by India Millar
The girls shook their heads.
“No, no he didn’t,” Masaki said slowly. “I thought it was odd at the time, but I forgot about it after a while. Was he dirty, Mineko?”
“Not at all.” Mineko shook her head firmly. “He smelled nice and fresh, he really did. And young. You know what I mean? Some of the old men who come in can sit in the bath for hours and they still smell sour.” We all nodded. We understood exactly what she meant. It was as if the smell came from inside them somewhere. Or was perhaps exhaled in their breath. “Akira-san didn’t smell like that at all. He just smelled of clean skin. It was nice.”
She beamed at us all happily. Nobody wanted to disillusion her, but Kiku obviously felt she should issue a warning.
“You were lucky, Mineko. They’re not all like that, trust me.”
But Mineko just smiled at us all. “He gave me a present as well,” she chirped. We stared at her in disbelief. Wasn’t the outrageously expensive kimono gift enough? Mineko held up her right wrist. The exquisite jade and gold bracelet encircling it caught the light and flashed fire. Very, very costly fire.
I excused myself as soon as I could without being rude. Mineko had decided she would like a nap, indicating without saying as much that her danna had kept her very busy all night. The other girls melted away to the bathhouse to continue their gossip.
I sat in my room with Nekko on my lap and wondered, sourly, what game the yakuza was playing. I felt ugly and bitter and unwanted. Never had I felt more like the deformed half-breed Bigger had called me a lifetime ago. Even the knowledge that it was the third day of the week, that I would likely be seeing Danjuro, barely cheered me. Perhaps Danjuro, too, would decide that he had had enough of me, that I no longer attracted him. Just as I had obviously failed to attract Mineko’s ugly yakuza.
After a while, even Nekko became bored with my company and wandered off on business of his own. I could have cried, I felt so lonely.
I was hugely relieved when a message came from Danjuro summoning me to the kabuki. I dressed with great care, determined to shrug off the yakuza’s disrespect. As Mineko was now a full-fledged geisha, I had a new maid with me, a quiet, pudgy girl who followed in my footsteps as if she was my shadow and said not a word. She irritated me. I wanted Mineko, wanted to be able to chat with her, share hidden laughter as we watched the world swirl past us. The new girl – Taneka, meaning “Classic Beauty,” a name completely ill-fitting on her – was so silent she might as well have been dumb. I tried to scold myself for my lack of charity. Taneka was clearly terrified at being told to go with me, but it was no good. I still wanted to shake her when she answered my every remark with nothing more than silence or a nod of her head.
As we made our progress through the crowded streets, I noticed several foreign Barbarians, all men. They fascinated me, and I glanced modestly at each one as I passed them, seeking my own reflection in their features. Did I look at all like one of their women? Did they see anything different in me? I couldn´t tell. They were all so ill-mannered they just stared at us blatantly, with no attempt at discreet politeness. My Barbarian father couldn’t have been like them, surely!
A year ago, they were so unusual that the sight of a single foreigner would have caused people to stop and stare, fascinated by their strangeness, just as the patrons used to stare at me in the Hidden House. But since the iron Yankee ship had forced its way into the harbor at Edo and the captain demanded an audience with the highest nobles, times had changed. We had heard about it, in the same way that all gossip found its way to the Hidden House, but at the time the patrons had laughed at the insolent foreign devils and had told us not to worry our pretty little heads about it. They were foreign Barbarians, badly brought up children who simply did not know any better. The shogun would deal with their impertinence in his own good time, just wait and see. But the shogun had not dealt with them, it appeared. Or at least not in any way that us lowly beings could understand. Rather, the Barbarians had returned the next year, and this time it appeared that they were here to stay. Suddenly, the mighty shogun was no more, and after centuries of absence, there was once again an emperor on the throne who was not just a puppet, but who wielded real power over Japan.
