Geisha in Rivalry

by Kafū Nagai

  "Niisan," she said, "it's getting awfully late. Please hurry up and go, and then hurry back. Niisan, I won't say anything at all." As she spoke, she moved closer, cautiously stealing a look at his face.

  "What? If I don't go, I don't, and that's all there is to it." Segawa sat up with feigned languidness. "It'll be all right if I go and apologize later on."

  "But, niisan, that would embarrass me. It's past eleven already. Niisan, really, please go quickly and then hurry back. I won't wait here alone because I'd feel too awkward. I'll go home for a little while and then come back."

  "Really? Well then, if you'll excuse me, that's what I'd like to have you do." Segawa purposely took her hand as though he needed help in getting to his feet. He rose with an air of reluctance and straightened out his clothing.

  In situations like this, even though she is cut to the quick by the bitterness of it, a woman who loves an actor must play her own role with grace. She must save appearances by sending him off to his engagement in proper style. With this thought, difficult though it was for her to do it, Komayo braced herself for the task. Standing behind him as if she were about to embrace him, she helped him on with his haori. It was a little like a scene from one of those new dramas in the modern theater. Segawa, bending backward as though about to lean against her, passed an arm through the sleeve of the haori and grasped her hand. "Then everything's all right, isn't it?" he asked. "Be sure to wait for me."

  With this, he was already reaching out to open the sliding door. Komayo, carrying the clothing tray with his inverness, his hat, and his muffler on it, followed him out into the corridor.

  "Well then, I'll see you later." Segawa, with the voices of the proprietress and her maids calling out behind him in farewell, disappeared under the cover of his private jinrikisha. As he passed through the gate of the Gishun, he involuntarily looked at his gold wrist watch. He had known from the start that it would be almost impossible for him to keep two engagements on the evening of opening day, when the performance always ended later than usual. But the mistress of the Kikyo had seduced him with her lengthy solicitation. His inherently fickle temperament had been aroused by her enticements, and now, inordinately consumed with suspense, he was exactly like a child who can never be satisfied, waking or sleeping, until the toy that he wants has been bought for him.

  Although he knew that he was being unfair to Komayo, he had accepted the blandishments of the mistress of the Kikyo, who had wide experience in such matters and who had told him in an insinuating tone: "As for Koma-chan, I'll make some sort of apology to her later on. If I'm the only guilty party, everything will be all right." So she had taken all the responsibility, thinking that if he wasn't sufficiently inclined toward the project she would have to do a bit of pushing. Moreover, distance had lent enchantment to the buxom figure with the marumage coiffure as she sat in her theater box, and when he learned that she had lived in chastity for such a long time following the death of her danna and was therefore practically the same as a respectable woman, his heart was set dancing all the more with curiosity. He had already decided that if things worked out at the Kutsuwa he would certainly not go back to the Gishun, no matter what the outcome might be. His imagination was so occupied with the prospective delights of this sudden new love that before he knew it the jinrikisha had made a beeline across the Tsukiji River and drawn up at the gate of the Kutsuwa.

  At the front desk of the Gishun, the mistress invited Komayo to stay and chat for a while, even promising to make a phone call for her if Segawa failed to return at the scheduled time. But Komayo, finding it impossible to sit and wait quietly, told her that she was going out for a stroll on the Ginza. With that, and not bothering to call a jinrikisha, she stepped aimlessly out into the narrow side street lined with machiai and obstructed both ahead of her and behind her by a number of cars and jinrikisha waiting for their patrons. Walking quickly, as though she wanted no one to catch sight of her, Komayo set out in the direction of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce.

  The early winter night, somberly swept now and then by veils of smoke and haze, was so strangely warm that she couldn't help wondering if an earthquake might not be imminent. In the bright moonlight the shadows of things lay clearly stretched across the dry street, somehow giving the impression of summer. A soft breeze refreshingly stroked the puffed-out hair at the sides of her head. Before she quite realized it, Komayo was remembering the evening when Segawa-niisan had summoned her for the first time to the Gishun. She recalled how she had parted from him that night, doubting that such joy could be hers and asking herself if she hadn't perhaps been bewitched by a fox. She remembered the streets that night: how she had come to the bright and bustling Ginza and had turned instead to wander through one dark side street after another, unwilling to have her delightful thoughts thrown into confusion by the traffic of vehicles and people—how, even though her knees were shaky with exhaustion, she had deliberately taken a roundabout way home.

  It had been early autumn then, when the days were still warm with lingering summer heat, when at evening the cool breeze swept pleasingly through one's kimono sleeves, when late at night the cold dew seemed to penetrate one's very flesh. The season was altogether different now. After a day spent among the throng at the theater, she had at length come out under this dewy late evening sky where the clear moonlight contrasted with the roofs of houses wrapped in scarves of thin mist, where she felt the touch of the wind from the river as it moved through the streets in the deepening night. From across the river came the sound of samisen music played by a strolling singer, and she could see, beyond the garden shrubbery over there, the second-floor lights of the machiai. The season was different, but to her fancy it seemed that everything about the scene resembled that unforgettable first night. At the thought of it, though she still continued to walk, she suddenly burst into a torrent of tears. In agitation, she hid her face in her handkerchief and then looked furtively around. Fortunately this side of the street in front of the huge Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce building lay in complete darkness. Ordinarily, exactly at this time and place, the street would be filled with the jinrikisha of geisha hurrying to and from their engagements. The signs of the machiai shone like stars in the darkness—Hiyoshi, Daisei, Shintake, Mihara, Naka-mino, and the others. But for some reason or other both before and behind her, as far as her eye could see, the street was lonely and silent. There was nothing but a solitary automobile coming from the direction of Unemebashi—this and two or three geisha strolling toward her, apparently quite drunk, talking and laughing in loud voices.

