“Shichi-san, this is another family guest, Sanaa.” He gestures to me, and I stand absolutely still. I’ve never been to an okiya and am not sure how polite or formal I’m supposed to be. When Jiro sees my frozen state, he puts his hand on the small of my back. He probably thinks this is going to have a calming effect on me, but now I’m fluttery instead.
“Good evening, Sanaa-san. Is this your first time here? I don’t think I’ve ever met you.”
“Um, yes. I’ve never been here before.” Concentrate, Sanaa. All I can think about is Jiro’s hand on my back.
Shichi’s smile is warm, and her eyes friendly. “I hope you have a fun time tonight. May I take your shoes?” She waits politely with her hands folded while Jiro and I slip out of our geta and into the slippers that have been left for us. She stows away our shoes and Jiro’s tablet and gestures down the hallway. “Dōzo.”
Her steps are slight, and her practiced shuffling gives her an even smaller appearance, and, as it is, she is petite. They must recruit the smallest girls they can find to do these jobs.
We’re the last to arrive. Sakai, Koichi, and Yoichi are already in the private room with Miko and someone I can only guess to be Jiro’s mother. I’m so nervous I could faint.
“Oh, Koichi. She looks just like her.” She has her hand to her mouth, covering up surprised shock. I swear this woman I’ve never met is about to cry.
Sakai reaches over and grabs Jiro’s mother’s hand and squeezes. “Mariko, it takes some time to get used to it.”
The room is suddenly very uncomfortable, and I have no idea what to do. Jiro is a little behind me, and I turn to him for guidance. He is looking at his mother sadly, but he places his arm on my shoulders and squeezes me. Thankfully, Koichi jumps up and comes around the sunken table to me.
“Sanaa, you look lovely. Did you get some rest this afternoon?”
I let out a long-held breath and bow to him to cover up my unease. “Yes, I even napped. Thanks for sending us home earlier than usual.”
Over his shoulder, Miko is mouthing, “What the hell?” at me, but I choose to ignore her. I have no idea how to explain this.
Jiro and I sit in the two seats left. It’s a large table shaped like an L positioned over a sunken hole in the floor, horigotatsu style — much more comfortable than sitting seiza all night like the geisha will most likely do. The dark blue cushions set out for us are soft and squishy, and the table already has carafes of sake waiting to be drunk. Once I’m sitting, my feet start fidgeting under the table, my nervous energy flowing straight down my legs to my pink-painted toes. I had dreams of meeting Jiro’s mother with a smile and having a polite conversation with her. I wanted to impress her. This greeting has gone horribly wrong.
I try to distract myself by looking around this beautiful room instead of at Mariko who is pained by my appearance. The cream colored walls are sedate, and the tatami mats are painstakingly cared for. Behind us is an alcove, a tokonoma, with a painted scroll of some large white birds on spindly legs taking flight from a small body of water. A full moon hovers over them. I can hardly believe the vase of fresh flowers. I don’t know any of their names, but the arrangement is peaceful with not a petal or leaf out of place. Someone must come in and check them several times per day.
Jiro reaches past me and serves us both sake, but I’m afraid to touch my cup my hands are shaking so badly. He blows out his breath and changes his worried expression into a happier, lighter one. “Mother, have another drink. You’re falling apart.”
“Gomen ne, Jiro-kun.” She takes a drink and turns a smile on me, setting me somewhat at ease. “Sanaa, I knew your mother well. She was one of my best friends, and I’m afraid I never realized how much I missed her until now. It’s good to see you tonight.” She scans everyone at the table once before bowing her head. “Forgive my outburst. Let’s eat and forget about it.”
Everyone returns to light conversations, and I let out a long, silent breath. Maybe this evening will be okay after all. I’m sitting on the end of the table and Jiro is between me and Yoichi, although Yoichi is on the other corner of the L and we are on the shorter side of the table. Sakai passes Miko plates of appetizers, and they slowly make their way to us: vegetable stuffed dumplings served with a tangy soy sauce, tofu wrapped around finely sliced carrots and mushroom rice, crispy pieces of soy-based salty duck, and breaded and deep fried lotus roots, daikon carved into flowers. Everything is beautifully plated and presented.
