A Geisha for the American Consul (a short story)

by Lesley Downer

  She wished she could show him that it didn’t have to be so rushed and furtive, that there was no need for shame, that they could take their time over it. After all, it was a skill she’d been trained in. She was an expert.

  She wondered if she dared try and teach him a new position or two. She knew he was never going to master more than a few of the thirty positions; he was old and his body and mind were too inflexible. She smiled to herself as she tried to picture showing him how to excite the Jade Stalk by caressing the Lute Strings, rubbing it to and fro over her neatly trimmed bush of hair ‘like a saw’, as it said in the manuals, or plunging it up and down ‘like a wild horse bucking through a stream’, or with movements alternately deep and shallow, ‘like a sparrow picking rice grains from the bottom of a mortar’. And as for the Hounds of Autumn position where the couple made love sitting back to back, she had tried it out with some of her more adventurous and supple customers, though it hadn’t been easy. But with Townsend? She laughed out loud at the very thought of it.

  But he could at least try Jumping White Tiger. That was elementary.

  One night they’d been playing finger games and laughing together. As always, Okichi had made sure her kimono was beautifully scented and had lit incense and candles and arranged vases of flowers.

  Townsend extinguished the lamps and started making love to her in his usual rough way. But just as he was preparing to enter her, she rolled over onto her hands and knees in front of him in the Jumping White Tiger position. She reached for his Jade Stalk and guided it towards the Precious Gate so that he could plunge it in from behind and arched her back, panting and licking her lips, imagining the first spasm of pleasure.

  Instead there was an outraged yell and he pushed her aside. ‘Get away!’ he shouted. ‘Get away!’

  She gasped and came back to earth with a bump, as if he’d thrown cold water over her. For a moment she thought he was just playing rough.

  ‘Get out!’ he bellowed. ‘Go! Out! Out of this room!’ Then there was a string of words in his own language, words she couldn’t understand. ‘Get away, Say tan!’ he exclaimed. It sounded like a curse.

  He pushed her off the bed. Frozen with horror, she didn’t even have the words to ask him what she’d done wrong. Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled to her feet and fled to her room. Lying alone in the darkness, she bit her lips and sobbed, wishing she’d never thought of trying to change things even the slightest little bit.

  After that she never dared break their routine again. She resigned herself to his hasty fumblings in the dark. But over time, to her surprise, she began to enjoy his inexpert gropings. Brutal animal rutting, she discovered, had thrills of its own. Even the ripe smell of him made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

  It excited him to make her feel afraid. Sometimes he’d hit her so hard she’d cry out, then he’d grip her wrists and push her onto her back and force himself into her, sending shocks of excitement up her spine, rising uncontrollably in a sweet slow ache from her womb to the back of her throat.

  She abandoned herself to his attacks. The roughness of his lovemaking combined with the size of his Jade Stalk gave her pleasure more intense than any she’d ever known. Her previous customers had been adepts who prided themselves on their technique, whereas he made love with abandon, as if she drove him to frenzy. His unbridled desire was more thrilling by far than any amount of studied foreplay and athletic positions. As a geisha she’d been taught to simulate enjoyment, to ‘cry out in the night’. With him she no longer needed to pretend.

  Fuku warned her. ‘Don’t forget we’re just servants. They’ll leave soon and go back to their own country. You’re a professional, don’t get involved.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Okichi would laugh. ‘How could I possibly care for such a monster?’

  But in her heart she knew it was already too late.

  Chapter 4

  SUMMER SETTLED IN a haze of heat over the bustling port of Shimoda and the disused temple where the barbarians lived. All day long the cicadas’ whine shattered the stillness. Breezes wafted up from the sea, stirring the banner with its design of stars and red and white stripes as it hung limply on its pole in the courtyard. Okichi and Fuku sat inside in the shade strumming their shamisens and preparing flagons of cool barley tea to take to their men.

  Most days Townsend and Henry worked from morning till night. When Okichi crept in with tea Townsend would be thumping his large fist on the pile of papers on the table or striding up and down, sweat glistening on his furrowed brow, shouting furiously in his barbarian tongue. He’d glance at her and say abstractedly, ‘Good girl, thank you,’ patting her as if she were a dog.

  Henry would be scribbling, not downwards in elegant brushstrokes, but making scratchy marks back and forth across the page, like the stripes on the banner outside. Okichi would watch, fascinated. It was hard to imagine anyone could actually read such peculiar hieroglyphs.

  Sometimes the tojin left the grounds in palanquins or on horseback, and loin-clothed messengers regularly arrived with lacquer boxes on their shoulders to deliver and take away despatches. Occasionally trains of palanquins appeared carrying high officials. Okichi and Fuku kept out of the way. It was not for them to look on such important people.

  The tojin worked six days then rested on the seventh. Okichi had thought about this and worked out that it had to do with the phases of the moon. On the seventh day they brought out a large black book and read aloud, then got down on their knees, with much groaning and creaking in the case of the old master, put their hands together and mumbled what Okichi took to be barbarian prayers.

