in this rebuke, and Misao raised his face.

Masaomi looked angry and inconsolable.

He held Misao’s delicate chin and lifted it sharply.

Confused, Misao looked up at him. Everything was in shadow.

He felt a breath on his lips.

“How can I forget that?”

There was tension in Masaomi’s voice. The man sealed his lips forcefully and Misao stopped breathing.

His mind went instantly blank.

“Mmph”

Misao felt as if he would be devoured by this kiss, that his tongue would be pulled from his mouth. A breath escaped through his nose.

An arm wrapped around the back of his neck and tilted his body backwards.

Where their lips joined, Misao’s body trembled each time that they pulled briefly apart.

His back slowly reached the floor.

He felt the kisses melting inside his mouth.

His mind grew hazy, as if he were suffocating. He couldn’t think.

Their lips separated with a wet smack. Hot breaths slipped through this slight opening and Misao’s eyes slid open.

They locked with the man’s expression, awash in masculine charm.

A faint coat of rouge had transferred to his lips.

Dreamily, Misao raised his trembling right hand and, with the pad of his middle finger, he wiped the color from Masaomi’s lips in a tender caress.

Masaomi’s eyes grew intent.

He whispered something Misao couldn’t hear, his whispered breath sweeping up his neck and Misao arched his head back. He felt Masaomi’s soft hair on his neck and heard rustling cloth as he loosened his obi.

Suddenly, Misao opened his eyes wide.

His heart pounded manically in his chest. His vision swirled in confusion, but then Masaomi’s lustful face was once again before him.

They gazed at each other. The passion raised the question “why?” in his mind, then melted it like wax.

Weaving between the layers of kimono and women’s underthings, Masaomi wrapped an arm around Misao’s waist. He held him tightly and pulled him up, bringing his lips to Misao’s.

The heavy embroidered kimono slipped from his shoulders and fell to the floor.

Misao sat before Masaomi in nothing but his red slip, devouring him with kisses.

His mind was a swirling blankness and he knew: this was pleasure.

It didn’t matter what happened now, he thought. He could do anything.

Pulling back the red slip, Masaomi’s palm found his knee. He stroked the skin of Misao’s leg up to his inner thigh, and Misao groaned.

Their joined lips pulled apart. The next instant, Misao clung to Masaomi’s shoulders and cried out senselessly.

His eyes burned with the pleasure of Masaomi’s touch on his skin.

“Ahah! Yes!”

“Do you like that?”

Masaomi’s voice was at his ear, but rich with an unfamiliar lust, making Misao’s passion burn even brighter.

As Masaomi stroked Misao’s leg, his thumb rolled over the tip of his organ and they heard a wet noise. Misao’s panting breaths grew quicker.

His delicate fingers clung to Masaomi’s vest desperately.

He pressed his forehead into Masaomi’s collar bone and shook his head.

“Don’t hold back.”

When Misao felt the warm exhalation behind his ear, a cry that had been caught in Misao’s throat broke free and he strained his head back. His entire body stiffened. When his muscles relaxed and his eyelids fell heavily, Misao rested his cheek on Masaomi’s shoulder, as if he were falling.

Masaomi’s lips gently brushed the skin of his temple.

The wild heaving of Misao’s shoulders had dropped the red slip from his body.

He slowly raised his head and looked up at Masaomi. Misao felt embarrassed by the passion in Masaomi’s gaze, but he pulled his body back slightly and raised his knees. He rested his hands on the man’s shoulders.

Masaomi looked up at Misao, smiling.

“I wanted to do this with you.”

As these sweet words passed his lips, Misao kissed them away, his face trembling in slow waves.

Masaomi stroked Misao’s back as he held him, then slowly dropped his hand to rub the hills of flesh and squeeze them. He slipped a wet finger from his other hand between them, exploring Misao’s rim.

Misao felt his face twisting painfully at the tightness he felt as Masaomi’s finger plunged inside him. Masaomi pulled his mouth away to look into Misao’s face, as if he could feel the change in the tension of Misao’s tongue as they kissed.

“Misao?”

Misao shook his head at Masaomi’s concern. He stared frantically back at the man who watched him.

“Relax as much as you can. It’s all right. I’ll be nice.”

Masaomi reassured him and adjusted his grip on Misao’s waist.

He checked Misao’s reaction constantly as he opened his body, almost too politely. When he’d taken Masaomi’s warmth inside himself, Misao no longer felt the pain.