We were, of course, far too lowly for any of it to mean much to us, but even so, the very air in the Floating World sizzled with rumors of change. Rumor also had it that Barbarian women had even been seen around Edo, poking their way about the streets with an expression on their faces that said they did not like what they saw, not at all.
So now I stared at the foreign Barbarians with as much curiosity as politeness allowed. Did I really look like them? Any man with fair or red hair particularly fascinated me. I couldn’t help it. I remembered Bigger’s description of my father having hair the color of a red fox, and each time I saw a foreign devil with red hair I wondered, Could this be my father? Was it even possible that he and my mother might come back to look for me, now Japan had been forced to open its gates to the outside world?
One man caught my eye. He was tall with very broad shoulders. His hair was fair rather than red, but he had a beard! I had never seen a man with facial hair like that before. The samurai sometimes sported long, drooping mustaches, but a man with hair all over his face? I was fascinated and stopped dead, the better to stare.
The hairy foreign Barbarian must have felt me looking at him because he stopped and turned to glance at me. I saw surprise in his expression, then he was walking toward me. I hid behind my fan quickly, and would have hurried on but the crowd was too thick and I was forced to stand my ground.
Hairy Face walked right up to me, close enough to touch – how rude! – and smiled. He said something in a strange language that meant nothing to me, but I could tell from his tone that he was asking me a question. Confused, I shook my head and managed to force my way into the crowd, with Taneka trotting at my heels.
My face was burning with embarrassment. Had the Hairy Devil tried to make an assignation with me? Did he think I was a Barbarian myself and wonder why I was dressed as a geisha? Surely not. Even in spite of my red hair, beneath my thick makeup, he could never have taken me for a foreigner. A new anguish popped fully flowered into my head. With all these foreign Barbarians about Edo, would I suddenly lose my status in the Hidden House? What would happen to me if I was no longer a novelty? Would Auntie be forced to accept Mori-san’s offer for me if I no longer attracted the patrons? I almost wailed out loud.
Danjuro did nothing to help my peace of mind. Taneka and I sat in our usual box. Had Mineko been with me, we would have discussed the play, enjoyed the action. Taneka was so silent a presence, I could not even throw myself into the production the way I normally would. In any event, I sensed that something was wrong with Danjuro. Oh, the audience loved him, as always. They roared with laughter when he played a decrepit old man courting a young woman. They wept with him when he was the young lover, banned from seeing his girl by ambitious parents. The applause was tumultuous when Danjuro and his lover finally fled the stage, bound for mutual suicide by throwing themselves off a cliff. Of course they applauded. The kabuki patrons loved nothing more than a happy ending with a good suicide. But I knew that the performance was wrong. It was difficult to pin it down to any one thing, but finally I decided that it was Danjuro himself who was wrong. There was the slightest hesitation in his responses, just a hint of disbelief in his own performance. If it was possible for me to become even more depressed than I already was, then I was.
Tonight would not go well, I knew.
Danjuro barely glanced at me when I entered his rooms. Taneka was banished outside. I told her to ask someone to get her some food, and she brightened immediately. So she was interested in something then!
I decided I would not mention tonight’s performance unless he asked. Which he did. Immediately.
“I was bad, wasn’t I?”
And what response should I make to that? Any Japanese woman would have said no, you were wonderful. It was the exp
ected answer. Japanese women did not criticize their men. Ever.
Danjuro was staring at me bleakly.
“You were not bad,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “The patrons loved you, as always.”
“And you, Midori-chan? Did you love my performance? Did you think it flawless?”
All through the play, I had been longing to pour my woes out to him. To have my lover take me in his arms and tell me it was all nonsense. That I was worrying over nothing. Instead, he was asking me to reassure him simply because one performance out of a thousand was not as perfect as he had expected. Something sparked in my mind and my mouth formed its own words.
“No, you were not flawless. You were not yourself. Your timing was off and you did not have your normal enthusiasm. It was as if I was watching somebody else playing the part of Danjuro. An actor playing the part of an actor.”
