Between Sakai and Jiro, I completely regret not knowing more about my Japanese heritage. I get it. I understand. I’ve not grown up like my mother intended, and now I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to correct it. Is Jiro really poking fun at my not being Japanese enough?
I’ve had enough of today. I get up from my chair and grab my bag.
“Wait, Sanaa-chan.” His hand comes down on my arm. “Wait, don’t go. That’s not what I meant…”
“Jiro, I’m going home,” I say, and pulling my arm away from him, I stand stiffly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sensei.” He winces and closes his eyes as if I’ve slapped him. Good. I’ve restored order to our relationship.
As fast as I can, I turn and leave, but it’s not stopping Jiro from following me to the door.
“Sanaa! Please wait.”
I hasten my step and don’t look back, but I can hear the door open again and Miko’s voice. Fine, Jiro. You tell Miko why I left.
I go straight home, and I’m so thankful the trains are running fast because I don’t want a bunch of strangers to witness me crying. I hate crying in front of other people, and I’ve done it way too many times lately for my liking. I’ve also beaten both of my aunts home for once. I didn’t even stay for very long at the izakaya tonight.
What just happened with Jiro? One minute he’s complimenting me, and the next I’m running for the door like the place is on fire. Is he comparing me to other girls in Ku 6 on a daily basis? I thought maybe, just maybe, he liked me for who I am. Am I the silly, half-Japanese experiment to him? Put a sword in my hand and maybe I’ll be enough? This evening has left me feeling dumb and inadequate. How could I be so stupid? Another boy has managed to embarrass me for entirely different reasons. This time I’m not the skinny tomboy, I’m the outcast. I will never be enough all on my own.
I dump my bag on my bed, change into pajamas, and pull my hair back into a quick braid before climbing into bed with my tablet. I think it’s time I put this silly nonsense aside and went back to Chad. It’s been months, but he might meet me tomorrow. I could use the familiarity of his face, his voice, and his body. He’s not especially passionate with me — he barely even kisses me — but it’s better than nothing.
I take the tablet out of silent mode and find two messages from Jiro sent ten minutes ago. I don’t even want to read them. I want to smash my tablet to pieces! But my finger goes straight for the first message anyway.
“Sanaa-chan, gomen nasai. I didn’t mean to make you upset tonight. When I said you are not like the other Japanese girls in Ku 6, I wanted you to know I like that. I wouldn’t want you to be any different. Forgive me.”
There’s a message here too from Miko: “I don’t know what happened but Jiro feels really bad for offending you. Give him another chance, Sanaa. He’s been asking questions about you for weeks at the izakaya, and I’ve been so wrapped up in Yoichi, I haven’t said anything to you. Stupid boys. They make us crazy. Tell him you’ll see him again. Xo Miko.”
I have to see him, Miko. Every day. Sigh. This whole falling for Jiro situation is the dumbest thing I have ever done.
Back to my inbox, I click on the other message from him. It’s simply titled, “From today.”
This time the drawing brings tears to my eyes and all thoughts of Chad fade away. It’s me, but only my arm crooked under my head, my hair falling down over it. There’s the slightest glimpse of my ear and the curve of my chin, but the genius of this sketch is how Jiro has caught every fold of fabric, every strand of hair. He paid close attention to the shape and slant of the light, the way the soft fabric of my shirt cast a hard shadow on the mat. It’s perfect in every way.
Of course I’ll forgive him. If he were here right now, I’d hug him. Hold him. I want to wrap my arms around him so badly. I take the tablet and clutch it to my chest.
It’s not the same.
Chapter
Twelve
When I reach the Itōdōjō, I ascend the stairs, my stomach full of butterflies. Jiro and I left things so horribly at Izakaya Tanaka last night, and I never wrote back to his apology. I’ve had this vision in my mind all day of apologizing to him face-to-face and then reaching out to hug him when I’m done because I just want to hold him so badly it hurts.
