by India Millar
“Hear me, Mineko.” Akira’s whisper was no louder than the sound of the breeze, rustling the leaves outside. “You think that she has gotten away with it. That she has left me and I am powerless to do anything about it. But you’re forgetting one thing. I still have you. Midori loves you, and one day she will come back for you. And when she does, I will take her back. When that happens, she will never get away from me again. Sweet dreams, my clever little geisha.”
I wept myself to sleep, praying that the gods would understand when I begged them that I might never see my elder sister again.
3
Cold follows the heat.
My heart longs for the summer
To return to me
For a second or two, I thought I had nodded off and was dreaming. It was a chilly afternoon, and I had wrapped myself comfortably in my thickest robe. In a moment, I would shout for the maid to bring me some tea to try and drive the cold from my bones. Was this what it was like to be old, I wondered? It wasn’t a comfortable idea, and I grimaced to myself. And then my screen door slid open with a bang, and I gasped with pleasure.
“Kiku!” I scrambled to my feet and ran to embrace her. “What on earth are you doing here?”
She huffed and pretended to be offended, but couldn’t hide her beaming smile. Her maid was standing behind her, clutching her miniature spaniel in her arms. Kiku had taken the dog with her when she married, and I noticed with amusement that it now wore a fancy collar that seemed to be made of gold wire. I searched my memory for its name. Akane, that was it. It meant “brilliant red” and was a good name for the red and white dog.
“Hello, Akane.”
I tickled the dog behind her ear and she moaned with pleasure. Kiku grinned and nodded to her maid.
“Take her out and walk her up and down the street until I’m ready to leave,” she instructed briskly. “And I mean walk her, don’t just carry her. She’s getting fat.”
I managed to hide a smile as I thought that Kiku herself seemed to be rounder than ever.
As soon as the girl had taken Akane out, I clapped my hands and one of the Hidden House’s maids came at a trot. I demanded tea and daifuku—red bean paste cakes—remembering that they had always been Kiku’s favorite.
“And bring me a chair,” she called after the retreating maid. “I don’t care if Auntie is sitting in it, tip her out and bring it for me.”
I laughed out loud. Dear, dear Kiku, who had been frightened of nobody. Even Akira? Well, no. Perhaps even Kiku was a little frightened of him. She settled in the chair happily as soon as it arrived.
“I made Mori-san buy Western furniture at home,” she said smugly. “We even have a bed, not a futon. He grumbles that they’re not comfortable, but I love them. No more trying to stand up and not being able to manage it on my own! It’s wonderful.”
Her face creased into lines of pleasure so that her beautiful almond eyes almost disappeared. I smiled with her, even as I wondered why she was here.
“And how is Mori-san?” I asked politely. I might be intrigued to see Kiku again, but the formalities still had to be gone through before I discovered why she was really here.
“Same as he always is,” she said simply and I tried not to laugh. Kiku was Mori-san’s second wife. His first wife had died of a fever, and it was said that Mori-san had never been happier. The first wife wore the sword in the family and bullied him unmercifully, being rude to him even in front of his friends and patrons. In Japan, where we women were expected to kowtow to our men and jump to their every word, she was unique.
Kiku looked at my face, and we both burst out laughing.
“At least I’m nice to him,” she said finally, wiping her streaming eyes. “And I’m polite in front of the clients. I make him happy.”
Mori-san was one of the most successful—and the richest—goldsmiths in the whole of Edo. Kiku seemed to be a walking advertisement for her husband’s craft. Her wrists were weighted down with gold bracelets and she had the most beautiful jeweled combs in her elaborate wig.
“You’re happy as well?” I asked, and she nodded, her expression suddenly shy.
“I’m pregnant.” The words came in a rush, as though she couldn’t keep them back any longer. I clapped my hands in delight for her. “Mori wants a boy, of course. For myself, I rather fancy having a girl.”