“Shitsurei itashimasu!” The door slides open, and two geisha enter the room. “It’s 8:15, Sakai-san. I hope your business is all complete?”
“Quite, Oyuki.” Sakai points along the table, introducing each of us in turn. He skips over Jiro and Koichi though. I think they’re here a lot.
Oyuki must be in her late twenties. Her black, shiny hair is gathered back in an elaborate bun and topped off by a white dangling hairpin and silver comb. I adore her dark blue kimono with its small, white flowered and branch pattern, and over it a chocolate brown obi tied in a perfect drum bow.
Behind Oyuki, a young maiko, apprentice geisha, is quietly entering the room. With her full white makeup, red colored lower lip, filled in straight brows, and an elaborately high lacquered hairdo (I imagine takes ages to wash out at night), she is the picture of sweet elegance.
“Hello, hello,” she chimes.
All the men at the table smile. She is adorable with her little steps and sing song voice. Miko and I smirk at each other. Shichi follows both geisha in, deposits a tray of sake, bows, and returns to the hallway closing the door behind her.
The maiko elegantly kneels down into seiza and bows, then starts filling sake cups on the table.
“My name is Masami. You all look like a happy bunch tonight.”
“We are indeed. It’s not often we get to go out with our family,” Koichi says.
“It’s not like we’re invited all that often.” Mariko gives him an incredulous look which makes him laugh and the rest of us smile.
While Oyuki, Sakai, Koichi, and Mariko exchange small talk, Masami fills our cups, and we chat with her, explaining how we all know each other. Jiro and I are careful not to give away too many details about what I do every day. Everyone here at the table is in on the secret except Miko. I think even Mariko knows.
“Masami, your kimono is beautiful.” Miko has leaned forward to get a better view. She loves kimono as much as I do.
“Oh thank you, Miko-san. It is very old and, thankfully, well-cared for. The man who attends to all of our kimono is excellent at repair and restoration. I especially love this one.” When she walked into the room, my eyes went directly to it because, yes, it’s a gorgeous kimono. It’s bright maroon with a white water motif falling from the waist to the hem, and over it is a white and purple obi draped elaborately down the back. Her white undergarment is banded along the collar in red, dipping far down her back to reveal her white painted neck. I wonder what I would look like dressed like this. Probably ridiculous but that doesn’t stop me from dreaming about it.
Jiro is listening and making comments intermittently, but he is enjoying the food and drink which is what I should be doing. I make sure to eat each of the appetizers I’ve been served so there’s plenty of food in my stomach to soak up the sake. The last thing I want is to be the only one drunk here.
“I’m glad you like the food. I think they’re serving tempura next.”
“Fantastic. I love tempura. I haven’t had it in a long time.”
We sit quietly for a moment and sip more sake.
“Sorry about my mother, Sanaa-chan,” Jiro says, lowering his voice. “I feel awful about the way she put you on the spot like that. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
“No, it’s fine.” I play with my chopsticks for a minute, but I’m fidgeting again, so I lay them down and put my hands in my lap. “Mark had a similar reaction to me. My mother must have been popular.”
“I hear your father was as well. Do you not get the same reaction
s from that side of the family?”
“No. We’re estranged from my father’s side. I don’t see them.”
I hate talking about my father’s side of the family especially now that my Aunt Sharon refuses to talk to me anymore. I don’t know why they all disowned me after my parents died. I wish I did. It’s a topic I avoid because I have no answers to any of the questions. So I try to smile, but it’s weak and immediately fades.
Jiro sets down his chopsticks and reaches under the table, taking my hand in his and lacing his fingers with mine. If my heart could beat any faster, it would jump out of my chest and run away. “No worries, Sanaa-chan,” he says, resting his head on his other hand and looking at me. “You seem to have plenty of family now.”
After what happened last night, I was sure Jiro wasn’t romantically interested in me. His warm hand and mine together and his light touches today at the dōjō tell me I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong.
