The Geisha Who Could Feel No Pain (Secrets From The Hidden House Book 2)

by India Millar

  “It’s my favorite, Akira-san,” I gasped.

  He nodded. “Tell me, Mineko. Do you miss Midori No Me still?”

  He said it so calmly that I forgot my fear and answered honestly.

  “I miss her every day. She was my elder sister, and I loved her.” I could have bitten my tongue off, but to my surprise Akira-san seemed to appreciate the honesty of my response.

  “So did I.” He said it so softly, I wondered if I had misheard him. I soon realized I had not. “If I ever hear that you have told anybody that, I will kill you, Mineko. I may not be able to hurt you, but I promise that I will make sure that every sunrise makes you wish it was your last.”

  I searched for words to answer him, but it seemed Akira had retrieved his good humor, and I had no need to speak.

  “Hoshimi. Sayo.” Akira was smiling widely, as if our conversation had never happened. I sagged in relief. As he called their names, the twins got to their feet immediately and walked toward him. They moved at exactly the same pace, even the angle of their bodies were the same. It was deeply disturbing, and I was grateful I could hide my expression of distaste behind my fan. “You will dance for our guests.”

  Auntie struck up a traditional dance melody on her samisen. Akira bowed his head sharply, and the twins turned and walked into the circle formed by the patrons. They paused for a moment, waiting to capture the music, and then began to dance.

  And that was when we discovered that they did have a talent after all.

  They danced back to back, not quite touching. I felt the hairs at the back of my head stand on end as I watched. It was as if they were one person who had been sliced down the middle. Even though they could not see each other, their movements were exactly alike.

  “You would think they were the reflection of each other, wouldn’t you?” Akira was leaning toward me, so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Aren’t they amazing?”

  “Yes, Akira-san,” I breathed. Amazing and—to me, at least—strange.

  The music ended, and the twins bowed low to rapturous applause from the patrons. The two men they had been sitting with stood and grabbed for them, pulling them down to the tatami at their side. Both twins smiled, but remained silent.

  “Quiet women, Akira-san,” one of the men shouted happily. “Will wonders never cease? Do they have other talents, apart from silence?”

  “Show your patrons, girls.” Akira grinned.

  The twins looked at him and then, without exchanging so much as a glance between them, began to disrobe their patrons. Each performed exactly the same actions as the other, at the same time, as if they were working to a rhythm only they could hear. First, the men’s sashes were removed, and then their robes. The garments were laid aside in complete harmony. The men grinned widely as each twins’ head was lowered to their trees of flesh and two mouths began to nibble and lick and suck, each movement exactly the same.

  The men’s heads swiveled from twin to twin, as if in wonder that they could perform in such accord. There was a buzz of appreciation from the other patrons. It was too much for Masaki to take. She promptly delved inside the robe of her patron and it was obvious from his expression that her delicate fingers had found their target. It was strange, but it was always the big, robust men who went for delicate Masaki. I used to worry about her, but she told me not to bother.

  “They all treat me like a doll,” she said sadly. “As if I might break at any second. And anyway, it doesn’t matter how big they are, there’s never a great deal of difference in their trees. See one, seen them all.”

  I laughed at her words, but I knew what she meant. All my men wanted to do was try and hurt me. Oh, they would all get around to matching the bird to the nest eventually, or occasionally one might want to split the melon with me, but by then even if I had ever been aroused in the first place I had gotten tired of waiting while they played their silly games. Kiku had said she enjoyed being with a patron occasionally, and I envied her deeply. I never felt anything but boredom.

  “If you remembered that was the kimono I bought for your mizuage, what else do you remember about it, Mineko?” Akira’s voice broke into my thoughts.

  “It was very nice,” I said weakly.

  Akira chuckled. “Then perhaps we should repeat it.” He grinned. He waved his hand at his groin and I bowed my head respectfully, sliding my hand into his robe without more ado.

  His tree was already erect, and I wasted no time in wrapping my hand around it. But this was clearly not what Akira intended at all. He put his own hand over mine, stopping me.

