She rose to the rustle of silk and bowed deeply, trying to remember just how she should hold her arms: elbows slightly outwards, fingers only just touching, thumbs parallel to her forefingers. The Japanese officer’s return bow was too ingrained to change and ended with the customary ‘Ho!’ Konoe Akira remained standing, then looking directly at Anna he brought his hand up and dabbed at both her cheeks and grunted.
Anna took a deep breath. ‘Konoe-san, my face is brown and I do not wish it to be white or my cheeks to be stained with blush and my lips the colour of fresh cow’s liver. My hair falls naturally to my shoulders, I do not want to lift it to the sky or decorate it with chopsticks.’ About her hair she wanted to add ‘or turn it into a nest for eagles’ but she lacked the courage, as they had never shared a joke and he might well consider the stark geisha make-up yet another form of perfection. But what she did add was, ‘I will try to please you, but at best I will be a bloom in the second vase and not the first.’
Konoe Akira glared at her momentarily and then, as suddenly, threw back his head and laughed. ‘You would not make a good maiko,’ he said.
‘Maiko, Konoe-san?’
The Japanese officer, having gone through the awkward motions of being seated, thought for a moment. ‘A neophyte, a trainee geisha. But if you could be trained, you would become a good okami, that is an older geisha who trains the maiko and when they become fully trained geishas she organises the patrons,’ he explained and then added, ‘Sit, please.’
Anna sat down carefully, unaccustomed to the kimono as a garment or how to arrange it when seated. It seemed to be a gown that was not styled for sitting in a chair but rather to be on one’s knees in service to a male. ‘I do not wish to be a geisha, Konoe-san,’ she said quietly, then glanced up at him and he saw that while her voice had remained soft, her eyes were defiant.
The Japanese colonel looked surprised. ‘It is not possible, Anna-san. You are not Japanese.’ It was the first time he had referred to her as Anna-san. Konoe Akira lit a cigarette in the now-familiar manner. Finally he exhaled, sending the usual cloud of smoke towards the roof of the verandah. ‘There is a philosophy that belongs to the geisha tradition but is, I think, instinctive to all truly beautiful women. Would you like to hear it?’
‘As you wish, Colonel-san,’ she said, though again her thoughts immediately strayed; it was probably some ponderous rationale the Japanese had evolved to cope with what the seventeen-year-old Anna saw as their restricted and over-particularised lifestyle. Besides, they viewed women differently, as objects or — she could think of no better description — inferior beings to be used for whatever purpose suited them. Anna was not vain, she knew she was pretty, beautiful if you like, but she was not overly concerned with this aspect of her person. Instead, she refused to be compliant or to be possessed, although her fear of death at the hands of the Japanese colonel had caused her, on more than one occasion, to compromise and to restrain her wilful nature and sense of independence. For sixteen years her stepmother had tried to destroy her confidence and to crush her personality and had not been successful. This was different — the threat overhanging her was much more severe. Anna knew she wouldn’t openly challenge Konoe Akira’s theory about women.
‘There is the philosophy of the patron,’ the Japanese colonel began.
‘Patron? I do not understand, Konoe-san.’
‘The man — that is, the male who is in a position to acquire a geisha or a woman.’
‘Acquire? You mean a man who loves a woman and she him?’ Anna asked, clearly confused.
‘No. Love is not necessary. What use is love? Duty, discipline, service, dedication and occasional pleasure and offspring, is that not the natural role of a wife?’ Before Anna could answer, if she was even capable of thinking of a reply, he continued. ‘But a truly beautiful woman or a truly great geisha is different. She is already a potential work of art. She is her own art in the making, the creator and the canvas onto which the male’s fantasies and desires are painted. Such a woman when acquired may become a wonderful artist and also powerful, because she holds the key to the male’s innermost desires; he cannot be without her in his life. Do you understand, Anna-san?’
‘She is his mistress, then?’ Anna asked.
‘No, it is more, much more, than that.’
‘But you said he acquires her — he owns her?’ Anna frowned. ‘I would not like to be owned, Konoe-san.’
‘Acquired does not mean owned. If a woman is her own art and canvas I cannot own her, I can only acquire the skill and, with her consent, the right to influence the artist. I can be her teacher. She must be brought willingly to express herself, to be different, to grow. A pupil needs instruction but she may possess a talent well beyond that possessed by the teacher. Then, if he demands that she change her art and alter the canvas simply to imitate him, he will destroy what he wishes to acquire. There is no point in acquiring what you already own. Whatever happens between us must be an experience heightened by the inspiration of the artist.’
Anna thought for several moments. ‘Have you acquired me, Konoe-san?’ she asked, looking directly at the Japanese man.
Konoe Akira stubbed his cigarette, this time obliterating a part of the butterfly’s wing. He looked directly into her eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘Yes, I have.’
Anna fought to contain her fury, valiantly attempting to choke back her indignation. ‘And I have no choice?’ She jumped to her feet, knowing it was the wrong thing to do but suddenly too angry to care. ‘I am not a geisha!’ She plucked at the sleeve of her kimono. ‘I do not want to wear this — this Japanese dress!’
