by Kafū Nagai
"On the other hand, no matter where you go, you don't have to be afraid of getting the cold shoulder the way we do...."
"Even for an actor, it isn't as simple as that."
They both laughed in amusement. In a moment the sliding door opened quietly, and they saw a shimada coiffure bowed in greeting on the threshold. This must be the debutante geisha that Omaki had been talking about. She wore a formal kimono with crests and a design at the bottom of the skirt. The white collar of her underkimono showed stylishly at the neck. She was a girl of perhaps twenty, with straight hair and heavy eyebrows above large dark eyes. With these features one could find no fault, but her forehead was rather too broad, and this, together with her short chin, gave her a round face. Her plump hands, the evident discomfort of her large and well-cushioned figure in the festive kimono, the way she had arranged the side hair of her shimada coiffure and had caked her face with make-up —all these points that were untypical of a geisha served all the more to attract the interest of the two men. But when Yamai, who was rather more accustomed to this sort of society, immediately offered her a cup of sake. she showed no shyness at all in taking it. "I hurried so, I'm all out of breath. I just can't help it," she apologized.
She drank the sake in one gulp, and as she returned the cup she said "thank you" in English. She spoke with a distinct accent that instantly attracted attention, although it was impossible to place it.
"What's your name?"
"It's Ranka." The name meant orchid.
"Ranka.... Doesn't that sound like the name of a Chinese woman? Why didn't you choose a more stylish name?"
"I really wanted to call myself Sumire," she said, using the word for violet. "But, you see, they told me there was already another geisha named Sumire-san."
"Where did you work up till now? In Yoshicho? In Yanagibashi?"
"Why, no. Of course not." For some reason, Ranka suddenly raised her voice. Although this made her provincial accent stand out all the more prominently, her face showed no awareness of it. "This is the first time in my life that I've been a geisha."
"Then were you an actress?"
"No, but I really would like to become an actress." Ranka spoke in an affected tone. "If I don't succeed as a geisha, then I'll become an actress."
Segawa, exchanging glances with Yamai, unintentionally smiled.
"If you become an actress, Ranka-san, what sort of roles would you like to play?"
The question seemed not to embarrass her at all. "I'd like to play Juliet," she said. "By Shakespeare. There's that scene on the balcony when she and Romeo kiss while they listen to the voices of the birds. It's wonderful! I don't like things like Matsue Sumako-san's Salome. It's the sort of thing where she lets people see her naked. But she probably wears tights, don't you think?"
Segawa, somewhat confused by all this, was reduced to silence, but Yamai, as he emptied one cup after another, seemed to be bursting with joy.
"Ranka-san, you are really wasting yourself as a geisha. Make up your mind to become an actress. If you do, I'll give you whatever help I can. You see, I'm an artist too. And if it's for the sake of art, we don't make distinctions among people."
"Oh, my! You're an artist? But you haven't told me your name. Please tell me."
"I'm Yamai Kaname."
"Really? You are Yamai-sensei? Why, I've bought all your books of poetry. I have all of them."
"You do?" Yamai was growing more and more delighted. "Well, you must have written some poetry yourself. Haven't you, Ranka-san? Let me hear you recite something."
"Oh, no. It's much too difficult. I couldn't write anything. But when one is miserable with worry, it's the best thing of all to write a poem, don't you think?"
Segawa, by now utterly bored, only sat puffing away at cigarettes and surrounding himself with a cloud of smoke out of which he looked disgustedly at the faces of Yamai and Ranka.
OPENING DAY (I)
AT THE scheduled hour of one in the afternoon, the Shintomiza opened its new performance. The program began with the "Badarai" scene from Ehon Taikoki, which was followed by the tenth act from the same drama. This piece had been an overworked specialty with Ichiyama Juzo since the days when he appeared in juvenile performances, playing its main role in the style of the Mikawaya actor clan and making himself famous in the theatrical world as a child prodigy. Today, however, it was the female impersonator Segawa Isshi who was attracting attention by playing for the first time the male role of Jujiro. To the third scene had been added "A Passage across Lake Biwa," an intermezzo that appeared abruptly and without any relation to the plot. The stage setting for this was in motion-picture style, and the whole thing was a contrivance aimed at delighting the audience in the same way that children are taken in by trickery. The middle number was the "Fox Fire" scene from Jijuskiko; the last, the love-suicide play Kamiji, in which the Osaka actor So-dezaki Kichimatsu was featured. Since all seats, from pit to boxes, went for the uniform price of fifty sen on opening day, the house was overflowing, even though everyone knew that the intermissions would be long and the entire program would not be presented. The opening scene had hardly ended before "sold out" notices were posted at the doors of the theater and in the neighboring teahouses.
