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 sorr
owfully 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 Ukigumonot 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 oneor 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.
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