“I know some of you girls were working all night. So thank you, girls, for your dedication.”
A woman sitting next to the owner challenged the director in a clear, authoritative voice. She was fresh-faced and looked to be in her early thirties. Her hair was done up in a Western style, but she wore a staid kimono of gradated violet and an obi with a bamboo motif. But the thing that really made her stand out was that her face was as flamboyant as a Western rose.
The owner appeared to have been in a good mood for some time. He cleared his throat to draw everyone’s attention.
“As you all know, the lady of Oumi Tea House has been absent.”
The owner’s slack jaw tightened slightly as he addressed everyone.
The owner’s wife had borne the burden of managing the tea house’s affairs, but lately she was confined to her bed and had been away from the pleasure quarters. He seemed to be leading up to the announcement that the person who had replaced her was the woman with the commanding presence who sat beside him now.
“I’m sure you’ve all noticed already, but this is Miss Gikuyo, who’ll be coming to stay with us for a while to help around the house.”
The owner’s face filled with joy as he introduced the woman. In contrast, Gikuyo didn’t even smirk.
“Hello everybody,” she said briefly, as she stared down at the assembled faces.
Misao’s eyes locked with hers, and in that moment he decided that it was better to avoid approaching this strong-willed woman. He had no choice but to give a polite smile. Gikuyo, on the other hand, seemed to be sizing Misao up from head to foot. She thrust her pointed chin out and veritably snorted. It was clearly a derisive laugh.
Misao’s anger flared.
“That old hag,” he whispered poisonously.
Kazushi’s shoulders trembled in amusement beside him, but when Misao glared at him out of the corner of his eye, he gazed innocently up at the sky.
The tinkle of a bell was their signal, and the girls who were going into the street checked their shoes.
That sound was the signal to let the public in the streets know that the workday had begun in the tea house.
Those girls who didn’t yet have any appointments that night streamed onto the porch that they called their office, and sat down all lined up in a row. The office was open to the street, separated by a lattice. The girls sat and took elegant poses to be silhouetted against the lattice by the large lanterns behind them.
On the other hand, those girls who had had their customers arranged by the introductory tea house each left the brothel to go meet their respective clients. This travel was called being “on the road.”
“Misao! Misao!”
The owner called out to Misao urgently just as he was heading up to the second floor.
“Yes?”
Misao had gone halfway up the stairs and lazily came back down. It seemed the owner couldn’t wait for such a leisurely pace to bring Misao to him, so he ran up and grabbed Misao’s arm.
“Mister Sakai is coming back!” he declared joyously, as he pulled Misao into the yard.
“But hasn’t he retired?”
Misao’s voice was slightly brighter as he asked this.
Sakai was the customer who had been so nice to Misao when he was younger, an authority in forensic medicine. Now that he had reached his sixtieth year, he had left the field of medicine and was leading a leisurely life of retirement. For several years, Sakai had consistently been Oumi Tea House’s best customer. But he’d been having back trouble for the last few months and hadn’t been by for some time. If this long-standing customer of such great influence was making his return, it was understandable that the owner was dancing for joy.
“I sent Ukigumo out to meet him, and you’re going to meet him out in front of the display girls. Got it?”
The owner climbed down from the platform and disappeared into the curtained doorway. Misao waited at the entrance as he had been instructed, until he saw the director bearing a lantern with the name of the tea house and leading a line of people. Behind her, leaning on a cane, was Sakai. He wore a bowler hat, a short-sleeved kimono with loose pants, and two layers of jackets. Behind him came more girls, carrying lanterns with the letter “U” inside a circle, then came Ukigumo in her best regalia, surrounded by her maids and apprentices.
When the head of the line reached the front of the tea house, Misao bowed and held the curtains aside for the guest.
“It’s wonderful to see you again.”
He greeted Sakai as he approached, then lowered his eyes.
Sakai stopped in the doorway and peered at Misao, with a white beard like a mountain goat.
“I bet you thought I dropped dead, eh? I’m not that old yet!”
His eyes arched happily.
Misao was glad to see that the old man was still as cheerful as ever.
“I’ll be there to stand at your wake,” he answered with a charming, playful smile.
Sakai’s gruff voice was raised in laughter and he went into the yard. Ukigumo floated after him and her maid Sazu scurried along in the rear.
“Come along.”
The new manager Gikuyo greeted Sakai in the yard and took his cane.
“My, my.”
Sakai scrutinized Gikuyo’s face, then blinked blearily.
“Here’s another face I haven’t seen in a while.”
“I’ve just begun working as the manager for Oumi Tea House today. My name is Gikuyo. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
She bowed and Sakai nodded to her, then tottered onto the platform, wheezing with the effort.
“Sir, sir—is everything all right?”
Sazu ran up beside Sakai and tilted her head at him. Sakai found that amusing and just laughed and patted her on the head. Sazu was happy to be petted like this, and grinned toothily at him.
Misao watched their exchange out of the corner of his eye as he affixed pieces of string to the customers’ possessions in the coatroom. When Sakai and Sazu joined hands to frolic, he saw his younger self in the same scene.