By the time the great drum backstage had begun to summon the audience, Komayo had already distributed tips to the three or four servants who were familiar to her among the crowd that besieged the theater teahouse. She had also called Segawa's manservant Tsunakichi and rewarded him with an excessive gratuity and on top of this had presented proper contributions to the man in charge of Segawa's dressing room and to the doorman, since she wanted to be able to go in and out freely, just as an actor's wife might do. Also, because Segawa was playing the role of Jujiro for the first time, she had earlier canvassed her acquaintances in the whole of Shimbashi to get money for a new draw curtain to honor the occasion, and by sending this to the theater she had further ingratiated herself with the decorators and the stagehands.
Komayo had invited her friend Hanasuke, and they had taken up their position in the third lower box on the east side of the theater. Just now, as she looked out over the prosperously full house at the end of the "Badarai" scene, Komayo had the feeling that all this was due to Segawa's popularity alone and not to the efforts of anyone else at all. And who was the girl who yearned for this immensely popular actor and for whom he yearned in turn? Nobody but herself, Komayo, sitting here in this box. The thought of it filled her with such happiness that she was hardly able to contain herself. But when she pondered the question of how long it would be before they could publicly become man and wife, she was suddenly overcome with a sensation of something fugitive and hopelessly sad.
"Neisan, thank you again for your thoughtfulness just now." At the door of the box, which opened on the corridor now filled with the noise of people going back and forth, an old man with a wrinkled face knelt quietly in greeting. This was Kikuhachi, a disciple of Isshi's father Kikujo who had been with the family for years. "The master has just arrived," he announced to Komayo.
"Oh, has he? Thank you very much." Thrusting her cigarette case into the folds of her obi, Komayo turned to Hanasuke. "Hana-chan, he says the niisan is here, so let's go to his dressing room right now."
Hanasuke, ever the satellite geisha, said nothing but got up and followed submissively. The old actor-retainer Kikuhachi went ahead of them through the crowd, walking toward the curtained door of the passage that led to the naraku, the "hell" directly belowstage. As Komayo and Hanasuke followed him, they were spotted by a short bespectacled man in a Western-style suit who called out as he passed by: "Hello, Komayo-san."
"Why, Yamai-san! How did things go last night after I left?"
"No trouble at all. She turned out to be quite a geisha, didn't she?"
"You certainly put on a show with her. I can't let you off for nothing today." Komayo laughed. Actually she had only met Yamai for the first time last night, but since he was someone whom Segawa-niisan had
brought with him, she displayed an almost theatrical intimacy in making herself amiable. One person was just like another to Komayo; she made no distinctions. If she saw that someone was an acquaintance of Segawa, she did her best to give him a favorable reception. It was her scheme to show people how much she exerted herself for Segawa's sake and thus, little by little, to draw sympathy to herself so that, no matter what the future brought, these persons would never be satisfied unless Segawa married her. So, as soon as she learned that Yamai was a writer, she looked all the more favorably upon him as a potential ally. Being a geisha who didn't know the world very well, Komayo thought that a writer was a person whose business it was to write in detail about the affairs of the human heart in the same way that a lawyer made a business of the law. Because of this, she had come to the conclusion, on her own authority, that she could not go wrong by asking for his help in a matter that involved human feelings.
Following Komayo down to the naraku, Yamai said: "To tell the truth, I've been thinking of telling our friend Segawa about yesterday evening."