I try to cover up my nervousness by tucking my hair behind my ear with my free hand and glancing across the table. Sakai is talking with Oyuki, but Koichi and Mariko are watching us. Mariko is suppressing a small smile, and Koichi reaches around her waist to give her a squeeze. I think they approve.
I take a deep breath but the light pressure of Jiro’s hand is making even breathing hard. He strokes his thumb on mine, and I sigh which only makes me more nervous because he heard it and smiled. If we were alone, I’d kiss him. If I could move which I can’t.
It’s funny that this hand-holding is more intimate, more heart-stopping, more thrilling than the sex I have with Chad. Even my entire crazy-making relationship with Joshua wasn’t as fulfilling as this one moment of contact with Jiro. I have been missing out.
I’m jolted out of my thoughts when the door opens and more food arrives. He lets go to help distribute the plates, and I have to stop myself from saying “No!” out loud. Don’t let go! His warmth leaks from my hand, and I clench it in my lap trying to get that feeling back into it. I forgot how much I love it when he directs me in practice, and holding hands is ten times more powerful. I can only imagine what a kiss will be like. I must have one. I will think of nothing else until then.
Yes, I become obsessed easily.
Now that we all have food, Masami and Oyuki get up and decide to entertain us with some music. The sound of a shamisen is not my favorite, but, between Oyuki’s masterful skill at playing and singing and Masami’s dance, I’m sucked into the whole routine. The tempura is excellent, but I eat it fast because my mind is on Jiro next to me.
When the music ends, we all applaud. Oyuki and Masami are doing a fantastic job tonight. I now totally understand the appeal of going to an okiya.
“So, love, do you think you can best me at Rock Paper Scissors? You know you always lose.” Turns out Mariko is interested in drinking games — didn’t expect that — and she’s goading Koichi into it.
“That’s because you are a wicked, evil witch, love, who can read minds. No, no, you try your wily ways on Mark, and I will watch and laugh.” This is probably a good thing because Koichi is drunk already.
I am trying not to laugh, really I am, but a small giggle escapes me that’s threatening to turn into a fit. Too much sake.
Jiro turns to me and whispers, “Not once have I ever seen my mother lose this game, and I had years of early bedtimes as a kid because she always beat me.”
Watching Mariko, I’m sure she can read minds. Each time — Sakai: rock, Mariko: paper; Sakai: scissors, Mariko: rock — she beats Sakai and makes him drink. After ten tries, Sakai throws up his hands and relents, but she’s not done. She bests both Yoichi and Miko, then Oyuki. Jiro waves her off, and she beats me as well.
“You are all terrible, terrible liars!”
After a few more rounds, Koichi, Mariko, and Sakai are pretty far gone but the rest of us seem safe. I refuse anymore drinking games and ask for a bowl of rice which Shichi brings so quickly I assume they have them on stand-by just for this reason. While I eat and listen to Koichi and Sakai tell stories of how they once pranked a casino owner by moving three pachinko machines into the street overnight, Jiro turns to me with his chopsticks and helps himself to my rice.
“Hey! That’s mine.” I try to snatch it back but he’s quick.
“Sanaa-chan, you must learn to share.”
I change my position, bringing my leg up out of the well, kicking off my slippers, and face him so he has better access to the bowl. “Fine, but now I think you owe me dinner.”
“Any time.” His left hand comes down and rests on my ankle, bringing a blush to my cheeks.
Behind Jiro, Miko and Yoichi are listening to Sakai and Koichi. Miko is sitting in Yoichi’s lap, reclined back against him. She’s so comfortable, more than I’ve ever seen her with any other guy.
“What are you looking at, Sanaa?” His thumb strokes my ankle, and I clear my throat.
“Oh, Miko and Yoichi. They’re so happy.”
Jiro is watching me. “They are. It’s a good match.”
I think we could sit and stare at each other for hours, but I want to show Jiro that I truly am interested in him too before he thinks I’m just humoring his small touches and lengthy glances. There are lots of witnesses present, so I go for simplicity. I set down my bowl, move closer, and take his hand in mine with a smile. I get the reaction I was hoping for, his eyes indicating the thankful sigh he is holding back.
I remember my wish and my determination to make it come true. It was the right move.
