by India Millar
He had, he said, been adopted by the Danjuro family, not born into it. Because of that, he always felt that he was not good enough. That no matter how he tried, no matter how much he gave of himself, he would never be quite as great as those who had been born to be Danjuro.
He paused, his head down, and I stared at him in amazement. All the years of subservience, all the carefully instilled manners and instructions were forgotten in a flash. Instead, I was a woman talking to my lover as if we were equals. As if that could ever be!
I shook my head in frustration, searching for the right words. “Danjuro,” I blurted. “That is all wrong. Don’t you understand? If you had been born into the family, it would not matter whether you were a good actor or not. People would simply assume that you were a great performer because you were Danjuro as of right.” He did not raise his head, not by so much as a fraction, but I could see from the tense set of his shoulders that he was listening carefully to me. “But you were adopted. You were chosen to be Danjuro because you are the best. If you were not, then somebody else would be in your place. Don’t you see that?”
I stopped, suddenly breathless. If this had been a patron in the Hidden House and I had spoken to him like that, he would have been within his rights to strike me. He would certainly complain to Auntie, and it was entirely likely that she would hand me over to the Boys to be punished. All at once, I realized what I was risking by my daring.
Danjuro – the great Danjuro – had asked for me. For Midori No Me. Green Eyes. Not only asked for me, but taken me out of the Hidden House to share his world. And what was I doing? Talking to him as if I was his equal. I trembled. Lowered my eyes. Waited for him to tell me curtly to get out. Or for him to beat me.
But he did not. I held my breath for what seemed like an age. When Danjuro spoke, he sounded very young. His voice shook.
“Midori No Me-san. Do you really think that? Or are you just trying to reassure me?”
I let my breath go in a long sigh, so relieved I could have cried. “You must know it is true,” I said quickly “The crowd loved you. I have never seen anything like it. I didn’t even recognize you at first. I really thought that you were an old woman.”
Danjuro laughed at my words, a strangely innocent sound. He climbed to his feet, bent his back, and hunched his shoulders. Suddenly he was the old crone again. I gasped, my hand in front of my mouth, and then applauded wildly.
For the next ten minutes, Danjuro gave me a private performance. He made me laugh and cry by turns. My hands were sore from clapping. Eventually, he stopped and shook himself. Abruptly, he was Danjuro again.
He bowed and then leaned toward me, patting my face, my shoulders, my neck very gently with his hands. It was an odd gesture, but very tender. I melted.
“Danjuro,” I whispered. “I would do anything, anything at all, to be part of this. Please, is there a place here for me? Make me the smallest, the most insignificant. I will clean for you. Empty the night soil. Anything at all to belong here.”
Even as I pleaded, I realized what I had said. Why, I wondered, had I not begged to be with Danjuro rather than asking to be part of his world? He was my lover, wasn’t he? I would do anything he asked and love it. Why, suddenly, was I asking to be part of the kabuki rather than part of Danjuro’s life?
I bit my lip hard enough to hurt, sure that he would be the one man in a thousand who was sensitive enough to pick up on what I had said. Mentally, I pummeled myself. How could I be so stupid? Why was I choosing to deliberately turn my back on the greatest chance any girl could long for? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“You feel it too?” He was smiling. I almost fainted with relief. “When I first came to the kabuki, I was a small child. I had come from a village in the north. I had never seen a play or a theater. Not even a town. My parents sold me to a merchant who was in need of somebody with a good memory to keep a tally of the wares he had sold. Even as a child, I could remember everything. My father stood me in front of the merchant and begged the man to recite something to me. Anything, he said, it didn’t matter. I would remember it. The merchant laughed at him, but then reeled off a long list of goods, each with its own price. He had a huge grin on his face when he stopped and nodded at me to repeat it. It was easy. I rattled it off without even thinking. The merchant was so impressed, he paid the price my father wanted without haggling and took me off with him then and there.”
He paused for so long I became impatient. “But how did you come to be Danjuro?” I demanded. Oh, dear. There I was again, showing no respect at all. If Auntie could see me, I would be dead, or as good as. If Danjuro noticed my rudeness, he gave no sign of it.