But I pull open the door and all of the butterflies die because Koichi is waiting for me as well. No private time today.
“Sanaa,” he exclaims when I enter. His smile is contagious and despite my disappointment of not being alone with Jiro, I return it easily. “Jiro was telling me last night you are ready to work on advanced defense. I thought I would come and pretend to attack you.”
“How exciting. It must be the highlight of your day.”
“Indeed, it is. I enjoy putting the moves on pretty girls.”
This elicits a laugh from Jiro, and he rolls his eyes at his father. Koichi is a charmer much like Sakai, and it’s nice to see his playful side too. I walk to the wall and place my bag next to the rack of swords, and Jiro comes up next to me.
“I’m so sorry, Sanaa,” he whispers to me.
The hurt in his eyes is sweet and vulnerable, and if I had any thoughts of giving him a hard time for being embarrassed, they’re gone now. I’m glad he’s not going to rescind his apology. I hadn’t even considered he might until this moment, but the quick fear vanishes.
“Jiro, I’m the one that’s sorry, sorry I overreacted.”
“Later?”
I nod. Yes, not in front of Koichi.
We all strip down to practice-wear before we begin. Undershirt for me, no shirts for them. Now I see where Jiro gets his build from, and Koichi is not without his own set of tattoos. Like father like son. Once again, Jiro shows me he knows everything about sword fighting. He explains how to counter each of Koichi’s moves as he attacks me from the side, from the back, and around an obstacle. The table provides me with cover but it takes a severe beating from the two of us. When Jiro stops prompting me to react, I know I’m doing well.
We take a quick break for water and move out of the dōjō’s main room to the hallway and stairway where we work on how to counter attacks while on stairs and in short tight spaces. Jiro demonstrates how to start within the parameters of what I’ve learned but then encourages me to push it further.
In long narrow spaces, I could use the walls to my advantage to get higher, out of range of the sword. I’m not particularly tall, but I have used my leg strength to climb hallways before. Jiro and Koichi laugh when I run up the wall and come straight down on Koichi. I surprised them both.
I know Jiro is past any of this. Did he teach himself? I’ve always thought Koichi taught him, but Koichi’s style is much more reserved. There is a discord between the two and the way they fight, and I don’t think it’s just a generational divide.
“Sanaa, you’ve made excellent progress.” Koichi, Jiro, and I are hot, sweaty messes, but this session has gone well. Koichi seems pleased.
I stop and bow low to him. “Dōmo.”
“It’s always nice to see your Japanese side, Sanaa. Speaking of, we’re stopping practice now because I have a surprise. We’re all going to the Hana okiya tonight for dinner.”
What? If it were proper to squeal with delight, I would, and I try to hide my excitement but, too late, it’s all over my face.
“Wow, thank you. I’ve never been to an okiya.”
“You’ll enjoy it for sure. You have plenty of time to go home, rest, and get ready for dinner so we’re stopping now.” He turns to Jiro and hands his sword to him. “Jiro, I’m going in the back. Please lock up after Sanaa leaves.” He departs with a short head nod.
Jiro takes my sword as well and goes to the rack to put them away.
“Jiro-kun? Thank you,” I say keeping my voice low as I walk up to him. “Thank you for the drawing. It was perfect in every way.”
“Sanaa-chan, it’s perfect because it’s you.” He reaches out and touches the length of my forearm, so light and careful, so intimate and unex
pected. It raises goosebumps on my skin I can’t hide, and he sees them with a smile. He lets his hand drop when his fingers reach the palm of my hand.
This is extremely confusing. I have no idea where I stand with him.
“I’m glad you’re looking forward to the party later. It’s always a good time at the okiya.”
I know I’m blushing, and there’s a catch in my throat I need to get past in order to respond. “You went on New Year’s Eve, right? Do you go often?”
He grabs two towels from the rack handing one to me. “Yes, of course. Sakai family does a lot of business there.”
“And the geisha, are they as pretty and sweet as everyone says?” A bubble of jealousy rises in my stomach, and I’m barely keeping it down. What if he has a favorite?