Trust Kiku! Any other woman would have been on her knees before the family shrine each and every day, praying that her baby was going to be a boy child. Of course, we women were nothing. If our parents had really wanted a boy, they were entitled to expose us, to get rid of us at birth. If they were kind and kept us, then we would always be at the mercy of the men in the family, expected to do no more than marry well and do exactly as we were told. I had run away from my own father after my mother died and he had taken my elder sister as his wife. She, in her turn, died in childbirth, and Father had begun to turn his attention to me. There was nothing unusual in that; many men did the same thing. The only strange thing about it was my refusal to accept it as his right.
I rose and embraced Kiku fondly. As I straightened up, I saw a strange ornament around her neck and stared at it in surprise. Kiku frowned and looked embarrassed.
“We’ve converted to Christians,” she said defiantly. My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. The foreign barbarians had brought what they called “missionaries” with them, men who were forever trying to get us Japanese to convert to their religion. We tried to explain that we didn’t really have a problem with adding another god to those we already worshiped, but it appeared that this wasn’t good enough for the missionaries. No, they wanted us to turn our backs on our old gods and just worship theirs. Now that, of course, just would not do. Apart from anything else, it would be disgracefully disrespectful to our own ancestors. We had often discussed it in the Hidden House, and had come to the conclusion that the foreign barbarians were very much like bad mannered children who wanted everything but were not willing to share. Boy children, of course.
And now here was Kiku, telling me she was a Christian! Truly, the world was standing on its head. I tried, of course, to keep my expression neutral, but Kiku knew me too well to be deceived.
“We haven’t changed properly,” she explained quickly. “Not like the missionary wanted, exactly. But these days the gaijin are such good customers to us, it seemed the polite thing to do. They all look at my ornament and seem pleased anyway.”
I nodded in understanding, noticing as well that Kiku was careful to refer to the foreign barbarians as “gaijin,” the Japanese word that meant, simply, “foreigner.” Surely, they must be good customers indeed.
“Does Mori-san know you’re here?” I had to ask. Surely, even the most bullied cushion of a husband would object, strongly, to his wife coming back to the Hidden House.
Kiku shook her head. “I thought it better not to mention it to him,” she said superbly. I nodded, understanding perfectly.
We nibbled our bean paste cakes and drank our tea and chatted happily about nothing in particular. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Kiku had come with a purpose, that there was more to this visit than a chat about old times. It seemed to me that she was on edge. Her eyes were never still, but constantly searched the room. Eventually, when the tea had been drunk and the plate of cakes was empty, she stretched and climbed to her feet.
“Well, I must be off.” She held out her arms and I rose with her. She enveloped me in a hug. She then spoke so quickly and quietly, if her mouth had not been next to my ear, I wouldn’t have been able to hear her. “Midori is happy with Danjuro in America. They’ve started a new kabuki. She says the gold is yours.”
I was grateful for the years of training in the Hidden House that had taught me not to blink at even the strangest of things.
“Well, it was lovely seeing you again.” Kiku spoke in her usual loud voice as she let me go. “It might be a while before I can get back, but I’ll do my best.”
I smiled, b
owed politely, and escorted her to the door. “Please, come back to me as soon and as often as you can.”
Her maid was waiting at the door with Akane on her leash, frisking around her feet. At a regal nod from Kiku, the girl picked the dog up and fell into step behind her mistress.
I watched her until she had walked out of the courtyard before returning to my room. The maid, I noticed absently, had already removed Auntie’s precious chair. I was trembling, whether with surprise or pleasure, I didn’t know myself. I had been right all along. Midori was safe. With Danjuro, her lover. In a new country where everything was different. How had she got a message to Kiku? I had no idea, but thought it must have come via one of the foreign barbarians. Sorry, one of Mori-san’s gaijin customers. I didn’t care. I was too happy for anything else to matter.
Happy…and deeply envious. Danjuro had been the star actor and part owner of the kabuki theater in Edo. Midori had been his lover before Akira muscled into our lives, and I knew that Akira had always been deeply jealous of Danjuro, both because he knew Midori loved him and because Danjuro had refused to sell the kabuki to him. When Danjuro disappeared, I had simply assumed that Akira had murdered him. In fact, I had thought so until Midori had vanished as well. Then, and only then, did I wonder. And hope.