There, it was said. Let him do what he liked. Say what he liked. I didn’t care. Things could hardly get worse.
He bowed his head in his hands, and for a moment I thought he was going to tell me to get out. To leave him to his misery. I half rose, anticipating his words.
When he raised his head, his eyes were gleaming and I sat down abruptly.
“And which Midori No Me is the real one, I wonder?” He put his head on one side and looked me up and down. I said nothing, just…waited. “Being an actor myself, I’m surprised it’s taken me so long to see it.”
I stared at the floor, silent. Go on, then, I thought sullenly. The god of luck had surely deserted me. Perhaps even Mori-san will decide he doesn’t want me. Although I couldn’t decide if that was good luck or bad.
“Which one, Midori No Me?”
I raised my head and met his gaze. Firmly. Insolently. “I play a part every day of my life, Master.” He watched me intently. All or nothing, I thought. “Just as you perform different roles, so I am different for every patron who has the money and the taste to buy me. I perform nearly every moment of my waking life.”
“And in your dreams, Midori No Me?”
I shook my head. “I do not dream, Master. We in the Hidden House have no time for dreams.”
“In your dreams, Midori No Me?” he repeated, and I felt tears gather in my eyes. I blinked hard to stop them falling.
“In my dreams, I am at the kabuki.” I whispered. “In my dreams, I am on the stage with you.”
I felt his surprise. He shook his head. “Ah, Midori No Me. That is one dream that even I cannot give you.”
He stood up and stretched, pushing his hands over his head and flexing his back. He beckoned me toward him. I stood and moved in front of him.
“And do you play a part when you are with me, Midori No Me?”
I shook my head.
“Do I believe you?”
I lifted my head and looked at him. He was still wearing full makeup, although he had taken off his stage robes and was wearing a loose gown. The truth was that I wanted him. Wanted him in a way I never, ever felt for anybody else. Especially not the hated Akira-san. I told him so.
“Ah, but is it truly me you want, Midori-chan? Or is it one of the characters I play? Or all of them?”
Abruptly, I had had enough of all this introspection. Danjuro had had a bad performance, so what? There would be many more where he was triumphant. I wanted him. Now.
I sank to my knees and parted his robe. His tree of flesh reared up at me, hot and strong and thrusting. I took it in my mouth and sucked hard. Forgetting he was a great actor in the need that is common to all men, Danjuro grabbed my hair and tried to push further into me. No, I thought. No. This is my time, Master. Today, you will perform for me.
In spite of his grip, which had the roots of my hair screaming in pain, I moved away from him, almost allowing his flesh to slip out of my mouth. Almost, but not quite. He gasped and I allowed him a little way further between my lips. Lick. Nip. Caress. I prayed that Danjuro would not become so excited by my teasing that I lost him before I had even properly begun. At the same time, I couldn’t help but prolong the exquisite pleasure I was both giving and taking.
Danjuro jerked away from me abruptly. Before I had time to react, he jerked me to my feet and pushed me against the door, my hands pinned above my head. He held them there with one of his own hands. With the other, he dragged aside the skirt of my kimono. His hands became fastened in the silk of my underskirt and he abruptly lost patience with it, dragging it up and lunging into me without further ceremony. The thin silk of my underskirt was thrust into me along with Danjuro himself, and I screamed out loud at the incredible sensation of roughness and strength and heat combined.
His teeth were bared and he lunged at me, biting hard at the base of my throat. Sucking at the flesh as though he was starving and I was a feast laid out before him. I wriggled, not because I wanted to get away, but rather to try and force yet more of him inside me. Danjuro must have misread the signal as he raised his dripping mouth and smothered my lips, biting at them and my tongue savagely.