It had been more than ten years since their first meeting, but Sakai hadn’t changed at all. Whenever Misao saw him, he was a completely carefree old man, like an inscrutable cloud floating in the sky, enjoying every day of his life.
“Come here, Misao.”
Sakai beckoned Misao over as he began climbing the stairs. He wanted Misao to come to the tea room with him.
Misao glanced over at Gikuyo for her approval.
“Mister Sakai is asking for you,” she said and nodded, and Misao climbed up to the room with Ukigumo.
Where the old gentleman was, there was always singing and drinking, and a general commotion.
Besides Ukigumo, to whom he was engaged for the night, girls streamed in and out all night to entertain him. When someone mentioned that they wanted some noodles, someone else suggested ordering sushi, and the servants delivered enough for ten people. One of the servants called Ukigumo away in the midst of all this and she withdrew with her maid. But Sakai didn’t let such a little thing upset him and the celebration showed no signs of dying down.
When Ukigumo came back to the room, they had already emptied several bottles of wine.
“I see you’re busy as usual!” Sakai teased Ukigumo as she sat down beside him.
The Oumi Tea House was unique in the western pleasure quarters because its courtesans traveled. That meant that they visited as many different rooms in one night as the lower-ranking girls.
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” Ukigumo laughed, her eyes cast modestly down. She reached out casually with one hand and Misao handed her a bottle of wine, reading her wishes. Their fingers brushed briefly, her delicate fingers like slender white fish dancing around the bottle.
Of all the girls at the Oumi Tea House, Ukigumo was the only one Misao would say had inner beauty. No matter how unmatched the physical beauty, if the girls couldn’t hide the storms in their hearts the influence of such gh
astly emotions would show on their faces. Women in the pleasure quarters were, each and every one, slowly corrupted by this festering environment. Some couldn’t bear the strain and left reality behind; many of those who overcame adversity were warped forever after.
But Ukigumo was just as she had been the day she was sold to the brothel: a core of beauty ran through her. At first glance she seemed like a supple spring flower in bloom. But she had a hardiness inside her. She was beautiful, inside and out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Misao watched Ukigumo gracefully serve Sakai another cup of wine, and he thought of Masaomi. In fact, Masaomi was never far from Misao’s thoughts, always clamoring for his attention, but Misao tried hard not to think about him.
There were many things in Misao’s heart that he could not confront directly. Among those things were his despair and his hopes. Anything that might upset the delicate balance inside him, he shut away behind a poorly-fitted door. It was only when he’d discovered that technique as a child that Misao had been able to stop crying.
“Hey, is that Kazushi? You’ve grown up!”
Sakai looked surprised and Misao turned to look.
Kazushi was kneeling in the hallway just outside the tea room, his hands resting on his thighs as he bowed to Sakai.
Sakai picked up a new cup of wine and held it up to Kazushi, waving it up and down.
“I shouldn’t.”
Kazushi inched into the room and sat across from Sakai. He accepted the cup with both hands and let Sakai serve him, then drained the contents in one shot and set the cup down again. He jerked his chin, asking for another. He glanced at Misao, then turned back to look at Sakai.
“I came to borrow Misao, actually.”
“That kid Katsuragi, is it?” the old gentleman asked with a knowing grin, but Kazushi denied it, laughing.
“Nope. Guess again.”
Who could it be? Misao searched his memory for several moments, but quickly cut off his conjecturing. The experience would be the same no matter who it was, so there was no point in speculating.
“You’ve become pretty popular,” Sakai teased Misao, but then his eyes went wide. “Oh, oh, oh! Wait a minute, I forgot. It must be my age—I forget everything lately. Here, here. I wanted to give you this.”
Sakai pulled a folded fan from his jacket pocket.
Kazushi moved politely to one side so that Misao could sit down across from Sakai.
He accepted the fan that Sakai offered him. He pulled it open, revealing a pure white field with a watermarked painting of cherry blossoms. It was elegant and of magnificent quality.
Sakai raised both his index fingers and drew twirling circles on either side of his merry face.
Following his wishes, Misao fluttered the fan elegantly by his face as he sat, sliding his index finger across each slat of wood in the frame every time he flicked his wrist, spinning the fan in a circle. Finally, he tossed the fan up and caught it in three fingers, all the while watching Sakai’s smiling face.
Sakai grinned toothily and clapped appreciatively.
“Beautiful.”
“Thank you. And thank you for this.”
Misao gave Sakai a quick bow, then stood up. Kazushi apologized for interrupting as well, then led Misao into the hallway. As Misao left the room, Sakai called out to him kindly. “I hope you come back.”
Out in the hall now, Misao bowed once more to Sakai.
Misao felt like his heart had been dashed with cold water, but he held his feelings in check and hurried over to fall in behind Kazushi, who stood slightly apart from him in the hall.
“Who is it?” Misao asked without pretext.
Kazushi drew so close he tilted his head.
“The Towa boy.”
When Misao heard the name whispered at his ear, he lost all sense of reality.
“What—?”
By the time Misao had collected himself enough to respond, Kazushi was already at the end of the hall.