After they had passed through the underground naraku, where gaslights burned dimly here and there, the group arrived at the dressing-room area backstage. Here the confusion of opening day was at its height. As Komayo and Hanasuke grasped each other by the hand, black-clothed stage assistants and men with kimono tucked up at the back ran hurriedly up and down, passing them on the stairway. At the top, on the left side of the corridor, they came to a room that bore the name of Segawa Isshi on a wooden plaque above the door. As Komayo slid the door open, they entered an anteroom of three-mat size, half of it with a plain wooden floor. In one corner the manservant Tsunakichi was heating water over a gas flame. The instant he saw Komayo he hurried into the inner room to spread out the seating cushions. Evidently her generous tips had had their effect.
Segawa, wearing a padded silk dressing kimono and a plain narrow obi, sat cross-legged on an oversize cushion of crimson satin in front of a red-lacquer dressing table. He was mixing the liquid powder for his make-up. When he saw his guests reflected in the mirror, he greeted Yamai first. "You'll have to excuse me for yesterday evening," he said. At the same time he displayed a tactful courtesy toward Hanasuke by inviting her to sit down.
Komayo, offering her a cushion, repeated the invitation. "Hana-chan, do sit down." She herself, however, purposely withdrew a bit farther toward the back of the room. When Tsunakichi brought the tea, she offered the first cup to Yamai, doing everything exactly as a wife would do it.
Segawa, wiping his powder-whitened fingertips on a towel, spoke to Yamai. "What did you do last night after I left? I suppose you stayed over?"
"No, I went home all right." Yamai grinned as he answered. "But it was three o'clock when I did."
"Oho! That sounds suspicious."
"With things going as they were, she certainly wouldn't let him go home, would she, dear?" Komayo smiled at Isshi.
"There's no point in making excuses, is there?" Yamai laughed. "But she certainly was an odd one, I'll admit. Some strange geisha show up in Shimbashi now and then, don't they?" He looked at Segawa. "She never did realize that you were an actor."
"Of all things!" Komayo widened her eyes as though she were thoroughly scandalized.
"It's better she didn't." As he said this, Segawa stubbed out his cigarette in the charcoal brazier and stripped the dressing kimono from his shoulders. Then, sitting bare to the waist, he began to apply make-up to his face and neck. Using both hands, he worked with accustomed ease. Everyone automatically stopped talking and gazed at the mirror. During this interval Komayo looked on with such intentness that every muscle in her body seemed to be strained.
"Yamai-san, let's go out again soon." As he spoke, Segawa deftly penciled his eyebrows and rouged his lips. The manservant Tsunakichi, who had been busy for some time now laying out the costume, was waiting for Segawa to stand up. As soon as he rose, he began to help him into the handsome kamishimo with its winged shoulders, embroidered in gold with a bellflower crest, and its broad skirtlike trousers. The wig master approached from behind with the wig, which had a forelock and a large topknot. In an instant Segawa was transformed into a beautiful youth—more beautiful, one thought, than it would have been possible to portray in a color print. If no one else had been there, Komayo would have liked to usurp the role of Hatsugiku in the play and nestle gently up to him, but she forced herself to restrain this impulse. Utterly enchanted by the sight, her mouth all but watering, she found it impossible to take her eyes off him, no matter how hard she might try. This resplendently beautiful young man was altogether different from the female impersonator that she had been accustomed to seeing up to now. For a love-stricken woman to discover that her lover is even more indescribably beautiful than she had thought is an almost intolerable pleasure. Komayo was even angry with herself for falling in love with him all over again. At the thought of it she involuntarily gave a furtive sigh. Segawa, completely unmindful of such things, was asking over his shoulder: "Tsunakichi, isn't it time yet?" He spoke with the impatience of a pampered boy, an unfinished cigarette dangling from his lips as he stood up to go.
At this moment they heard the voice of the stage assistant who had been arranging the sandals at the entrance to the dressing room. He seemed to be greeting someone with particular politeness, and as everyone turned toward the door, an elegant woman appeared. She wore a plain steel-blue topcoat, and her hair was cut short. As she entered, she said to Segawa: "Congratulations!" Komayo, as though in astonishment, abruptly slid off her cushion to perform a proper greeting. Before anyone else could speak, she said: "Congratulations to you. I hadn't intended to be so negligent about coming to see you." She made a polite bow as she spoke. This was Ohan, Kikujo's second wife and Isshi's stepmother.