He leans in close to me, squeezing my hand and pulling it to him, his face only a centimeter from mine. “Time’s almost up, Sanaa-chan. Let me take you home.”
* * * *
Goodbyes are said on the sidewalk outside the okiya. Miko wants me to come to the izakaya more often, and I agree. I miss it too much to stay away now. When she and Yoichi walk away together, hand-in-hand towards Ku 6, jealousy rises in my chest, the fiery dragon awakening once again. I wish Jiro were taking me home with him. Then Mariko hugs me and asks me over for tea, and the dragon settles in for a nap. I’m glad the evening ended on better footing than it began.
Jiro links hands with me again and drags me to the transitway entrance. A train arrives at the platform almost immediately, and we find two seats next to each other. Instead of talking, I rest my head on his shoulder, and he traces the bones in my hand with his finger. It’s so comfortable and easy that I could fall asleep. All the sake I drank tonight is not helping to keep me awake. I should have asked Shichi for tea though I abhor it.
I get up and lead him off the train at my Ku 9 station. It’s a four block walk home, and the streets are quiet. The shops closed. He doesn’t let go of my hand.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Since I was fourteen, when I became a full-time engineering apprentice. Aunt Kimie was eager to leave Ku 5.”
“Before that you lived here in Ku 9, right?”
“Sōdeshō, full circle, ne? I lived here with my parents, though I was too young to remember it. They died before I was two. Aunt Kimie and Lomo moved us to Ku 5 directly after. They tried to go back to Ku 6 and visit my grandfather until he died when I was five, but he turned them away. He didn’t approve of Aunt Kimie being gay. He was always talking about her having children, and she didn’t want kids. I think I was enough of a handful she hadn’t planned on, though I’ve hardly ever deviated from the path. Well, until now.”
“Not your fault, though,” Jiro says. “It’s not your fault your parents died. And it’s not your fault now that Sakai has you doing this job you don’t like.”
“I thought about quitting. I wanted to walk out in the beginning and never see Mark again, but I’m glad I stayed. He knows things about my family no one has ever told me. Things I know by instinct are true.” I quiet down for a moment, swinging Jiro’s hand at our side. I’m rambling, but I want to tell him everything. “Mark’s right about me. I should never have been removed from Ku 6. I’m a complete outsider. I don’t
think it’s what my parents would have wanted for me. If they had been alive, we would have been in Ku 6 all the time or maybe even lived there. I don’t know, but the more I think about it, the more I’m sure of it.”
“Sanaa, I’m so sorry about last night. I didn’t mean for you to think there was something wrong with you for not being like the girls from Ku 6.” He runs his other hand through his hair, huffing out a breath and turning to me. “I like you just the way you are.”
“But, Jiro-kun...”
“Stop, Sanaa-chan. Whatever it is you have to say about yourself, it doesn’t matter.”
I stop him a block from my building.
“But it does matter.” I throw up my free hand. “It’s ridiculous! And I’m mad at myself for never questioning it until now. How did I get to be twenty years old and never celebrated Girls’ Day or walked the streets during a festival or gone to the numerous plays and concerts you’ve mentioned? I should have participated in Coming of Age Day in January like every other girl in Ku 6, but we didn’t even mention it.”
I try to release my hand from his because I want to pout alone, but he only holds on tighter.
“Hey, don’t you pull away from me. Come on,” he says as he reels me in closer to him, “these circumstances of your life are out of your control. We all like to think that we have control over our own lives, but we don’t, especially not when we’re young and adults are making decisions for us.”
Jiro is so much wiser than I will ever be. This is what comes of independence at a young age.
“Jiro, your parents didn’t keep you away from your culture.”
“But they are also deeply engaged in their culture, they don’t see the bigger picture. You need to see both sides.”
“Do you see both sides? Do you spend time outside your ward, outside of the little Japan Ku 6 is?”
My comment is snide, and I know it’s false because I’ve seen him in other wards via surveillance. He peers down at me sadly, and I’m afraid I’ve hurt his feelings with my outburst. I take our hands and raise them to my chest, bringing us even closer together. “Gomen nasai, Jiro. I’m just angry.”
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 21