  Komayo, thinking only that she must take refuge as quickly as possible, hurriedly turned left at the Kobikicho intersection. There in the pitch-dark alley, with no lights to give her away, she would conceal herself, crouching down with her kimono sleeves pressed against her face and crying to her heart's content. There was nothing else to do. If she could just cry it out to her satisfaction in some deserted place, with no one to comfort or to hinder her, she would somehow become calm afterwards and take notice of what people said to her. This was a habit born of her innately lonely temperament. She herself knew this quite well. Whenever something happened that drove her to her wit's end, she must first of all find a place with no people around—this before anything else—and if no such place could be found, she would thrust her head into a closet and engage in a violent fit of weeping. Afterwards she would tell herself how silly she had been. It was a habit that had grown upon her after she married and moved to the far-off countryside of Akita to spend her days among people with whom, except for her husband, there was no communicating at all, no matter where she looked. Komayo knew all this quite well, but once this strange custom had fastened itself upon her, it was altogether impossible for her to break away from it, regardless of how much she wanted to do so. In fact, as the years went by from then until now, this desire to burst into tears only became all the more frequent, so that even if she wanted to break herself of the habit, there was no t
ime for it. And now, as Komayo wept in the darkness of the narrow side street, she suddenly and for some unexplainable reason found herself wondering if perhaps she hadn't been born to spend her whole life in tears. At this thought she was plunged into sadness all over again, and the sleeves of her new underkimono—one of a matching pair that she and the niisan had ordered for themselves only a short time ago—became so wet with tears that she could have wrung them out.

  But now a car came by, throwing up dust as it passed, and a dog began to bark somewhere quite near. Reluctantly Komayo came out of the alley and once again began her aimless walk. Down the street, only two or three houses ahead of her, there were two geisha, apparently on their way home from an engagement. She had no idea of what they were talking about, but all at once she heard quite distinctly the words "Hama-muraya-niisan." It was Segawa they were talking about.

  Quickly silencing her steps and staying close under the eaves of the houses to keep from being seen, Komayo tried to get as near as possible. Unaware of this, the two geisha continued to speak without restraint.

  "I'm sure it was Hamamuraya-san. Oh, it really makes me envious! Where do you suppose they went?"

  "Well, let's make a bet. Tomorrow I'll try calling Komayo-neisan without letting on that I know anything. Then, if it really was Hamamuraya-san, I'll treat you to a movie."

  "All right. And if I lose, I'll treat you. But wait a minute. If it really was Hamamuraya-san with another geisha, that would be awful. We'd end up with Komayo-neisan suspecting even us. No, it's much better not to telephone at all or do anything else like that."

  "I guess you're right. But really, who's the other one that Segawa-san has now besides Komayo-neisan?"

  Unconsciously holding her breath, Komayo waited for the answer, but her effort was to no avail. Just then another automobile came rushing down the street at full speed, and the words were lost. By that time the two geisha had arrived at the lattice gate of one of the machiai. She heard them calling good evening to the mistress as they entered.

  By now Komayo had almost taken leave of her senses. She had no idea of what was going on, but the few words that she had heard made it impossible for her to stand there and do nothing. Segawa himself had told her when he left that he was going to the Kutsuwa. She must call there and find out for sure whether he was there or not. If it was only an innocent teahouse engagement, it would make no difference even if they recognized her voice. There was no reason why anyone should think it strange. Why hadn't she thought of this before? Almost running, she retraced her steps to the Gishun. Once there, she immediately picked up the phone at the desk. She took good care, however, to make her voice sound calm.

  "Is this the Kutsuwa? I beg your pardon, but would you please call Segawa-san to the phone?... Who am I? Why... this is... this is his house."

  Although she waited for some time, there was no response. Suddenly flying into a rage, she began to shout into the mouthpiece in a wild effort to bring back the person who had answered. Unfortunately at this moment the wires got crossed, and she had to give up.

  The maid Omaki, who was standing beside her, could no longer bear just to look on. Changing places with Komayo, she made another call to the Kutsuwa. "He must have arrived home by now" was the answer. Since Komayo had already said that she was calling from Segawa's house, Omaki refrained from replying that this couldn't be true. In the midst of her discouragement it occurred to Komayo that perhaps he had told them this at the Kutsuwa, intending all the while to go on to the Gishun. With this in mind, she waited a little longer, but it was only a matter of minutes before the clock began to strike twelve. Suddenly she jumped up and telephoned again, this time giving her name quite openly: "Komayo is waiting for him this evening at the Gishun." After she had been kept waiting beyond all decency, she was informed that Segawa had returned to his home in Tsukiji. By this time she was half crazy. When she called his house in Tsukiji she was told only that he wasn't there. It was clear that nobody knew where Segawa Isshi had gone.