Ohan had bright, clear eyes and a high nose in a classically oval face. Her hair, of course, was cut short in the style of a widow, but her complexion was fair and smooth, and there were no noticeable wrinkles in her delicately textured forehead. Her features were those that one often sees in the beautiful women of Kyoto. But she was beautiful only in the manner of a doll, and her face was without expression. Still, as far as good looks were concerned, from the nape of her neck to the tips of her fingers she was pretty enough not to be taken for an old woman. Again, with her somehow genteel characteristics, she gave the impression that she might be the dowager of a noble family.
"You always go to a great deal of trouble for us," she said amiably to Komayo, smiling as she spoke. "How beautifully your hair is done! Of course you had it done at the Sadoya, didn't you? Anyway, with such lovely hair, any style suits you."
"Oh, dear me!" There seemed to be nothing for Komayo to do but laugh. "With a switch, I manage one way or another to get it done up."
From the stage there came the sound of the wooden clappers. Segawa, addressing the group with a brief "Please take your time," abruptly left the room. The manservant Tsunakichi, carrying a cup of tea with a red-lacquer cover, followed him out into the corridor. Yamai looked significantly at Komayo and Hanasuke. Speaking as though to himself, he said: "It would be a shame to miss seeing our great Segawa-san in his new role." With this, he got up to leave, and the two geisha, taking advantage of the timely opportunity, paid their respects to Ohan and hurried out to the corridor to follow Yamai. Then, as they descended once more to the naraku, Hanasuke asked in a low voice: "Koma-chan, was that lady the niisan's mother?"
"Yes, of course."
"She's elegant, and so charming. I thought she must be either a flower-arrangement teacher or a tea-ceremony teacher."
"That's the way she is in everything, very refined and tidy. And that's just the reason why it's hopeless for unrefined people like us. That's the reason, I tell you." Komayo had unconsciously raised her voice, and as she realized this, she turned to look behind her. But there was no one else passing through the dingy naraku, and the reverberations of the carpenters' hammers from the stage above enclosed them in a screen of sou
nd. Evidently the curtain had not yet opened.
"That's why, I tell you. No matter what I try to do, it's hopeless. In the first place, that stepmother of his doesn't approve, he tells me. When I think about it, it makes me absolutely miserable."
"So even while things haven't been settled in public, she's acting like a mother-in-law, isn't she?" Hanasuke, regardless of the right or wrong of the situation, had the habit of chiming in with what other people said. Secretly, she believed that Segawa was quite fickle toward Komayo and that it was therefore probably not only his mother who was to blame. But even if she said a thing like this to Komayo in her present frenzy of excitement, it would make no impression upon Komayo at all. Besides, since Hanasuke considered it senseless to offend people and make enemies of them by recklessly making inconsequential remarks, she limited herself to saying what seemed to be most appropriate in each case.
It was exactly as Hanasuke said, Komayo agreed. Everyone knew how intimate she and Segawa were. At the same time, despite this deep intimacy, nothing had been settled up to now, nor did it seem likely to be. And the reason for it all was the presence of this mother of his in the family circle. Komayo was so blindly obsessed with this idea that when Segawa's mother spoke pleasantly to her, looking on the surface as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, she felt no freedom at all to intervene. All she could do was to burn more fiercely with inward rage and sink more deeply into chagrin.
"I wonder why it is that nothing in this world goes the way a person wants it to," said Komayo, sighing to herself.
Presently, as they emerged from the naraku, they heard the increasingly rapid beat of the clappers announcing the opening of the curtain. Coming up from the belowstage "hell" into the brilliant liveliness of the auditorium was like entering an utterly different world, and it made Komayo suddenly take heart again. As she trotted with quick little steps toward her box, Yamai came following after, and although he had not been invited, he entered the same box without even so much as asking permission. At the theater, at restaurants, at machiai, no matter where, it seemed to be a specialty with Yamai-sensei to tag along after people he knew, walking right in behind them whether he had been asked or not. Now, sitting between Komayo and Hanasuke and puffing away on a cigarette, he surveyed the audience and the stage with an air of perfect composure.