  “No. I think it is time I found out what you have learned, my little Mineko.” He put his fingers on my lips and tapped them gently. Trembling, I lowered my head to the folds of his robe immediately, parting the rich fabric with my nose. I heard him say “aah,” and hoped the sound was one of approval.

  I was about to flip open his robe entirely when I remembered something else about my mizuage. It had struck me as strange at the time, but Akira had never taken his clothes off, not so much as his robe. No matter what acrobatics we performed, I had not seen an inch of his skin. And then Midori had explained to me about his tattoos.

  She had whispered about them behind her hand, and I had giggled, eyes wide.

  “Lots of men have tattoos,” I pointed out. “Especially yakuza. The gangsters have them to show their allegiance to their organization. What’s so odd about that?”

  But Midori had shaken her head, her expression serious. “Not like Akira they don’t. Every inch of his body from his ankles to his neck is tattooed.”

  “Even his tree?”

  “His tree and his kintama both. He has eyes tattooed on his ribs. When we make love, I swear they’re watching me.”

  And then Akira forced her to have a tattoo of a dragon pricked into the flesh of her neck and back, to mark her as his creature. You may not think that is particularly terrible, but to Japanese men the nape of the neck is the most erotic part of a woman’s body, and Midori felt that Akira had not only branded her, but had deformed her with the huge, colorful tattoo.

  Remembering Akira would not want his body to be exposed just in time, I stopped my attempts to open his robe and simply buried my face in the folds of cloth.

  “Very wise, Mineko. Did Midori tell you about my art, I wonder? Of course she did. You were as close as sisters, weren’t you? Keep your eyes closed, little one. Or else I may have to mark you as I did Midori.”

  Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I kept my eyes tightly closed and navigated his body with my lips. Not that it was a difficult task. His tree of flesh reared with the full force of his manhood. I wrapped my mouth around his hood and nibbled and licked for all I was worth. I might as well not have bothered; Akira sat as still as stone and gave no indication at all that he was enjoying what I was doing.

  I redoubled my efforts, first slow, and then fast. In desperation, I bit—hard—and for the first time got some response from him. He made no noise, but I felt his body tense. Not for the first time, I thought what a strange thing pain must be, that it could cause both terror and enjoyment.

  But now I had the key. Desperate to get this over with—and if I was lucky escape with my skin intact—I began to bite around Akira’s hood, alternating each nibble with a lick. I could hear his breathing begin to quicken, and was suddenly taken with a new terror. What if I was too good? What if he decided that he was going to take me in place of Midori? Lock me away in his beautiful house in Edo, keep me there as his prisoner, a bird captive in a palatial cage? I almost wailed with fear.

  In spite of the fact that I was sure he was almost at the point of bursting the fruit, I felt him relax suddenly. His hand fastened around the back of my neck and he tugged me upright, closing his robe firmly at the same time. Head lowered, I risked a glance at his face. I was right, I knew he was nearly there. The pupils of his strange grey eyes were huge, his face was flushed, and his lips parted. His voice was husky.

  “E
nough, Mineko. It may please you to know that you are the first woman to get that close to me since Midori ran away.”

  I waited, expecting more, but he was silent. I was bewildered. He had obviously enjoyed my attentions, so why then had he stopped me? I stared at him far longer than politeness—or common sense!—permitted, and I thought I saw pain in those beautiful eyes. And suddenly, I knew. He really had loved Midori. Still loved her. And this was his way, strange as it was, of mourning her. By punishing himself. I sent up a quick prayer to the gods, in the hope that he would not decide it would be appropriate to inflict yet more pain on himself by having me about the place to remind him of her.

  Men can be strange things. One never quite knew what they would find pleasing.