I cried out loudly as my body responded to him, but Danjuro had not finished with me. I might be finished, but he surely was not. He pulled away from me, almost leaving my body, and then slammed back, fastening me to the door as if I had been pinned by arrows. He worked at me, using me, caring nothing for me, for what I wanted, what I needed. My body and mind were in turmoil. I clung to him as if I was drowning, listening to his feral grunts, feeling the heat of his belly against me. And my body responded, whether I wanted it to or not. The roughness of the door behind me, the steel of Danjuro’s grip on my pinioned wrists, the exotic sensation of both man and silk plunging into my sex all combined against me. And as Danjuro reached his own climax, my private parts roused to meet him and I felt the echoes and waves of another orgasm shuddering through me again and again and again.
When he finally let me go, I almost fell onto the floor.
It was only later, when the beast had fully left him, that Danjuro came to his senses enough to ask me what had happened to Suzume “She is not with you. Is she ill?”
“No, but she is no longer Suzume,” I said sadly. “She has had her mizuage. She is now called Mineko. Because she is no longer a maid, she cannot accompany me. I have a useless lump of a new girl for a maid who is so shy she can’t even speak.”
He laughed at my pettishness and I smiled myself. “Is that why you were unhappy when you came in?”
Oh, he had noticed? I hid my surprise. I was going to lie, tell him it was nothing, but I saw him looking at me and knew he would see through the fibs. Before I realized it, I was pouring out my woes to him.
I told him all about Akira-san seeing me in the street and then turning up as Mineko’s danna for her mizuage. I told him how Akira had insulted me. He listened silently, but I could feel the growing unease in my lover. And not just unease, anger. But a different sort of anger than I had expected.
When I had finished, he got to his feet and began to prowl around the room. “You must stay away from this man, Midori No Me.”
I looked at him in irritation. Hadn’t he heard a word I had said? Hadn’t I just told him that Akira had taken great care to ignore me?
He stopped in front of me and crouched down so his face was level with mine. His stage makeup had become streaked and smeared during our lovemaking and now looked sinister and ugly. I felt as though I was looking at some being that was half Danjuro and half demon. It was…unsettling. And exciting.
“Listen to me.” He gripped my shoulders for emphasis. “This man is dangerous. He is ignoring you for a purpose. He is doing it to insult me.”
What? Had Danjuro taken leave of his senses? I was bewildered. Was I to be left with no self-esteem at all? It had been bad enough when I thought the yakuza was insulting me deliberately, but worse still to be told he was actually just using me to revenge himself on Danjuro. I shook my head and Danjuro shook me, hard.
“Akira came to the kabuki some months ago. He had money. Lots of money. He had always been
interested in the kabuki, he said.” Funny, I thought. I had never seen him there. And if he had been there, then surely I would have noticed that ugly face. “He wanted to buy a share in it. A large share. I and the other owners told him we were not interested. The kabuki was not for sale. He persisted, offering more money. We explained to him that it was the tradition of the kabuki that it stayed in the same families. That this had always been so. He became very angry. Probably because I was the spokesman for the families, he directed his anger at me. I would be sorry, he said. He was not used to being insulted, and I would find out that his revenge was painful. We showed him a stone face and he took his leave. Now he has appeared again, and this time he is using you as his tool.”
I tried to reason with him. Akira-san could not know that Danjuro was my patron, I said. It was just a coincidence. But Danjuro would not listen to me. I must stay away from Akira, he insisted. I gave in and said that I would, confident that Akira-san would never look my way. In any event, I still thought that Danjuro was exaggerating, that the actor in him was looking for the lead part.
I made my way back to the Hidden House, Taneka a silent shadow at my heels.
Chapter Sixteen
Earth awakes at the
Touch of spring. Green shoots
Spring in my heart
There were some advantages to having Mineko as a fellow geisha. She could join us in the bath now and Auntie was happy – or at least unconcerned – that she often slipped into my room for a chat. Little Nekko liked her and played happily on the floor between us.
I told her what Danjuro had said about Akira-san, only afterward worrying that I had insulted her by diminishing the yakuza’s attraction to her, but I need not have been concerned. Mineko had her head screwed on firmly and accepted what I told her with a shrug.