  On that seventh day, Townsend always behaved oddly. He was cool towards Okichi, he tried to avoid her and in the evening made her sleep in her room. Then next day everything would be back to normal. She wondered if that too was to do with the phases of the moon.

  ‘It’s against his religion to sleep with you,’ Henry explained when she plucked up the courage to ask Fuku to ask him about it. ‘He desires you but he knows it’s wrong. His god forbids it.’

  It must be a strange sort of god to forbid something so innocent, Okichi thought. ‘Then why does he do it?’ she asked.

  Henry laughed in his boyish way. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  She stared at him, puzzled. With her usual customers, making love had just been about enjoyment. They didn’t get twisted up about it.

  *

  The days were getting shorter. The bush clover had faded and the grounds were filled with purple bell flowers and fronds of swaying pampas grass.

  The festival of lanterns came round, when the spirits of the ancestors return to earth. Okichi and Fuku lit candles and burnt incense on the disused altar and covered it with flowers. The foreigners didn’t seem worried that they carried out their own devotions. Henry smiled when he passed the altar. Townsend didn’t even seem to notice.

  In the evening, when the harvest moon hung like a huge round mirror in the sky, the girls went into town to celebrate with their friends and families. The streets were crowded with people in indigo and white kimonos, dancing in great circles. But when Okichi and Fuku joined in, the dancers moved away as if they were afraid – of pollution, defilement, or some unknown curse that the foreigners carried with them.

  Dragging their feet, the two geisha went back to the temple. Their fates were bound together with the tojin now. They had no other life.

  *

  In the days that followed, the courtyard was full of comings and goings. The chief magistrate and other high officials visited, the tojin left in their palanquins more and more often and sometimes Okichi overheard long, heated discussions. At night Townsend was too tired for more than a shoulder rub. He seldom seemed to want to make love any more. Not just once every seven days but more and more often he sent her to her own room to sleep.

  Something was changing. Okichi couldn’t be sure when she first noticed, but little by little she was becoming aware that he seemed
less interested in her. Once when he came into the bedroom she put her arms around him and nuzzled him and tried to pull him down onto the bed, then slid her hand into the folds of his clothing and felt for his Jade Stalk. He pushed her roughly away. Lying in bed, not daring to move, she wondered what she’d done to offend him but she couldn’t think of anything.

  She told herself that he was tired, that his work wasn’t going well, that he was lonely here in this foreign land. Then she remembered Fuku’s warning that the tojin would go back to their own country soon. She thought of the Russian sailors who’d paraded around town with their prostitutes on their arms. No one had imagined for a moment that the Russians would stay. But all the same some of the prostitutes had wept when they’d left.

  But Townsend was different. He wasn’t young like the Russians, he wasn’t a sailor. He was serious. He was stern and gruff. She was just imagining things, she told herself. She should be more understanding. Townsend was tired, that was all.

  *

  One day Okichi was in the grounds, wondering what she could do to cheer Townsend up. She heard the patter of footsteps and saw Fuku running in search of her, eyes shining, plump cheeks flushed.

  Henry was very excited, she chirruped. ‘He’s never told me a thing about their work here but today he told me everything, everything.’

  Okichi sat back on her heels, feeling the sun on her face, hearing the buzz of the insects darting from flower to flower. She felt a pang of fear. She hadn’t forgotten that she was supposed to report on the tojin to the magistrates. But with all these high officials visiting, what could she possibly know that they didn’t? Besides, her loyalty was to the tojin now. If she ever heard anything worth telling, she wouldn’t tell it.

  But she was curious all the same.

  Fuku lowered her voice. ‘Townsend’s country is far away across the ocean and it’s called America. He’s a very important man. Henry says he’s the konsuru, the “consul”, a sort of envoy. He’s the very first foreigner ever to come and live here, apart from the Holland men in Nagasaki. Henry’s a Holland man. That’s why he speaks our language and Townsend’s.’

  Okichi nodded. She’d always known Townsend was an important person, immensely important; it gave her quiet pleasure to think that he’d chosen her – Okichi of Shimoda – as his geisha.

  Fuku knelt next to Okichi, glanced around, then put her mouth close to her ear. ‘Henry says Townsend’s lord is as powerful as the shogun.’

  Okichi peeped over her shoulder too. She had very little idea of who or what the shogun was, let alone Townsend’s lord, but it would never do to be overheard saying anything remotely subversive. There were spies everywhere, everyone knew that, and there were bound to be some keeping an eye on the foreigners and their geisha.

  ‘Townsend has a letter from his lord,’ Fuku murmured, so softly Okichi could hardly hear her. ‘A very important letter. His lord has told him to go to Edo and deliver it to the shogun but the Shimoda governors have been saying, “No, no, no. Foreigners are not permitted in Edo.” Nothing but “No, no, no,” for months now. That’s why Townsend is always angry. But now permission has come direct from Edo. They’re going to go!’

  ‘To Edo?’ Okichi cried, forgetting to keep her voice down at the thought of that glorious glittering city where the shogun and all the great lords lived, even the lord of Shimoda. ‘Just think! All those people in splendid kimonos, those shops full of silks, the pleasure quarters, the geisha districts … It must be the most thrilling place on earth!’ She straightened her back, beaming at Fuku. ‘Imagine if they took us with them … We could mingle with some of those famous geisha, see them sing and dance. Mother might have a friend there we could look up.’