“He’s in the Holly Room. I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Kazushi turned back and summed the situation up simply, then headed down another hallway. Misao hurried after him.
“Hold on—”
He grabbed Kazushi’s arm and pulled him back.
Kazushi arched an eyebrow and looked at Misao. He had a strange look on his face. No, maybe Misao was the one acting strangely. Thrills were running through his entire body and he couldn’t stand still.
“But why me? If he wanted Ukigumo, she had two of her apprentices there with Mister Sakai, too. Don’t we usually make one of them fill in?”
“Well, that’s true.”
Kazushi scratched behind an ear, looking like he was at a total loss. He clearly didn’t want to be involved.
“I wish the guys would just say if they didn’t want an apprentice.”
Misao’s riotous senses calmed for an instant, and he gave a clumsy smile and a quick sigh. “He’s probably going to end up saying that, anyway. ‘Oh, no, I only wanted Ukigumo.’ I’m not even a girl,” he argued sulkily. He felt something nagging at him unpleasantly.
“Maybe so, but he’s a customer. You can’t just ignore him.”
Kazushi’s lips twisted into a rueful smile and he snorted.
“I thought you’d be happy, your dream is coming true.”
“Didn’t I tell you, it wasn’t like that?” Misao snapped in annoyance.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Kazushi patted Misao on the shoulder, almost reassuringly.
“Well, anyway, he’s all yours now.”
When they stopped in front of a tea room, its sliding doors firmly shut, they heard the sound of a zither coming from inside. It was truly accomplished playing.
Misao took a breath, then knelt beside the door.
“Sir?” he called, as he pulled the door open.
The delicate melody stopped.
Sitting behind the zither, his back straight and head tilted to one side, dressed to the nines, the man quietly turned his face to Misao. Misao looked into his eyes and caught sight of something unusual within them.
He was alone in the room. No geishas had been called. Misao guessed that he didn’t want many people around him.
Misao folded his hands in front of him and bowed, then moved to sit, not across from Masaomi, but a slight distance from the butterfly-leg table in the room.
He didn’t want to be a nuisance.
“I came to offer you some wine, but if I’m interrupting, I can leave.”
Masaomi shook his head gently. “No, it’s fine.”
He pulled the picks off of his fingertips and turned to face Misao, the little table between them. Misao relaxed and drew closer as well.
“Thank you for your help this morning.”
Masaomi thanked him, his face mild, in place of a greeting. Misao inclined his head ambiguously and held up a wine bottle. Masaomi raised his cup without objection.
“Did you get a chance to speak with Ukigumo?” Misao asked, his question weighty with implication as he tilted the wine bottle over Masaomi’s cup.
He was sure that when Ukigumo had left Sakai’s room earlier, it had been to come here.
“Well…”
Misao saw Masaomi smirk at his own evasiveness and he withdrew the wine bottle curiously.
“She was as tight-lipped as a clam, just like last night.”
“What?”
Misao’s voice slipped out at this unexpected information.
This was Masaomi’s second visit to the brothel. His second meeting with the courtesan. No matter how prideful the girl, she always spoke to a customer on his second visit to her.
“She was playing that zither there so that she wouldn’t have to talk, and she was kind enough to let me borrow it.”
Masaomi gazed at the zither anxiously, then turned his face back to Misao.
“I think she must hate me.”
His sorrowful smile stabbed into Misao’s heart.
“I can’t believe t
hat,” he whispered.
It was exceedingly rare for a courtesan to brush off a customer. And what could she have possibly found to object to in Masaomi?
If it were me, Misao thought, then cut that train of thought off at once.
“Misao?”
The sound of his name flustered Misao more than it should have.
He was afraid he might drop the wine bottle, so he set it back on the table.
“Yes?”
He collected himself and tried to answer calmly, but he didn’t think he managed it very well.
“What sort of work do you do here?”
Misao was at a loss as to how to answer this question and searched for his words.
“Well… I do lots of things.”
“Such as?”
Cleaning the building, delivering trays to rooms, talking with the customers, lighting lamps: none of these things merited discussion. And the fact that he flirted with the customers to earn money was out of the question.
Misao looked down at the zither.
There was only one thing he did that he could be proud of with no qualifications.
And maybe it would cheer Masaomi up.
Misao drew Sakai’s gift from his sleeve and rested it on his knees. Once he was sure Masaomi had seen the fan, he said, “Would you play something for me?”
Masaomi glanced briefly at Misao’s composed features as he made this request, and after a languid pause he agreed. “Certainly.”
Masaomi stood and returned to the zither. He drew himself up beautifully and looked to Misao for his signal.
“What would you like?”
Misao’s mind went suddenly blank. His eyes dropped to the fan as he considered. He remembered the painting on the fan’s folded paper.
He looked up at Masaomi.
“Sakura, Sakura, please.”
Masaomi nodded and Misao rose to his feet, holding the fan.
Internalizing the plucking strings, he drew his feet together femininely and loosened his knees to take the beginning pose.
The beautiful strains of the song began.
He rested his left hand over his right and pulled open the fan, the right hand pulling it forward three slats and the left pulling it back five.
Love Water Page 4