by Kafū Nagai
While still we thought the moonlight made them call,
We found that we had talked the night away
In foolish anger—we who thought to lie
Together until morning and did not.
And now I walk alone beneath the sky
Of my regret that so we did not lie.
The dance had reached its climax. The mistress of the Hamazaki and Hanasuke spoke flatteringly to the danna.
"She has really become a true artist, hasn't she?" "Hard work is more important than anything else, isn't it?"
"Surely no one could find the slightest fault in her dancing."
Listening to these fulsome chants of praise, Kikuchiyo only breathed deeply, but Yoshioka, reckless with anger, became more and more possessed with the desire to carry Kikuchiyo off and make Komayo look like a fool. When the dance reached the passage
Inside curtains and curtains of leaves,
he suddenly took Kikuchiyo's hand and, without saying a word, grasped it tenderly.
KIKUOBANA
IT WAS the day after the autumn dance performance had closed its successful three-day run. In the Shimbashi geisha quarter, the sounds of samisen practice, which year in and year out could be heard from early morning at every house, had unexpectedly ceased, and only a few women could be seen passing through the streets on their way to and from their music and dancing lessons. From Komparu-dori through Naka-dori and Ita-shim-michi to Shigaraki-shimmichi on the opposite side, it was like a city on the day after a festival, when everything seems quiet with exhaustion. Once in a while one saw a hakoya or a group of three or four well-known old geisha busily hurrying by. To the casual observer they might have appeared to be winding up the affairs of the grand performance, but what attracted the attention of the young geisha to them was the likelihood that they had received news of the occurrence once again of some new affair or grievance.
Discords and complaints belong inseparably to this kind of society, but one cannot say that geisha are so crafty as the politicians who devise schemes to create disorder and then profit by the situation to feather their own nests. Geisha, perhaps, have more grace and dignity than members of the Diet. For all that, today at the public bath, at the hairdressers' shops, on the second floor of every house where the geisha were idling about, in fact everywhere that women generally got together for a half-envious discussion of one another's art, there was a certain amount of malicious gossip, slander, tale-bearing, and downright libel. In particular, the rumor had reached the second floor of Jukichi's Obanaya that Kikuchiyo—she who was always spoken of as the "prostitute" and the "Chinese goldfish"—had suddenly been ransomed. It was the dancing girl Hanako, returning from the hairdresser's, who brought back the story. Yesterday evening, before the grand performance had ended, Kikuchiyo had arrived all of a sudden at the hairdresser's to have her hair done in the marumage style of a married woman, and the hairdresser had heard it directly from her own lips. Hanako, finding Komayo at home when she returned, told her the story exactly as she had heard it. Like wildfire, the rumor spread to the two houses next door and the three across the street. Then, as it flew in all directions, it set every woman to discussing who the liberator might be. It appeared that Kikuchiyo, after having played her subordinate role at the Kabukiza yesterday evening, had gone just as she was to the hairdresser's, had had her hair done up in marumage style, and had then gone off to a secret rendezvous. From the time when she left the house yesterday afternoon, there had been no telephone call nor any other word from her, and not even the hakoya Osada had any idea of where she was.
"It was that one, for sure. Not a Japanese. If it's not a Westerner, it must be a Chinese." On the second floor of the Obanaya the debate went on and on without conclusion, to the vexation of everyone. At last, deciding unanimously that it must be a Chinese, they all went out, some to visit a shrine, some to go to the bath, some to drop in at the hairdresser's.
Komayo was glad to be left alone. Sitting before her chest of drawers, she began to calculate the expenses of her three-day performance of Yasuna on the stage of the Kabukiza. First there was the payment to her dancing teacher and the Kiyomoto musicians and then the tips to the dressing-room assistants and the stagehands and, of course, the special gratuities to Segawa Isshi's apprentices and various others. Adding it all up—what had already been paid, what was still unpaid, and what she was apparently indebted for—and checking to make sure that nothing had been omitted, she finally came to a total of six hundred and some yen. Her calculations finished, she sat for a while gazing vacantly at her account book and smoking a cigarette. Then, as if she had suddenly thought of something, she replaced the book in one of the drawers of her chest and went to the telephone to call the Hamazaki machiai. If the mistress was at home, she would like to drop by to express her thanks. Finding that she was, Komayo sent the maid out to the Fugetsudo to buy a merchandise order for some cakes. This would be her present to the mistress.