‘Ah, but it is my wish that you wear a kimono,’ he said calmly, amused at her outburst. ‘That snivelling little tailor has been told to make three more; you will require them all. Sit please, Anna-san.’ Konoe Akira spread his hands, smiling. ‘Of course you have a choice,’ he said in a voice intended to mollify.
‘What?’ Anna replied rudely, still standing. ‘Death or I am acquired by you?’
Colonel Konoe laughed. ‘Possibly, but it is not me who will be the cause of your death.’ He pointed to the chair. ‘You have been directed by me to sit and you have not obeyed. Please sit at once and I will explain,’ he barked.
Anna sat as he’d instructed, but she folded her arms across her chest, her mouth drawn into a disapproving pout. Having openly lost her temper to no avail, silent disapproval was the only defiance she could now openly demonstrate. Konoe Akira carried an innate authority, not only of a military officer of high rank but also one born of generations of noble lineage, of privilege combined with discipline. Piet Van Heerden had a similar background, ten generations of privilege, but he lacked the discipline that went with it and, in the end, the authority. The Japanese officer was the persimmon tree, the ebony heartwood at the core, while her father was pulpwood through and through.
The colonel began speaking slowly. ‘We have in Tjilatjap two battalions, the one under Major Masahiro working at the port and the docks, and the one to govern the town, that is 1800 men and non-commissioned officers and sixty officers. These men have needs, physical needs, but are forbidden to fraternise with the local woman. But these needs must be met.’ He paused, spreading his hands. ‘Do you understand what I am saying, Anna-san?’
‘Yes, but you have already used local women prostitutes for this purpose, Colonel-san.’ The Japanese officer looked surprised that she should be aware of this, so Anna quickly added, ‘The becak owner told me about the brothel for soldiers.’
‘Ah, a small establishment with local women who are professional prostitutes organised with my permission for the kempeitai. They are different, a small military police unit who do not normally mix with the ordinary soldiers. You must understand, we are the liberators of the local people from colonial oppression, and do not wish to force respectable Javanese women into becoming whores. So you see, we have a problem. T
his still leaves 1800 soldiers and sixty officers we have to look after — to accommodate.’
‘Dutch women!’ Anna cried out, alarmed.
‘Ho! You are very perceptive, Anna-san,’ Konoe Akira said, pleased with her. ‘Yes, exactly! Some, the younger attractive ones, will become comfort women for the officers. Others, the younger mothers and experienced women, for the men. Captain Takahashi will organise these facilities, one for the officers and a much bigger one for the men. The okami-san, the women who will run these houses, are on a ship coming from Japan and will be here in a month.’
Anna shuddered. ‘Takahashi the executioner?’ Her eyes filled with fear and she visibly trembled at the terrible implications of the colonel’s words.
‘Ah, Takahashi! He is very proficient with the katana and of a moderately good family,’ the colonel observed. ‘He is also an excellent organiser.’ He was silent for a few moments, then said evenly, ‘So, you see, Anna-san, you do have a choice. You may choose to be acquired, or forcibly recruited by Captain Takahashi to serve in “The Nest of the Swallows”, the officers’ house.’ He paused, tapping the arm of his chair. ‘I had previously decided that you are too precious a piece of art to allow him to have you, but now, as the second vase, I will allow you to choose your own immediate future.’
Anna’s eyes suddenly welled so that she was forced to close them, whereupon from each a tear escaped to run down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and looked directly at Konoe Akira; his face, seen through her tears, was blurred. ‘That is very cruel!’ she sobbed, not appending the formal politeness of his name.
‘No, that is life. Be grateful to the gods that they have made you a work of art. Are you a virgin, Anna-san?’ he asked suddenly.
Anna, sobbing softly, taken by surprise at his unexpected question, nodded, her eyes streaming.
‘I am greatly privileged to know that the pearl nestled in the oyster remains perfect,’ Konoe Akira said in a low voice. Using the arms of the bamboo chair, he braced himself and rose awkwardly to his feet. He stood silently, looking down at the distraught and tearful Anna. Then, as if he were issuing a casual order to a subaltern or sergeant, he said, ‘You will now go upstairs and change, and tell the mama-san to bring lunch. I will see you back here in fifteen minutes.’ He bowed stiffly, then turned and limped away, a proud, if physically crippled, samurai warrior. Konoe Akira halted and turned at the doorway to the interior of the house to once again face Anna. ‘Then, “Second Vase”, you will inform me of your decision,’ he instructed.
Anna, having changed back into her sarong, returned to the verandah to see that the table was set for lunch. Yasuko, who had helped her remove the kimono, must have raced downstairs to set the table in time for the colonel’s return from his rooms. Anna reached out and touched the glass butterfly. ‘Nick, I have been acquired, will you forgive me?’ she cried in despair.
Colonel Konoe, now back in uniform, joined her. Anna paid him due respect by rising and bowing low, while keeping her eyes averted. Within she burned with anger and humiliation but she knew there was nothing she could do, except attempt to salvage what self-respect she could.