  I stared down, praying Akira could not hear the thumping of my heart. Did he realize what he had said? Did he know that I now shared his secret—that Midori was not dead? That she had escaped from him, and by doing so had shown the world that a mere geisha had somehow managed to get the better of the most powerful yakuza in Edo? I glanced at him from beneath lowered eyelids, but he was staring into space, smiling slightly as he surveyed the complex knots of bodies laid out on the tatami. I still didn’t know. I couldn’t read this terrible man. All I could do was stay silent, and hope.

  But my soul rejoiced with my new knowledge.

  The maid held out a cup of sake to me, and I took it, sipping the warm wine gratefully. It wasn’t that Akira wasn’t clean, he was, his flesh almost perfumed. It was just that I still needed to get the taste of him out of my mouth. And apart from anything else, the sake gave me something to concentrate on.

  All around us, the love games went on. I watched, not to take pleasure, but so I didn’t have to look at Akira, so he couldn’t see the joy in my eyes.

  The twins were still working on their patrons, but I noticed that the men appeared to have changed partners—the older and fatter of the two men was now on the right rather than the left. I suppose I should have looked at his face, but after a while all the patrons began to look the same to us geisha. In any event, I wondered why the men had bothered to change twins, it must have been the same as two men using one woman. Still, if it pleased them, that was all that mattered. Naruko was reclining on her side. Her patron had unwrapped her feet and was sucking one foot. It was the first time I had seen her feet properly. Even in the bath, she took care to hide them beneath her and we were always polite and made sure we didn’t stare. Now, I gawped at them in amazement. They were not only tiny—barely longer than my palm, and I do not have large hands—but they were bent and the toes were curled entirely under her foot. For the first time, I realized what pain she must suffer with each step and winced for her. But she was obviously finding her patron’s attentions pleasant, as she was smiling widely with genuine pleasure.

  Masaki—tiny, sweet faced Masaki—had her patron splayed on the tatami in front of her, on his belly. I choked back a giggle as I watched her lift one foot and almost casually give him a healthy kick in his ribs. The man groaned and she wagged a finger at him in reproof. She walked around him, her finger on her lip, obviously considering what to do next. Her mind made up, she leaned forward and planted both her hands in his topknot. Like most of Masaki’s patrons, this man was big. So big that I wondered if he was a sumo wrestler. The topknot made it likely. It obviously didn’t matter to Masaki. Satisfied with her grip, she planted her feet firmly on either side of him and yanked his head up before banging it down, face first, on the tatami. The man raised his head and I saw a trickle of blood running down to his lip.

  Masaki leaned forward and licked it away quite tenderly before squatting down at his side and allowing him to take her naked breast in his mouth.

  Not for the first time, I wondered who was the slave and who the captor. We might be prisoners, but I could see from Masaki’s gloating expression that moments like this were very sweet for her.

  “I sometimes wonder who should be paying who,” Akira said slyly, and I shivered, wondering if he had picked up on my thoughts. He held out his cup for more sake and drained it at a gulp. “Tell me, Mineko, do you know where Midori No Me is?”

  His tone was so casual that an outsider might have thought he was just making conversation. I knew he was not. I was shaking my head before I even thought of the words to answer him with.

  “No, Akira-san. I don’t know. She visited us one day, and the next we heard that she had disappeared.” I glanced at his face and decided to be brave. Or foolish. “We heard rumors that she had displeased you in some way, and you had sent her away as punishment.”

  A polite way of saying that we thought he had killed her, although even I didn’t dare to say that! We had all heard tales of Akira’s cruelty to his enemies. We all knew he was capable of anything and was untouchable. He turned his head to look at me, and I held my breath, sure I had gone too far. Cat and mouse, the game Akira played so well. Was this why he had told me earlier Midori had escaped him? So he could torment me now? I still didn’t know.

  “What a brave little geisha you are, Mineko,” he said mockingly. “Is that really what the other geisha think?” My throat was too dry to form words, so I nodded. “And is that what you think?”

  “No,” I managed to whisper.

  He nodded. “You know she is still alive, don’t you? Like me, you feel her in your bones. I believe you when you say you don’t know where she is. But tell me, what do you think has happened to her?”