Three nights ago, on the first evening of her performance, Yoshioka, who should have stopped by at the Hamazaki house as he ordinarily did and called her from there, had left the theater without caring whether her dance was finished or not. He had said something about some urgent business. Hearing this, Komayo thought there must be a special reason for his behavior, and somehow or other she felt guilty about her affair with Segawa. From that time on, she was deeply worried. Still, if Yoshioka was away, she was at leisure to spend the evening with Segawa and get a critique on the merits and demerits of her performance. In the happiness of having him hold her hand while he explained what points needed improvement, she ended up by neglecting completely to call the Hamazaki house. The evening after that was completely ruined by her danna the curio dealer from Yokohama, who summoned her to the Taigetsu. And yesterday, the third day of the autumn show, she suddenly found herself requisitioned by an unheralded guest, Sugishima-san from Dairen: the one who had tried so ardently to seduce her last spring when she made her second debut as a geisha and whom she had to reject forcibly. This time, too, it took considerable effort to think of the right things to say in order to escape from him. So, until today, against her will she had had to put off her obligatory courtesy calls.
The mistress of the Hamazaki told her that Yoshioka had not appeared particularly angry that evening. After saying a few words to Eda, he had left the theater before the others. It quite definitely appeared that he had had some urgent business. After that, as Komayo knew, Eda-san had stayed on for one more number and had then left by himself, the mistress went on. Thinking to herself: "Thank heaven!" Komayo sighed with relief as she returned home. In front of the little Inari shrine that stood on her chest of drawers, she placed the two little gold-paper talismans that she had bought on her way home and, with her whole heart, prayed for the divine favor that they were supposed to bring.
That evening she went to her teahouse engagements, which produced nothing eventful, and returned home. As before, it appeared that Kikuchiyo was spending the night somewhere else, for she did not put in an appearance. Even the next day, up to the time when the women began to put on their make-up for the evening, there was no word concerning her whereabouts, and the hakoya Osada began to fear that something unfortunate had happened to her. The rumor about her having been ransomed began to change into a rumor that she had probably either run away or emancipated herself. To be sure, on several occasions before, Kikuchiyo had suddenly gone off with a guest to Hakone and Ikaho and even to Kyoto directly from a teahouse and without informing the Obanaya at all. For this reason, Jukichi was less alarmed than might have been expected. In fact, she grumbled at Kikuchiyo's slovenly behavior, which she said would set a bad example for the other geisha and was the sort of thing that would have to be stopped. Moreover, she didn't want to hear any more foolish talk about Kikuchiyo's redemption.
It was while she was saying this that Kikuchiyo suddenly walked in. Her high marumage coiffure had come loose from its foundations and was slipping and sliding about a
s it pleased. It was only by a miracle that the bright red band for the chignon still hadn't fallen off and let the whole mass come tumbling down. But she was quite unconcerned about her tottering headdress. Her face, ordinarily covered with thick make-up, was now mottled with spots where the liquid powder had cracked and crumbled. This, together with the grayish smears of hair oil on the back of her neck, made it look as though she hadn't even taken a bath but had only now risen from bed and come exactly as she was, not caring at all how she looked. The negligent way she wore her kimono and the red mud clinging to her tabi socks added to this impression. Even kind old Jukichi was terribly embarrassed. It was the same with geisha as with all mature entertainment artists, Jukichi thought. If you didn't breed them properly from childhood, they weren't worth showing to the public later on. But she was so thoroughly shocked that she couldn't speak a word of reproach.
Kikuchiyo appeared not to notice this at all. With a triumphant air she said meaningfully to Jukichi: "Neisan, there is a little matter that I'd like to talk over with you."
