Misao realized that his head felt much heavier. Dangling silver ornaments caught the light at either corner of his vision. It strained his eyes terribly.
“Thank you,” Katsuragi said, sliding his payment to him. The hairdresser picked it up along with the hush money and slipped it all into his sleeve with practiced ease. He smiled at Katsuragi and bowed.
“Certainly, sir.”
Neither Misao nor Katsuragi looked at the hairdresser as he hurried from the room.
An unpleasant silence descended on them.
Misao was sure he was the only one who felt it. Katsuragi was completely unconcerned.
Misao looked up at the door.
The sun was dimming. The afternoon shift would be over soon. There was less than two hours before the night shift began.
He wondered if Masaomi would come again that night.
He was lost in his conflicting thoughts.
Misao wanted to see Masaomi, but he didn’t want him to come. Both of those feelings stubbornly refused to give ground.
He had never believed that in only a few daysno, a single momenta person’s heart could be so thoroughly conquered. And it would take so long to rebuild.
He heard Katsuragi’s pipe tapping against the ashtray. Misao turned his head sluggishly. Katsuragi was looking at him out of the corner of his eye in boredom.
“What are you doing?”
Katsuragi’s eyes glinted. “Would you strip for me?”
Misao glared silently at Katsuragi. Then he turned his face back to the front and stood up resolutely. He untied his belt without even thinking about it. He threw his top kimono onto the floor. When he was down to the final layer of clothing, Misao stood menacingly in front of him. But Katsuragi barely spared him a disinterested glance as he lit a fresh bowl of tobacco.
He exhaled the smoke to one side, his face twisted as if it tasted bitter, and he remarked apathetically, “You don’t wear women’s underwear too, do you?”
“What do you care?” Misao asked sourly, looking away.
Katsuragi took a slow drag on the pipe and paused.
He looked at Misao through the billowing smoke and smirked.
“Ridiculous.”
Misao rouged his lips with the tip of his ring finger.
Kazushi sat with one knee propped up, holding the mirror up for Misao. He was slowly narrowing his left eye in distaste.
“You’re scary,” he mumbled.
Misao finished coloring his lips and traced the corners of his eyes in red, then looked away from the mirror. He raised one eyebrow in annoyance and Kazushi looked back at him with the same expression.
Misao sighed with something close to resignation and grazed his fingers over the face in the mirror.
“Thanks. I’m done.”
“What a disaster.”
Kazushi’s voice was sympathetic as he set Misao’s mirror aside and stood up.
They were in the men’s bedroom on the first floor of the brothel. It wasn’t a very big room, and there were several futons stacked up in a corner. Just before the night shift had started, the men had come in and out of the room with utter disregard, covertly laughing at Misao’s situation. But now it was quiet.
Everyone knew that the reason Misao worked at the Oumi Tea House was because he was a favorite of the owner. So none of the workers ever did or said anything too bad to Misao, in case it angered the owner. But that just meant they didn’t do it to his face. They did it out of his sight, which got on his nerves, of course. Kazushi was the only exception. Maybe because he was closest to Misao in age. Ever since his first big fight with Kazushi, they had been close. That had happened seven years agoancient history.
Kazushi went back to work, so Misao was alone in the room.
He wiped off his ring finger, still stained with his makeup, on a bit of paper he’d kept on his knee. He slipped the rest into the inner pocket of his kimono.
He stood up. The long train of his kimono dragged on the floor with a heavy swish.
Misao laid both hands on the doors to the adjacent room and opened them wide.
Katsuragi was lying on the floor, his head propped in his right hand as he served himself some wine. He looked up at Misao and drained his cup.
Earlier, in Seno’o’s room, Misao had allowed Katsuragi to provoke him and had gone so far as to throw his discarded underwear at the man’s feet. At that very instant, Seno’o had come out of hiding.
Of course, in her rage Seno’o had chased Misao away, and Katsuragi as well. So now they were here. Really, it was a stupid story.
“They’ve opened for business. How long do you plan to lie there?” Misao asked coldly. He wasn’t hiding how he felt.
“What are you talking about? Obviously I’ve been waiting for you to get ready.”