  He smiled encouragingly, but I wasn’t deceived. If I lied, he would know. Even if I told him the truth and he didn’t like it, he would punish me in ways I couldn’t even begin to think of. I took a sip of sake that almost choked me and spoke in a rush.

  “I think she is with Danjuro. And not in Japan. If she were here, you would be able to find her, Akira-san.”

  “I see.” He appeared to be giving my words serious consideration. “But surely, everybody knows that Danjuro is dead? That he perished in the terrible fire at the kabuki theater? They found his body in the ruins. Everybody in Edo knows that.”

  Was he teasing me? I decided the only way forward was to tell the truth. Or at least the truth as I understood it.

  “I know a body was found, but I don’t know who it was.” I paused as a thought hit me. Akira nodded and waited politely for me to go on. I hesitated.

  “And if it wasn’t Danjuro? Who do you think it was, little Mineko?”

  “Big disappeared at the same time as the fire happened.” I spoke slowly, trying to order my thoughts. “He loved Danjuro. I know he haunted the kabuki when Danjuro went missing, hoping he would turn up. He couldn’t believe that the kabuki’s greatest actor was dead. They were of the same height, and the body they found was very badly burned. Was it Big?”

  I had forgotten my manners in the amazement of my knowledge, and Akira frowned at me. I bent my head submissively and asked, “Does Akira-san think that could be possible? I am, of course, only a foolish girl. My words are no more than the chirping of sparrows.”

  “You are a very clever girl, Mineko.” He paused, and I wondered if he was complimenting me on my insight or my acting skills. “I thought Danjuro was dead long ago. When the body was found at the kabuki, I thought he had somehow been resurrected, but was dead this time for certain. Midori always thought he was still alive, no matter what. Did she tell you that?”

  “Yes, Akira-san. She was always sure he was still alive, somewhere.” What was the point of lying? He would see through my words.

  “And Midori No Me? What do you think has happened to her? I know the world thinks that she dared to betray me in some way and I have had her killed. But you never believed that, did you?”

  “No, Akira-san.” My voice was barely a whisper.

  Akira reached forward and tilted my face up with his finger beneath my chin, so I was forced to meet his gaze. “Why? Why wouldn’t I have had her put to death if it pleased me to do it? She was my property. I could do what I liked with her.”

&
nbsp; The words were drawn out of my mouth as if by a powerful magnet. “If you had killed her, then the world would have known about it.”

  I stared at him, trying to read his reaction in his impassive face. Had I just signed my own death warrant? We had all heard tales about the cruelty Akira was capable of. Enemies executed in terrible ways and their bodies left in the most public of places to be found. Women who had upset him in some way, mutilated and dumped. He was the most feared yakuza in the whole of Edo, and he had his reputation to maintain.

  To my relief, he snickered. “There is that.” He grinned. “Of all people, it would have been necessary to make an example of Midori, if it came to it. But perhaps I have achieved the same result anyway. If everybody thinks she is dead, then they also think it is by my hand. And we will not disillusion them, Mineko, will we? And I think it is far better to let people think Big left the Floating World out of grief for the death of the man he loved. After all, people much prefer a mystery to the mundane.”

  I was struck dumb. I could do no more than nod my head.

  Akira kept me at his side for the rest of that dreadful evening. By the time the patrons were finally satiated and stood, ready to leave, I was stiff from the effort of sitting motionless by Akira’s side. He rose and left with his men, the girls bowing politely until all the men had gone before they headed for the bath. I went with them, almost pushing past to be the first into the steaming water.

  I could feel his touch on my skin still, and no amount of hot water was ever going to wash it away. I wondered if this was how Midori had felt every day, living with Akira and waiting for his every command, and I could have wept for her. Could I ever be as brave? I doubted it.

  There was no need to light an oil lamp in my room. The moon was full and guided my hands as I undressed and lay down on my futon. I was on the very verge of sleep when I heard my screen door slide open. I kept my eyes closed and pretended that I was deeply asleep, hardly breathing. I knew who my visitor was.