So! The rumor of her liberation wasn't such a lie after all. Surmising this at once, Jukichi was astonished all over again. After looking repeatedly at Kikuchiyo's face, she led her to an empty room at the back of the house.
Half an hour or so later, Kikuchiyo came upstairs. Her coiffure was still sagging, and her kimono was still in disorder, but she had the air of one who has carried off a victory. All the other geisha were in the midst of preparations for their evening engagements. Kikuchiyo, as if in complete exhaustion, sat down in the middle of the room and stretched out her legs. Then, as though she were talking to herself, she said: "This is my last evening here."
"Neisan, we should congratulate you, shouldn't we?" It was the young dancing girl who spoke up with the first question.
"Yes, thanks to everything." Kikuchiyo seemed not to be addressing anyone in particular. Then she said: "Hana-chan, as soon as I've decided on a house for myself, you must come and visit me."
Now the others could no longer keep silent. Hanasuke spoke first. "Kiku-chan, really—well, you are the lucky one, aren't you? Are you giving it up for good? Or will you set up your own house?"
"Oh, it would be foolish to give it up for good. That's why I'm going to set up a place of my own."
Komayo joined in. "That's good," she said. "There's nothing so interesting as working at one's own convenience, is there?"
"Kiku-chan, is it this one?" Hanasuke formed an "o" with her thumb and forefinger. "It's O-san, isn't it?"
Kikuchiyo only laughed, shaking her head in negation like a spoiled child. This caused Komayo to ask the next question: "In that case, is it Ya-san?"
Kikuchiyo continued to laugh.
"Oh, come now! Who is it, Kiku-chan? You're among friends, aren't you? It's all right to tell us, isn't it?"
"But I feel so embarrassed!" Kikuchiyo began to giggle.
"It's because you're so modest, isn't it?"
"Well, it's somebody you all know quite well. Since he's an old hand with women, it shouldn't take you long to find out."
Summoned by increasingly insistent telephone calls from the teahouse where she was engaged, Komayo left at this point. As she had expected, her recent performance of Yasuna, for which she had begrudged none of the expense, had not been in vain. Now, whenever she entered the room at a teahouse where the geisha prepared to meet their guests, she was showered with praise by everyone who happened to be present: "Koma-chan, you were really splendid!" "It was magnificent!" This was the reputation she had achieved.
The party this evening had brought out some fifteen or sixteen guests and about twenty geisha, both young and old. As part of the entertainment, Komayo danced the story of Urashima Taro to great applause. Then, at the insistence of the guests, she was compelled to dance again—this time the Shiokumi. Soon after this, she went on to a later engagement for which she had been called.
The teahouse was the Hamazaki, and the guest was Yoshioka. "It's something I've heard by chance," he told her, "but the story is going around that Kikuchiyo, from your house, has set herself up on her own. Since I'm going to congratulate her with a little present, I think you should do the same." Despite her refusal, Komayo was forced to take the ten yen that he handed to her. Then, explaining that company affairs were keeping him extremely busy nowadays, he left. He had been there only an hour and had drunk hardly any sake at all.
But at least Yoshioka had put in an appearance, Komayo thought, and so her face had been saved before the teahouse people. Now she could stop worrying about what had happened on the evening of the opening performance at the Kabukiza. With good grace, she sent Kikuchiyo her gift.
Kikuchiyo had meanwhile found a suitable vacant house in Ita-shimmichi and had hung up her signboard with the name Kikuobana on it to indicate that her place was an offshoot of the Obanaya. She still patronized the same hairdresser as before, and when she met Komayo there from time to time there was no particular change in her behavior. As always, she ran on in a rather silly and aimless fashion. Because of this, for some time afterwards it never entered Komayo's mind that the danna who had bought Kikuchiyo her freedom might be her own danna Yoshioka.