  She shook her head, laughing at herself. She was two years older than Fuku, she was supposed to be the sober one. She knew perfectly well men didn’t take their wives with them when they travelled, let alone their geisha. They liked to stay at houses of pleasure. Wives and geisha would just be in the way.

  Edo must be nearly as far away as Townsend’s country, she thought. The tojin would probably go by ship like the elders from Edo had when they’d come to order her to go and live with the old master. What a long time ago that all seemed. She remembered how frightened she’d been, how she’d tried to think of some way to escape, and Tsurumatsu and his treachery. So much had changed. Now she knew Townsend was not a monster at all but a human being, whom she respected. Indeed, more than respected, much more. He was her lord and master.

  The thought of him leaving made her feel empty inside. She thought how she’d miss him and how she’d prepare the house and make it beautiful for when he came back.

  *

  A few days later when they went to the kitchens at the usual time to collect the trays to serve the men their supper, Okichi was surprised to find the kindly Chinese cook not there. Instead the sour-faced head servant was bending over the stove. He straightened up, long pigtail swinging, and wiped his hands carefully on his apron.

  ‘You go soon.’ He enunciated each syllable.

  Okichi stared at him. She knew the Chinese thought the two of them no better than prostitutes and wanted to be rid of them. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Master and Young Master leaving.’ The man glared down at her, his malevolent black eyes half hidden in folds of skin. ‘You leave too.’

  ‘You mean we go with them to Edo?’ she said, although she doubted that could be the man’s meaning.

  ‘They go alone. We stay, keep house. Geisha leave, go home.’

  Okichi gasped, outraged that a mere servant dare think, let alone say, such a hateful thing. So that was why the cook was not there. The head servant had wanted the satisfaction of telling them the news himself. ‘The tojin will be coming back,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘They’ll need us here.’

  He narrowed his eyes to slits. ‘Masters pay you a lot of money. They very kind. Too kind.’ He turned back to the stove and started basting the meat frying there. ‘Come back, hire new geisha.’

  New geisha … Okichi was cut to the quick. She meant more than that to Townsend, far more. She drew herself up. ‘I’ll ask the old master,’ she said dryly.

  ‘Not old master,’ the man snapped. ‘His Excellency the Consul.’

  That night Okichi and Fuku served the tojin with even more care than usual. It was obvious the servant was just making trouble, they agreed. Best to pretend he hadn’t said anything. The tojin couldn’t possibly intend to dismiss them. They were much too fond of them.

  All the same a seed of doubt had been planted. When Okichi went into the bedroom, she put on the blue cotton sleeping robe that Townsend liked best and lay, listening for the familiar footsteps tramping through the house. He came in, took off his clothes and threw himself down on the bed without even a glance or a smile. Okichi knelt beside him and massaged his shoulders, kneading away the stiffness till he fell asleep, then lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to his snores.

  Was it just her imagination or was he colder towards her than ever before? She couldn’t be sure.

  *

  The next morning Fuku was unusually serious. They ate breakfast in silence, then went out to a hill a little way from the temple, looking for flowers to cut.

  When they were a good distance away, Fuku turned to Okichi, her face grave. ‘Henry spoke to me,’ she said. Okichi felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. She dropped her clippers. An autumn breeze whispered through the bamboo and rippled the pampas grass.

  ‘They’re going to Edo,’ Fuku went on. ‘They’ll be gone for several months. They can’t pay us while they’re away. Henry says they’re very grateful, we’ve done them good service, he’ll see that we’re properly recompensed. I thought he might say he was fond of me, that I’d made him happy, something kind like that … But he didn’t.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘I think they’re tired of us.’

  Okichi hardly heard the last words. Nothing the head servant had sai
d had prepared her for this. Somewhere in a distant corner of her mind a thought nagged at her: she was the older of the two, she should comfort Fuku. But she was too caught up in misery. The sky had grown cloudy and a wind swept across the hillside, rustling the bamboo. The world had never seemed so bleak. She sank to her knees and put her hands over her face, her heart pounding so loudly that all she could hear was the thunder in her ears.

  ‘It can’t be true,’ she muttered. ‘It can’t be.’ But even as she said the words, she knew it was.

  ‘Henry said something else. He said, “Please tell Okichi not to bother the Consul. He’s very busy preparing for our journey.”’

  Okichi raised her head. She’d been stunned, unable to move. But Fuku’s last words made her suspicious. After all, it was just hearsay. Henry had told Fuku, then Fuku told her. Why should she believe a word of it? She wouldn’t be sure till she’d heard the dreadful verdict from Townsend’s own lips. She had to see him, speak to him, ask him, no matter that it might make him angry. She had to know.

  Without stopping to think, she scrambled to her feet, picked up her kimono skirts and rushed down the hill, along the gravel road and through the gates, back to the temple. She kicked off her sandals, ran through the antechamber and burst into the room where Townsend was working.