He wrapped his arms around the man’s broad back.

He was so happy he thought his joy might crush him.

“I wanted so badly to hide myself in your arms,” Masaomi breathed against the skin of Misao’s temple. Misao rolled his head back and sighed.

“It’s like a dream.”

The breath tickled his earlobe. The man’s whisper conquered him.

 

 

 

Behind the screen, Misao pulled his heavy kimono over his naked body and sat up, legs shaking. Masaomi was beside him, kindly trying to fix his ruffled hair.

He thrust the last hairpin through Misao’s chignon, then pulled the kimono from Misao’s shoulders.

Misao hunched up slightly in his total nakedness before Masaomi placed the red slip over his body.

“Thank you.” Misao said shyly. He started to tie the slip shut, but Masaomi stopped him.

Misao looked up at him in confusion and felt Masaomi’s soft hair on his face. His lips trailed over Misao’s collarbone, leaving a tight, sweet ache on the skin.

“Ah”

A small cry escaped him and he softly lifted the eyelids he had shut reflexively.

He raised his passionate gaze to Masaomi’s dear face. Masaomi held the back of Misao’s neck and pulled him close to share yet another kiss. Misao’s hands had only rested on the cloth covering Masaomi’s chest, but they inched upwards until his fingertips brushed the man’s shoulders, when he surrendered himself to an impulse and clung to him. Masaomi’s hold around his waist tightened in response.

Their lips were pressed so firmly together that Misao couldn’t even breathe.

His brain ached with passion.

Masaomi sucked on his tongue and Misao answered.

When their lips pulled apart, a faint, luscious voice mingled with his gasping.

He rested his cheek on Masaomi’s chest.

“I don’t want to ever let go.”

As soon as this powerful emotion was past his lips, they heard the sound of footsteps pattering over the floor.

Misao caught his breath and turned to look. Masaomi drew Misao’s body back against him and held him tightly. He laid his cheek against his right temple. Misao could tell he was watching the same direction Misao had turned to look at.

A human figure appeared through a gap in the folding screen.

It was Sazu.

She turned her head this way and that, and when she saw the two of them tangled together behind the screen, her jaw dropped.

But she was a true child of the brothel. She seemed to understand what was going on immediately.

Misao opened his mouth to say something to her, but nothing came to him, and in the end he closed his mouth again.

“Mmmmy older sister” Sazu stammered, after much effort. “She wants me to tell her what’s going on in here...”

Misao’s brows knitted and he jerked his head. Even he didn’t know if he’d nodded or hung his head.

He started to stand up, but Masaomi’s arms stopped him. He turned his head to look at Masaomi in confusion.

“Let me go, Masaomi.”

Masaomi’s lips brushed Misao’s request away, then pulled him back.

Misao gasped, his eyes wide, and Masaomi gazed at him with an intense expression. Then he chuckled.

“You’re the one who said you didn’t want to let go.” Misao’s face flushed at his teasing. It was so cruel.

“Don’t tease me, please.”

“I don’t want to let you go.”

Masaomi spoke seriously, the smile disappearing from his face.

His eyes twinkled with a flicker of happiness.

But Misao was brought quickly back to reality.

When he finally looked back around, Sazu had a desperate look on her face, as if she had to pee.

“Where is Ukigumo?” Misao asked huskily.

“In the hall.”

Sazu stretched her entire arm out to point. She stared at Misao, wide-eyed.

Misao wiggled around, pulling his kimono around him. Apparently Masaomi understood that the struggle was serious because this time he let Misao go.

Misao stood up. His legs still trembled slightly, but his kimono hid the unsteadiness of his lower body in its trailing splendor.

He adjusted the red slip. Sazu picked up the ornamental sash and brought it over to him. It was the trained reflex of a maid.

Dressing quickly, he tied the obi in the front.

Last was the heavy embroidered kimono. Misao turned his head to look for it when the cloth was draped around his shoulders from behind.

He looked over his shoulder and turned around.

When he was face to face with Masaomi, he was hugged tightly to the man’s chest.

“Misao”

Masaomi whispered his regret at parting against Misao’s ear, but Misao shook his head firmly. If he let himself be pulled aside, his heart and actions would become lazy.

He laid his hands on Masaomi’s chest and took a step back.

He’d had no idea.

Remembering the warmth of the man’s body, Misao’s heart, his entire body even, ached.