“The merchant brought me here, to Edo. He taught me to read and write and he was pleased with me. I worked for him for two years before he ran into misfortune and had to sell his business. I was sold with it, and it turned out that my new patron had an interest in the kabuki. I don’t mean he liked the theater, I mean he owned part of it. Of course, he came often to make sure his investment was performing properly, and I came with him. I fell in love with the kabuki as soon as I first walked through the door. There was a performance going on, and my master stayed to watch it. By the time we went home, I had memorized every line that had been spoken. I was so enchanted I began to perform for the other servants, taking every part myself. One day, my master caught me, and rather than beating me as I expected, he gestured for me to continue. When I had finished, he demanded to know how I had learned the play. I told him I had remembered it from when I went to the theater with him. He didn’t believe me, so to punish me, to make me feel silly and lose face, the next time he went to the kabuki on business, he took me with him and told me to get up on the stage with the actors and perform. My master was an important man, so the actors accepted me.” He paused, his eyes shining. “Midori No Me-san, it was wonderful. As soon as I began to speak my lines, I felt as if I belonged here. As if I had found something inside me that I never dreamed existed. I forgot my master was there, forgot everything except the play. When we had finished the scene, I could see that my master was furious. But I was very lucky. The actors told him that I was good, that I had a future in the theater. One of them was from the greatest of the theater families, although I didn’t know it at the time, and he took my master aside to talk to him and persuaded him that it would be a very good investment in the theater if I was allowed to perform with them, that I could be truly a great actor. I learned afterward that this man was Danjuro Ichikawa, a very great actor. From that day on, I was part of the kabuki. In the beginning, I was not allowed on the stage. I worked on the scenery, fetched things for the actors, helped with their makeup. Ichikawa-san allowed me to perform very small parts eventually, and I knew that this was what I wanted to do. When Ichikawa-san retired, I was adopted into the great family and eventually took on his title.” Danjuro stopped and shook his head, as if he could still hardly believe his own good fortune.
I realized I had been holding my breath and exhaled noisily. I understood perfectly. I too would have done anything to be allowed to remain here and become part of this make believe world. After all, I thought bitterly, hadn’t I been acting a part the whole of my life?
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
I nodded, lost for words. Danjuro took my hand and patted it gently, smiling at me. “You cannot perform on stage, Midori No Me. The stage is only for men.”
I smiled, but shouted inside, Why? Why must everything be denied to us women? Why?
“The only places for women in the kabuki are very lowly. Women clean and sell food. They make our costumes. Sometimes, if they are very skilled, they are allowed to help paint the scenery. That is not for you, Midori No Me-chan.”
Midori No Me-chan! I noticed the endearment and was thrilled.
“Come. I am very tired.” He yawned and stretched, and I wondered if this was Danjuro the man or Danjuro the actor. “I must take a bath and then I need to sleep. It is time you were on your way.”
Danjuro was on his feet, waiting courteously for me to rise. I stood rather stiffly. I had sat for too long, amongst much else! Suzume was outside the door, and Danjuro nodded to her pleasantly.
“Take good care of your mistress.” I saw the glint of gold pass between them, then Suzume was bowing and bobbing and fussing around me and the screen door was closing, closing Danjuro away from me.
Chapter Eight
Do flowers love the sun when
They raise their heads
To the light?
Suzume scurried along behind me. Even hobbled by my kimono, my stride was much longer than hers, so she had problems keeping up. I heard her panting, so I apologized and slowed my pace.
Only hours before, everything had been foreign to me, now everything was fascinating. It was not commonplace exactly, but it had lost its allure. I had seen the kabuki, had spent the evening with the man I already thought of as my lover. I felt that nothing in my life would ever be the same again.
My heart sank at the knowledge that I was heading for imprisonment. In the space of a few short hours, the Hidden House had ceased to be a place of safety, of protection, and had suddenly become a jail. I thought about the other girls and realized with a dawning sense of shock that they had no need of Auntie’s vigorous protection either. All of us – except for poor Carpi – could survive in the Floating World. After all, I had walked the streets in safety, hadn’t I? Nobody had shrunk from my deformities; nobody had thrown stones at me or spat on me. In fact, the samurai, no doubt a man of wealth and importance, had made an assignation with me. Or at least, he thought he had. Above all, Danjuro had honored me. Danjuro had called me Midori No Me-chan. I raised my eyes from the cobbles and looked at the stars. It seemed to me that I saw them for the first time. And that they shined for me and me alone.
I heard a noise coming from somewhere close. Above the sound of people talking at the top of their voices, animals braying and hooting and chirping, and the inevitable drunk singing, there was something else. I could hear what sounded like tables being overturned, shouting, and even louder laughter. Suzume tugged at my sleeve, trying to pull me toward the wall. She was mouthing something and her face was alarmed, but I could not make out her words over the din. I shook my head, lost in my world of wonder.
A gang of men swaggered around the corner, coming directly toward us. The crowd parted in front of them, but they still shouldered aside an old man and a young woman just for the fun of it. They all wore swords, they were all laughing. To my eyes they were all nothing more than riff-raff. Auntie would never let the likes of them into the Hidden House, I thought.
Suzume gave one last, despairing tug to my sleeve. Catching her urgency, I moved back against the wall. But it was too late. The man leading the gang was already nearly in front of me. I looked at him with interest. And why not? Everything in the Floating World was fascinating to me. I knew nothing, nobody, and nobody – apart from Danjuro – knew me. I was an unlikely innocent in this bewildering, bewitching world and thought myself invisible.
I soon learned that I was not.
“Oh, now then, boys. What have we got here? Is it a foreign devil, do you think?”
The leader stopped across from us and was now leering at me. He was quite ugly. He was tall, a good deal taller than I was, and broadly built. Even through the lines of his expensive robe, I could see that he was very muscular, unlike my lovely, slender Danjuro. And his face! I glared at him. He had the cheek to call me a foreign devil? Although his hair was jet black and straight, and his skin the color of very weak tea, his features were pronounced. His nose jutted fiercely, and his lips were very full. His cheek bones were even higher than mine and his eyes were grey, not black.