The season for putting on the kosode winter kimono had arrived some time ago. On the tables of the Kagetsu such choice autumn mushrooms as hatsutake and shimeji had long since ceased to be prized for their flavor, and at the Matsumoto the once equally choice matsutake were tossed without regret into the soup. Almost before one knew it, the blossoming chrysanthemums that had attracted crowds of people to Hibiya Park had vanished without a trace. It was the time of year when the fallen leaves, mixing themselves with whirlwinds of dust, go scampering about with the schoolboys playing ball in abandoned gravel pits. The Diet reopened, and in one Shimbashi teahouse after another there appeared the old familiar faces, to which were added some new rustic types with slovenly beards. Evening after evening, as the directors of companies in Marunouchi held their parties, one subject of gossip quite naturally flourished: the young dancing girls about whom everyone had wondered: "Isn't she ripe yet?" and who had now suddenly blossomed into full-fledged geisha. On the Ginza the leaves of the willow trees had turned yellow but had not yet completely fallen. The decorations in the shops had changed overnight. Day by day, all over the place, more and more red and blue flags thrust themselves upon one's attention. Like the shouting of shrill voices, the music of itinerant advertising bands filled the streets, causing people to turn their heads involuntarily and quicken their pace. To this din were added the voices of newsboys calling their extras, and one suddenly realized that from tomorrow the newspapers would begin to crowd their pages with stories of the trials and tribulations of the sumo wrestlers as the new season got under way. And the geisha, gradually undertaking the calculations that accompanied their preparations for New Year's, showed no embarrassment at all in taking their notebooks out of their obi right in front of their patrons, licking the rounded points of the well-used pencils that they never bothered to sharpen, and carefully noting down beforehand their schedules of engagements for the holiday season.
It was not until now that Komayo began all at once to worry about why Yoshioka had never shown up again since that evening at the Hamazaki house. What could he be doing? The time had arrived for the annual banquet of his insurance company—an affair for which he always served as manager. Although the geisha who were invariably invited every year had almost all been called, Komayo did not learn until the day after the party that she was the only one who had not been asked. This, needless to say, rankled in her heart almost beyond endurance, but there was nothing at all that she could do about it.
A week or so after the Shimbashi autumn dance performance, Segawa had left with his theatrical troupe for a tour of the provinces that would take them from Mito through Sendai. As always, the star of the company was Ichiyama Juzo, who had achieved popularity with his husky voice and his grim acting in the style of Danzo. There was also Kasaya Tsuyujiro, a form
er barnstormer whose success at playing all types of roles—male, female, old, or young—made him of great service to the troupe. They would probably not return to Tokyo before the end of the year, and Komayo, having been left behind when Segawa set out on the tour, was at once overcome with loneliness. But now she had time to think about all the matters that she had unconsciously been putting aside—everything from the problem of Yoshioka to the business affairs that she had been neglecting.
The master of the Chomondo, that sea monster of an antique dealer for whom Hanasuke had ruthlessly procured her at the Taigetsu, never failed to show up every five or ten days. Even though, at first, she had given in for Hanasuke's sake because there seemed to be nothing else to do, after that she had not succeeded in escaping him. When she had unintentionally let a second time lead to a third, she found herself thinking that no other geisha, except possibly Kikuchiyo, would put up with such a thing. Occasionally Komayo even went so far as to be cruel to him, thinking that this time, after such treatment, he surely would not come back again, no matter how good-natured a patron he might be. But the sea monster, remaining imperturbable, merely kept his face fixed in its perpetual grin. Whenever he arrived in town, he invariably called together a large number of famous geisha, and Komayo was always treated as the central attraction of the party. Especially at the time of the autumn dance performance, much to her distaste but apparently with the intention of creating a reputation for her throughout the whole of Shimbashi, he had called in the older geisha of the district and politely begged them to do everything they could for her. Certainly one could find no fault with his behavior. He knew all about her affair with Segawa even before she had confided in him about it and, far from objecting, even sent him a stage curtain as a gift. No doubt her prospects with this single patron were better than they would be with a thousand others, but the unpleasantness and the strain on her nerves were a hundred thousand times worse than they would be with an ordinary guest. Again and again, shuddering with disgust, Komayo told herself: "This is the last time." But vows made in storm are often broken in calm, and her appetite for business soon asserted itself again. Still, in secret, there was no recourse for her but to shed tears of vexation over her own wretchedness.