  In any event, machiai must close their gates at midnight. The maid Omaki, in evident pity, closed only one wing of the gate. Speaking as though to herself, but with obvious purpose, she said: "No doubt he'll be here in a minute." As she stood in the street, there suddenly appeared from nowhere a short man in Western-style clothes. Apparently quite drunk, he came reeling toward Omaki. In her fright she tried hurriedly to close the gate. The drunken man, seeing this, became even more excited than Omaki. "Hey! Wait!" he shouted. "It's me. Isn't Komayo-san here?"

  "Oh, dear, it's last night's... I'm sorry I didn't recognize..." Omaki began to giggle.

  "It's me, I tell you. Yamai." Being a practiced hand at such things, Yamai had hardly flung these words at Omaki but that he had entered the house, pulled off his shoes and tossed them aside, and dashed upstairs—all this before she had a chance to refuse him with some such excuse as "Sorry, no rooms tonight."

  YASUNA

  TWO OR three days later, in the gossip sheet called the Miyako Shimbun, there appeared a column-and-a-half item headlined "Komayo Demented." "Last year during the autumn dance performance at the Kabukiza," it began, "we had the madness of Yasuna and, this past spring, the madness of Sumidagawa—two portrayals of madness in a row that made a hit and gained a considerable reputation for the performer. Today in Shimbashi there is not a person who doesn't know this famous geisha, Komayo of the Obanaya. For all that, on the opening night of this month's Kabuki program, she had her most precious lord high actor Hamamuraya snatched away from her. And now, even when she tries to sleep, she can't, and she passes the night waiting for him until dawn." (Here the article went into an elaborate pun involving Segawa's name.) "Since she is not a doll made of clay, she cannot keep from being jealous, nor can she stand meekly aside and say nothing. And so, in one night, she has trampled her dancing fan to pieces and gone raving mad." The writer, permitting himself a little joke, had done all of this in a parody of the ballad-drama Yasuna.

  Still, this wasn't so disastrous, since it was only a newspaper item of dubious authenticity. In the frivolous society of actors and geisha, no one took such things very seriously, and in most cases a rumor had no sooner been set afoot than it was promptly forgotten. But this affair, strangely enough, became an exception. At the bath, at the hairdresser's, in the waiting rooms of teahouses, at the studios of music and dancing teachers— everywhere, in general, that geisha came together—one rumor gave birth to another as the days went by. As a result, there was not a single person among the Shimbashi crowd that flocked to the theater who had not had a look at Kimiryu. The performance, which had been playing to packed houses day after day, was now nearing the middle of its run, and it was common to hear such remarks as "You saw her too? So did I." From opening day on, Kimiryu was on hand every day, if not in her box, then in the corridors, in the theater teahouse, in the restaurant, or somewhere else in the house. One could always be sure of getting a look at her. On top of this, beginning with the fourth or fifth day of the performance, there appeared a handsome drop curtain that had not been there during the first several days. It was raised and lowered for the middle number, Nijushiko, and embroidered on it was a dedication to the master Hamamuraya-san together with a list of names that began with Rikiji of the Minato-ya and included five geisha from her establishment. Naturally this set off a new torrent of rumors, and within hours the word somehow got around that next spring, when the master Hamamuraya succeeded to the name of the late Kikujo, he would make Kimiryu his wife. Once this rumor got under way, there were even people who came forward to declare that they had actually seen the betrothal gifts that had already been exchanged between the two. In fact, there were also those who reported that the engagement dated back to quite some time ago when Kimiryu was still a geisha.

  This last rumor sounded entirely plausible to everybody. Some had thought that things were moving too fast, to say the least, when yesterday's rumor turned into today's talk about a wedding, but now, hearing this, even they
were somehow convinced for the first time.

  When this report reached Komayo, she finally resigned herself to the idea that everything was over for her. Segawa, on his part, realizing that he could hardly have found a more convenient pretext, made use of the rumor as an excuse for himself. The result of this was that they never even once argued with each other as to whether the rumor was actually true or not. Komayo, in her blind belief that it must be true, had brought herself to the verge of distraction, and she wept in bitter resentment against his heartlessness. Segawa, in turn, found it nothing less than trying to be faced with reproaches and tears every time they met. She refused to listen to his apologies, and before long, feeling that he had had more than enough of it, he made his escape. By contrast, Kimiryu had all the life and vigor of a new love, and she was not given to saying unpleasant things. Consequently, the more tangled his relations with Komayo became, the more deeply he involved himself in his liaison with Kimiryu.

  One day when the two of them were together at the Kutsuwa machiai, he said to Kimiryu: "There's been a lot of gossip going around—people insisting that we're going to get married. Just let somebody say something, and before you know it everybody is talking about marriage."

  "It's really too bad, isn't it?"

  "It must be even more embarrassing for you. I'm really very sorry."