Suzume moaned softly. I glanced at her and was surprised to see that her face had gone the color of tofu. A sense of unease began to rise up my body. I had been so buoyed by the lack of reaction to me on this amazing day that I had become almost confident. But Suzume knew far more about this world than I did, and if she was concerned, then probably I should be as well. I was so elated by the time I had spent at the kabuki with Danjuro, I felt that at this moment I was invincible. Surely, no god could wish me harm, today of all days? I squared my shoulders and stared back at the gang leader.
“And who are you to go calling other people foreign devils?” I demanded. “Looked in the mirror recently, have you?”
Suzume stuffed her hand in her mouth and wailed with terror. Suddenly aware that the whole street around us had gone quiet, I began to shudder. Perhaps I wasn’t quite as invincible as I thought. But I had already gone too far to back away. I lifted my chin and looked the gang leader full in the face.
The hush in the street around us was so intense it could have been sliced and served like rice cake. The man’s eyes bulged and I began to whisper a silent prayer for me and for Suzume, who had done nothing. I saw his hand fall to the hilt of his sword and noticed in an odd moment of total clarity that the little finger on that hand had been chopped in half. Typical, I thought irrelevantly. Peasant and noble alike were supposed to leave their weapons at the gate before they entered the Floating World. But first the samurai and now this ruffian were fully armed. The gods had obviously decided that I had used my full quota of luck today. Oh well. If I was going to die, then at least I would die having tasted very great happiness.
“On your knees, geisha,” the man hissed.
I thought about it. I really did. I was looking death quite literally in the face, and my thoughts were ordered and clear and unflinching. I decided that if tonight was the choice of the gods for my death, then I would not die on my knees. I, who had never had any choice in my life, would have a choice in the manner of my death.
“No,” I said quite simply. “If you are going to kill me, then get on with it. But I am not going to kneel in this filthy street and spoil my kimono.”
“It will get soiled when it gets your blood all over it,” the man snarled. I was reminded of the wicked character in Danjuro’s play, the one who scowled all the time and strutted about the stage as though he owned it. The likeness was so appropriate that I felt laughter building up in my throat. That man had been nothing but a bully, his character greatly exaggerated so the audience knew he was the villain. They also knew that he would not triumph, but would eventually get his comeuppance and be exposed for the blustering fool he really was.
“I shall be dead by then, so I will not care greatly,” I said crisply, trying desperately not to laugh, though by this time there really was an edge of hysteria to my words. I hoped beyond hope that Suzume would be spared, and that she would get word of my tragedy to Danjuro. Perhaps, if I was very lucky indeed, he might be so moved that he would commission a play about my terrible end.
I watched as the gang leader started to draw his sword, and then hesitated. I would not look away, I decided. I would see the blow coming. I lifted my chin.
Without warning, he slammed the sword back into the scabbard and let loose with a great bellow of laughter. All those around us joined in sycophantically, though I was fairly certain that some of the street people were disappointed at being cheated of their spectacle.
I continued to stare at him. He leaned forward so that the end of his nose touched mine. His eyes, so close, were very strange. The irises were light grey, but the pupils were huge and the deepest black I had ever seen. His eyelashes were so long and thick they seemed almost feminine.
For a long moment, grey eyes met green eyes.
“Well, now. As one foreign devil to another, what do I call you, geisha?” He was laughing at me. Although not one feature in his face moved, he was laughing at me.
“My name is Midori No Me,” I said with as much dignity as I could manage. Abruptly, my treacherous bladder was threatening to betray me and I desperately needed to p
ass water.
“Suits you.” He grinned and stepped back. “My own name, alas, does me no such justice. I am Yoshida Akira. If I wanted to pay my humble respects to Midori No Me-san, where would I find her?”
I sucked in air through my nose. It turned out I wasn’t due to die, after all! Truly, a miraculous day.
“If Akira-san wished to find me, then he need only come to the Green Tea House on Willow Road. Of course, he would first need to make an appointment, but I am sure that for a man of Akira-san’s position, that would not prove to be a problem.”
His lips writhed as if he was trying to control either laughter or anger.
I watched him with interest rather than fear. Today, it seemed I was the pet of the gods and not even this strutting cockerel was going to harm me.
“I think that it is time my little bird got herself back to her nest,” he said.
Yes, he was definitely trying not to laugh. He stood a little to one side, and I bowed my head graciously as I moved away from the wall and passed him. I heard him whisper something to one of his gang, and I am sure that the man followed us all the way back to the Hidden House.
Suzume followed me into my room and began to prepare tea for me. I noticed her hands were shaking. Had that posturing gangster really upset her so much? She spoke very quietly as she waited for the water to boil.
“You were lucky, mistress. Akira-san could have struck you down in the street and walked away without punishment. He must have taken a fancy to you.”
“That ruffian?” I smiled, thinking she was exaggerating. Suzume glanced up from the tea tray and I frowned. My little maid looked terrified. It was so unlike her, I began to worry myself. “Who is he, anyway?”