He looks at me carefully and smiles. “They do their job well. You’ll see.”
* * * *
I arrive at home and the apartment is hot again. Spring, summer, and fall will be brutal this year. I futz with the thermostat for a bit but it seems unable to get below 28°C. We’ll have to call maintenance again, I know it. It’s only March and already the city is starting to heat up. The cool winds of winter didn’t last long. It’s sad, but I’ll have to store away my silk kimonos soon. As it is, I didn’t notice anyone today wearing them in the streets. Everyone has switched over to the lighter yukata.
I head for my tiny closet and pull out the five yukata I own. Right away, I’m drawn to my amethyst purple cotton one. It has a cherry blossom pattern on it I’ve always loved. Though I almost never get to see fresh flowers in real life, I could stare at this motif and imagine them in my head, like spring in Old Japan. Pink and white trees and a carpet of petals on the ground, the spring winds blowing the branches until they give way to the green leaves of summer.
I have a simple red obi and a white undergarment I can wear with them. I pull out my low geta flip-flops and set them aside. I may not have the most elegant hands, especially now that I’m sword fighting each day, but at least my feet are small and in good shape. I even have time to paint my toenails. When does that ever happen?
But first, an hour nap then a shower. Wiping the steam from the mirror with my hand, all I see are the dark circles under my eyes. I wish I could do more about not sleeping. I pull out the small makeup stash I share with Aunt Lomo and do my best to cover up the circles even though I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t wear makeup every day anymore like I did when I was only working and dating. A small amount of blush and some lip balm later, and I’m presentable. I take a dollop of soy oil and rub it through my hair before letting it fall straight down like last night. I’m going out two nights in a row. It’s so unlike me.
My aunts arrive just as I’m ready to head out. It’s 7:00pm, and I want to make sure I give myself plenty of time to get there.
“Sanaa, you look lovely. I’m surprised you’re home. Where are you off to tonight?” Aunt Lomo sets her bag down and kisses me on the cheek.
“Thanks, Auntie. I’m going out for dinner with Miko, her boyfriend, and his family. I guess it’s getting serious between them.” I’m becoming a better liar already.
“Really?” Aunt Kimie asks. “This is the same boy she’s been dating for the past couple of months?”
“Yeah. I hope his family is nice.” I do, really do.
“Well, don’t let us stop you from having fun.” Aunt Kimie leans forward and gives me a peck on the cheek.
I walk to the door with my geta in my hands, and Aunt Lomo comes over and squeezes my elbow. “You’re wearing makeup. This doesn’t happen often anymore.” She has a glint of a smile.
“Is it okay? I hope it doesn’t look bad. I’m out of practice.”
She brings her hands to either side of my face, smoothes out my blush, and rubs along the outside of my eyes. “Now, it’s perfect.”
With another peck on the cheek, I’m off to a party.
Chapter
Thirteen
There are five okiya-ochaya in all of Nishikyō, but we call them okiya now: three in Ku 7 and two in Ku 6. This is a remarkable number of okiya since the city is only seventy percent Japanese and the geisha tradition is thousands of years old. Each generation it changes a little but the basic concept is the same: they are entertainers. Long gone are the days when geisha would only sit by and entertain men. Men and women are equally powerful now, and geisha will happily entertain any group of people for the right price.
The okiya industry is smart. They’ve cultivated the old ways, the traditions, the music and dance, and most importantly, the wardrobe. Without the elegant kimonos, hairpins, obis, and white makeup, they would be indistinguishable from the rest of us. But despite the old ways, they have updated their repertoire and cater to all people — not just the Japanese.
Usually, the okiya Okaasan owns the whole building and reserves the first two or three floors for entertaining, and the geisha board in the upper levels. It used to be the two places — the okiya where the geisha lived and the ochaya where they entertained — were separate but that’s too inconvenient now. It’s easier to own a whole building in Nishikyō than it is to own two of them.