And now it appeared that the gods had smiled on my dear Midori. She was happy and safe with her lover in a country where Akira could not touch her. Lucky, lucky woman! And the gold was mine.
When Midori had fled, she had left a small fortune in gold coins with me for safe keeping. Thirty gold koban, enough to feed a family for a year. She had not dared take them to Akira’s house, as she had nowhere to hide them there. Instead, she had left them with me, and I had hidden them carefully in my own treasure.
My room was largely bare of ornaments, apart from a single, large, colored wood print of the kabuki theater. I had found it years ago, discarded in a pile of rubbish as it had lost its frame. I salvaged it and kept it and eventually, from the tips I earned as a maid at the Hidden House when I was a maiko, I had had it framed and hung it carefully where the light couldn’t fade it. The frame was a little too deep for the print, and I had always meant to get a better fitting one. When Midori left the gold with me, I was glad I hadn’t. I had left the horde in my futon until the middle of the night, when I was sure that the whole house was asleep, and only then had I—with great care—taken my print from its frame and lined up the coins behind it. When I put the print back in, it was an excellent fit and nobody would ever suspect that the money was behind it.
And now, the gold was mine. I knew instinctively that Midori had intended that I should buy myself out of the Hidden House with it. There was enough, and more, than I would need. I sat quietly, my hands folded in my lap, considering the irony of it. Here I was, suddenly a rich woman, and yet I could do nothing at all with Midori’s gold. If I spent it on trinkets, Auntie would notice. If Auntie noticed, then Akira would know. If I approached Akira and tried to buy myself out, he would want to know where I had gotten the money from. And there was only one place I could have obtained it—from Midori. He would take the money anyway and probably sell me to a low-class brothel in the bargain. If I was lucky. So I was tied—a rich woman who might as well have been penniless.
If he found out where Midori was—and I had no illusions about it, I may be unable to feel pain, but Akira would find a way to get the information out of me—then he would move sky and earth to hunt her and Danjuro down. No matter how far away she was, he would find her and punish her. It was a matter of honor for him.
I could have wept, and probably would have done if I hadn’t been so delighted by the news about Midori. I sighed and decided I would go for a bath. The Hidden House was only available to patrons in the afternoon and evenings, and the morning was still young. It was very quiet, and I guessed the other girls were already in the bath. Must have been, in fact, or else Naruko and Masaki would have been poking their heads around my door eagerly as soon as they heard Kiku’s voice.
The bathhouse was very quiet as well, and I soon found out why. Bigger was there. Bathing was never a pleasure when he chose to join us girls.
Big and Bigger had been the enforcers in the Hidden House. If a customer got too rowdy or tried to go too far, then Big and Bigger would ensure that they were taught a lesson they would never forget. Equally, should one of us girls dare to disobey Auntie, or—perish the thought!—annoy a patron, then the boys would be set on the offending geisha. When poor Carpi ran away, Auntie found her and had her brought back to the Hidden House. In spite of the fact that Carpi had been her favorite, she had set the boys on her to teach her a lesson. They had done her terrible injury. Nothing—apart from a broken tooth—that could be seen, but the two were well named, and Carpi’s internal injuries had been very bad. It was after that violation of her poor body that Midori and I had agreed to help her end her own life.
Big and Bigger had been lovers. There was no secret about that, we all knew. But Big had also been in love with Danjuro, Midori’s lover, even though Danjuro had never reciprocated his affection and had treated him with nothing more than kindness. Midori had said that the more Danjuro ignored Big, then the wilder Big became for him.
Since Big had disappeared, Bigger had moped about in a cloud of gloom. Did he know his lover was dead? I had nothing to base it on, but I guessed that he did. In any event, we all avoided him as far as possible, and were as polite as we could possibly be when we saw him, which was far too often.