Konoe Akira sat and went through his cigarette routine, then asked, ‘Well, what have you decided, Second Vase?’
Anna realised that she had been renamed in the Japanese manner, her real name discarded when she was with him. It was, she supposed, a part of the anonymity required for whatever role he intended her to play in his life.
‘Acquired!’ She spat the single word out defiantly.
The Japanese officer threw back his head and laughed. ‘You will never make a geisha, but perhaps within you I will find the samurai spirit? We will see when the lessons begin. At first, while you learn and receive instruction there will be complete obedience. After that we will see what is painted on the canvas. Do you have any questions?’
‘Yes, am I to live here with you, Konoe-san?’
‘No. You will be told when to come. You must be prepared at all times for my call. I will send a car for you. Except for the period while you take lessons, it will be mostly at night and you will be returned home. You will have your own room upstairs where you can change into a kimono and keep whatever you wish. No one will enter without your permission.’
‘Konoe-san, I have mijn father; he is not well. Will he be protected from the kempeitai?’
‘Of course, I will give instructions. What is his sickness?’
Anna decided that there was little point in hiding her father’s condition and thought that the colonel might allow a military doctor to see him. ‘He’s an alcoholic who has come through an enforced withdrawal and is now very depressed. If you will allow a doctor to see him, we will pay.’
‘I will attend to it. It will not be necessary to pay the doctor,’ Colonel Konoe said with a dismissive flick of the hand. ‘Now, returning to what is required of you, Second Vase, you will learn Japanese in the mornings for three hours. You will be here at nine o’clock every weekday morning to be tutored by your instructor and then we will have lunch together when I arrive at noon. I will send a driver.’
‘That will not be necessary, Konoe-san. I have a regular becak driver who will bring me here. It is what I would prefer.’
‘As you wish. Tell him to go to the mama-san to be paid.’
‘I will pay him myself, Konoe-san. I am acquired, but not dependent on your generosity.’
The Japanese officer laughed. ‘As you wish.’
‘Are these the lessons you mentioned?’ Anna now asked, relieved that she would not be seen leaving home each morning in a staff car. She knew her memory was good and was confident she wouldn’t have too great a struggle learning a new language.
‘No! But you cannot perfect your art without knowing Japanese. You must learn fast; in one month we must begin to converse. In two you will grasp more clearly Japanese meanings — there is much that is unspoken yet relevant. In three you will be able to start your instruction. Your English is good but your Japanese must be better!’ He said all this as if it were a simple order and, notwithstanding any linguistic limitations she might have, one that must be obeyed. Konoe Akira then turned in his chair towards the verandah door and called to the mama-san for lunch to be served.
Anna recalls little about the few mouthfuls she managed to eat, the exception being a dish of eel and the fact that Colonel Konoe drank a small container of sake. ‘This is a special occasion, Second Vase. I ordered eel in anticipation of our mutual success,’ he declared happily. ‘It is a very special Japanese dish.’
The eel had a flavour not greatly to her liking, but Konoe Akira pressed the delicacy on her and ate his own with relish. He seemed extremely pleased with himself. It was almost as if he believed Anna had arrived, of her own accord, at the decision to become ‘acquired’.
At the conclusion of lunch, rather than rise as he normally did, Konoe Akira said almost shyly, ‘Second Vase, I promised I would translate the beautiful and forbidden persimmon poem by the venerable haiku master and poet–priest, Taneda Santoka. It is, alas, my poor translation of a great work and I regret I can never do justice to it in English, but you will, I hope, forgive my humble attempt.’
Anna was surprised at the obvious humility and even nervousness he displayed. She immediately understood that in Konoe Akira’s mind, this was no simple poem to be recited as if an entertainment. Instead, she sensed every word was equally important. This man, who was all-powerful in his own immediate environment, became humble in the presence of the words of the poet–priest he was about to recite.
‘Why is it forbidden, Konoe-san?’ she asked.
‘It is a poem for soldiers, a cry of pain! It suggests that the soldiers of Japan are not invincible, that we suffer the same fates and fears of all soldiers since the dawn of time. Prime Minister Tojo thinks it is bad for morale.’ He began speaking, slowly enunciating each word.
Marching together
on the ground
they will never step on again
Winter rain clouds
thinking going to China
to be torn to pieces
Leaving hands and feet
behind in China
the soldiers return to Japan
Will the town
throw a festival
for those brought back as bones?
The bones
silently this time
returned across the ocean
The air raid alarm
screaming, screaming
red persimmons.
Konoe Akira was silent for a moment, then braced himself in the usual way and rose awkwardly. He bowed to Anna. ‘Thank you, Second Vase. I will see you tomorrow at noon.’ He turned abruptly and left.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Ah, that is up to you, Anna-san.
If you do not please him in this art, then he will crush the pearl.
The honourable Konoe Akira is a man of unlimited power
and his power over life and death requires as its counterbalance
an equal arbitrary and capricious submission by him.
He has chosen you and only you to know this secret,
to assuage his guilt.’
The seventh okami-san
The Persimmon Tree Page 43