When I emerge from the transitway station in Ku 7, the first person I see is Jiro. My timing today is impeccable. He is standing across the street reading something on his tablet, thoroughly engrossed in whatever it is. I wonder why he’s waiting here? He’s relaxed, not at all the sword fighting sensei he was a few hours ago. Instead, he’s more the friendly companion he was in Ku 10, the date I had last night. He has so many sides.
I love what he’s chosen to wear tonight: a dark blue yukata with subtle gray stripes, dark gray obi belt, and men’s flip-flops. He’s the most handsome I’ve ever seen him, but I may be biased; there’s something about a guy in a yukata I love.
Oops, he’s caught me looking at him. I didn’t even realize I had stopped in my tracks. A slow smile comes over his face, and he turns his tablet off and waits for me to cross the street to him since I’m already half way there.
“Fancy seeing you here, stranger,” I say, smiling back. Time to start flirting. I need to be obvious and force him into a decision: friend or lover? It’ll be easier that way.
“I knew you’d be early.” Jiro tucks his tablet under one arm and steps to me. “You’ve never been late for practice. Not once.”
“You were waiting for me? How’d you know I’d come out this entrance?”
“Sanaa, it’s the closest station to the Hana Okiya. I put two and two together.”
“I guess I’m predictable,” I say with a humph.
“Not always,” he replies holding out his arm to me. It’s a grand gesture, meeting me at the station and escorting me to the okiya. He must feel bad about what happened last night. If my heart weren’t in my throat, I would thank him, but I can barely speak. So I take his arm, and we walk down the sidewalk side-by-side.
“My parents and Sakai are already there. They arrived an hour early to do business before we show up.”
“Is Mark always business? It seems like it.” I imagine him going to bed every night with the same stony-faced expression he wears when I meet him every morning.
“He has his moments. If we get enough sake into him tonight maybe he’ll strip down and streak around the okiya.”
“No, not Mark. Not in a million years.”
“Don’t scoff. It’s been known to happen.”
“And does this happen to everyone?” I’m secretly hoping it’s only the men.
“Only if you’re horrible at drinking games.”
Oh no, I’ve never been involved in drinking games because I only ever drink with Miko and Helena. I clutch Jiro’s arm a little tighter.
He laughs. “Sanaa-chan, I swear I can read you like a book. Don’t be nervous. I’m teasing you.”
“Yeah, well, you get to do this kind of thing more often than I do.”
“Usually, it’s just business, and it’s not half as much fun as sharing the night with so
meone else.”
I look up and smile because I want his face smiling back at me. I’m desperate for attention. “Yes, this is true.”
“We’re here.”
Damn. We arrived so fast there’s no more time for flirting. Outside the entrance to this building are two beautiful square rice paper lanterns on either side of the door and a hand-painted sign with the character for flower, hana, written on it.
Nishikyō itself is mostly devoid of charm and uniqueness, except for a few temples and theaters, but each building’s owner takes care to set their place apart from the blandness around it. It’s not surprising I would have walked past this place had Jiro not led me directly here. Its exterior is austere, simple.
Inside, they must have knocked out all of the existing structure and rebuilt it entirely from the floor up. The walls are papered a lovely shade of cream and lit softly from above. Real wood supports and beams are shellacked a deep, dark coffee brown. I place my hand on one, and it’s warm and organic. Nothing like the cool and precise composite material we use around the city to mimic the real thing.
The genkan has an area of cubbies for shoes and sets of washed slippers for guests. It’s cool in here as I thought it would be, but comfortable. Okiyas call private contractors to bring in more cooling units so the geisha can entertain in their silk kimono and not overheat. It’s something they can easily afford in this business.
A doorway opens off to the right and a young woman dressed in a lovely pink and green kimono comes out to greet us.
“Irasshaimase,Itō-sama! You’re expected. I hope you’re well.”
“I am, Shichi-san, and you?”
“I am well, thank you.”
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 20