The boys had always gone to the bath together. Now, Bigger bathed with us girls on his own, watching our every move with a sneer of contempt on his face. We huddled as far away from him as we could, dreading that he might suddenly take a fancy to one of us. Occasionally, he would beckon one of the girls over to him and demand that we wash him. He had, of course, been well soaped and rinsed before he entered the bath, but that wasn’t at all what he meant. He seemed to take particular pleasure in singling poor little Masaki out.
Masaki was so tiny that she never actually went right into the bath, but perched on the steps instead. The water would have gone over her head had she tried to climb in. Generally, Bigger contented himself with marching up to the steps and simply holding up his arms as a signal for Masaki to wash him by running her hands over his body, lingering on his tree of flesh until he showed he had had enough by pushing past her and leaving the bathhouse, wrapped in a towel that hid very little.
Although Bigger was no more than medium height and slim as a willow, his tree of flesh was monstrous. When we were sure we couldn’t be overheard, we geisha discussed it in fascination, wondering how he did not pass out when he was erect. Surely, it was not possible for so much blood to leave his body and for him to be still healthy! But it appeared he was.
Now, we pretended to chat amongst ourselves as Bigger stood and glanced around casually. His interest fell on Masaki, as always. But today, instead of moving toward her, he beckoned to her to come to him. Masaki thought about it, and then shook her head firmly. Brave girl!
“I can’t,” she said simply. “I would drown. I’m sorry, Bigger. But I wouldn’t be much good to you dead, would I?” she added hopefully.
Bigger grinned and actually seemed to be thinking about it for a moment. Then he shook his head and walked toward Masaki, shouldering aside the steaming water until it sloshed high enough to wet his hair. Leaning forward, he simply plucked her off the top step and dunked her down, under the water, holding her there as she thrashed and kicked. It was obvious what he wanted her to do, but Masaki was having none of it.
We all sucked in our breath in disbelief as we realized that Masaki was willing to risk her life rather than give in to Bigger. I felt a huge flash of love for her. We may all have been prisoners in the Hidden House, but we had pride. I remembered her casually thumping the sumo wrestler sized patron’s head on the tatami, and then realized with total horror that now I was probably watching her final moments. Akira would not punish Bigge
r. He would probably laugh when he was told what had happened to Masaki, say it served as an example to the rest of us, to do as we were told.
But now, Masaki’s struggles were becoming much weaker. Bubbles were rising through the steam and although I knew it was impossible, I was sure I heard her scream.
“Let her go, Bigger-san. I’ll do it for you.”
I was surprised to see all the other girls staring at me. Even more surprised when I realized it was me who had spoken. Shocked to the core when Bigger simply let go of Masaki and she bobbed to the surface of the water like a cork, but a cork that gasped and choked and spat water. She floundered her way to the steps and hauled herself up, panting for breath.
Bigger simply stood there, his hands on his hips, grinning widely.
I waded toward him before I could change my mind, took a deep, deep breath, and plunged my head under the steaming water. I fastened my lips around his tree of flesh and sucked for all I was worth.
The breath of air didn’t last for long. In seconds, I was desperate for breath. It didn’t hurt, of course, but my body was telling me in no uncertain manner that I needed air. Now. I let go of Bigger’s tree, but at the same time his hands fastened themselves in my hair, pushing my head back down.
I tried everything I could think of. I bit his tree so hard a puff of blood discolored the water. I found his kintama with my scrabbling fingers and squeezed as hard as I could. All that happened was that his tree seemed to swell still more until my hazy mind was not at all sure whether he was choking me with flesh or I was drowning.
I had always heard that death by drowning was not unpleasant. After the first breath of water, people said, it was just like going to sleep. Well, I can tell you that that is all wrong. It isn’t pleasant at all. Even for me, who couldn’t feel pain, it was terrible. My lungs felt as if they were being clamped by a giant hand. My brain was screaming for air and my thoughts were full of bitterness against this horrible man. My last conscious thought was a hope that someone would take revenge for me.