“I’m going,” he said at last. It was pointless to look up at him.

He turned around, pulling his arms through the sleeves of the kimono that rested on his shoulders.

When he left the tea room, he saw Ukigumo to his left, standing at the end of the railing gazing up at the stars.

“Are you done?”

She turned her head lightly to look at Misao. He felt like her eyes saw straight through him.

Holding his kimono tightly closed, Misao dipped his head and hurried away. Ukigumo called out behind him, her voice ringing, “The old gentleman is here.”

Misao couldn’t make himself stop and face Ukigumo.

Guilt had sprung up too thickly around him.

“Thank you.”

He acknowledged her in words only and walked quickly away down the hall.

He had probably done something wrong. He didn’t need to wonder. He knew he’d made a mistake and that was why he could no longer look anyone in the eye.

Still... He rested against the railing that surrounded the central garden.

When he gazed up at the same sky Ukigumo had seen, he saw a beautiful moon there.

He smelled the fragrance of cherry blossoms on the breeze.

His eyelids trembled as if in a seizure.

Now that he was alone, the feeling of Masaomi against every nook in his body reawakened starkly in his mind.

He had been so happy. He was happy. So he didn’t need to regret what happened.

Suddenly someone tugged on the arm of his kimono.

He looked up at the person in surprise. Kazushi was staring at him, his face tense.

“What?”

Even before he’d seen who it was, Misao had had a bad feeling.

Kazushi explained heavily. “Master Towa has made an offer for Ukigumo’s body.”

Misao blinked slowly, then staggered, as if there had been an earthquake.

He felt all the warmth leave his fingertips, as if all his blood were draining. Kazushi kept his grip firm on Misao’s arm as he sank heavily to the floor.

 

 

 

Misao spun around on the music, a bird spreading his arms wide with every revolution, his legs tucked loosely under his body. His long sleeves swept through the sky like wings.

His mind was a blank as his eyes swept about. For some reason, he wanted to laugh.

A chuckle bubbled out of him.

He fumbled his steps and drew out a staggering circle as he approached the butterfly table. He finished by rolling onto his knees and sitting.

“Ah-ah! You’re drunk, Misao!”

Two apprentices under Ukigumo hurried over to lift Misao on their shoulders. Misao shook himself free of their interference. He seemed to recall shouting something at the same time, but he wasn’t really sure.

“Well, he certainly has drunk enough. Why not give up, Mister Sakai?”

Misao’s eyes popped open at the sound of Ukigumo’s tranquil voice behind him, and he froze. It cleared his mind of the alcohol faster than a bath of ice water.

Sakai looked up at Misao’s back with the indulgent eyes of a festival god.

“But sometimes you need to escape into alcohol.”

“And what do you do then?” Ukigumo countered placidly, sitting down beside Sakai. “That doesn’t change reality.”

She was right.

Masaomi had always belonged to her.

That was reality.

He had ignored that and let himself run loose for long enough. What more could he do?

In the end, he would have to give the man up.

“He’s gotten so quiet.”

The apprentices were mocking him.

“Maybe he ran out of fuel.”

They peered into Misao’s face from either side, giggling, when suddenly their coldness disappeared.

“Oh, here’s the jester.”

Ukigumo waved the man in.

“We have two butterflies here who’ve been resting their wings,” she told him meaningfully, and the two apprentices instantly shrieked and leapt to their feet. The female performer already there began plucking out a faster rhythm on her samisen. Sprinkling the room with vibrant shrieks, the two girls and the drummer began to play hide and seek.

The festivities were like another world.

Misao was taking it all in hazily when his eyes met Sakai’s kind gaze. He tried to smile at him, but he failed. Misao offered to refill his wine in an attempt to cover it up.

Sakai held his cup out and Misao silently tipped the wine bottle over it.

“I see love water in your eyes.”

Sakai smiled, his eyes narrowing to thin lines.

Misao tilted his head slightly in confusion.

“You’re usually tough enough to play your part, but as soon as you fall in love, you’re made of glass. You’re just like your mother.”

“Love water?”

Misao whispered the words.

Sakai raised his eyebrows, impressed. “You’ve never heard of it? In more elegant circles, we call the tears you shed for love, ‘love water.’”

Sakai reached out a withered hand to brush a tear from Misao’s cheek.

“See? You’re full of love water.”

Misao’s wet eyes held back a torrent of tears.