Katsuragi sat up ponderously and stretched his neck. Misao was sure he hadn’t actually strained any muscles. He sighed.
“All right, let’s go.”
Katsuragi slipped past Misao and into the men’s bedroom. Misao followed him with his eyes. “Go where?”
“Seno’o’s room, of course. She is my favorite, after all,” Katsuragi answered coolly, his back still turned. He walked through the bedroom and into the hall.
He seemed entirely unconcerned by the thought of Seno’o’s anger.
“He’s got some nerve,” Misao muttered, as he too left the bedroom. The hall opened into a veranda and continued past the garden. The sun had fully set now. Parties had already begun on the second floor and Misao could hear the singing and general excitement.
“If only you’d been born as a girl, you could have had all that.”
Without turning to look at him, Katsuragi suddenly interrupted his thoughts.
“Oh?” Misao asked, tutting. “You’re the one who made me dress up like this, so could you please stop saying such awful, selfish things?” Misao packed as many reproaches into his response as he could.
The man stopped walking.
He turned his face back to look at Misao. His expression was much more decent than he’d expected.
“If you’d been born as a woman, you would have been even more beautiful and unhappy. Since you’re a man, there’s still hope for you.”
Misao stared at him, wondering what he meant. By the time he realized, Katsuragi had begun walking again.
“You’re just doing it to amuse yourself,” he muttered to the man’s back.
“Of course I am,” Katsuragi answered indifferently. “Why would I pay for something that wasn’t amusing?”
What did he mean by that?
Misao felt sick, as if he were riding something that swayed and bucked unpredictably. If he took Katsuragi at his word, this would end badly. There was nothing lucky about it.
They crossed an arched bridge and stood before the grand staircase. Misao came to a sudden stop then. Katsuragi twisted his head around to look at him, as if he’d sensed something. Misao was peering over Katsuragi’s other shoulder, looking intently at the front door of the tea house.
Masaomi was coming toward them, wearing his flocked coat and discussing something with Ukigumo. They were only a few feet away.
Masaomi’s gaze shifted from Ukigumo, and he saw Misao. But Masaomi gave him only a polite smile, as if they were merely acquaintances meeting on the street. Then he tried to look smoothly away. In fact, he did look away from Misao’s face. But then he blinked and turned back. He appeared shocked.
“Misao?”
Masaomi left Ukigumo’s side and hurried up to Misao. Misao had no idea what sort of expression he should wear, but he turned his entire body to the side. His ears burned. He hadn’t expected to be this shy.
“Ahh,” Katsuragi said from the sidelines, looking at Masaomi with a smarmy smile. “So you’re the one who doesn’t take any substitutes.”
He was astoundingly rude considering this was their very first meeting.
Masaomi looked past Misao at Katsuragi and narrowed his eyes slightly,
then inclined his head. He didn’t look as if his mood had been punctured, but rather as if he wasn’t quite sure what Katsuragi had meant. Misao, on the other hand, hated Katsuragi for it and slapped his arm.
“Don’t be stupid,” he chided under his breath. Katsuragi looked entirely unrepentant and twisted his mouth into a smile, raising one eyebrow at Masaomi. This time Masaomi’s face clearly showed his displeasure. He glowered and looked over at Misao.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
His voice sounded almost accusatory, and Misao hesitated.
He couldn’t answer.
He could never explain.
“Because I paid for it,” Katsuragi cut in. His voice was sardonic, as if amazed at how naïve Masaomi must be to not understand that.
“You paid?”
The expression disappeared from Masaomi’s face.
What…?
Misao’s heart fluttered at the tense atmosphere.
“Omi?”
Ukigumo, who had watched the proceedings in silence until then, called out demurely to Masaomi. Behind her, holding up the train of her kimono, Sazu stood gaping at Misao.
“You go ahead.”
Masaomi raised a hand and answered her without looking. His gaze was fixed unswervingly on Katsuragi.
Her features as placid as the surface of a lake, Ukigumo caught Sazu’s eye and they slowly ascended the staircase.
This was a bizarre development.
“How much?” Masaomi asked, his words hard against his emotions. “How much did you pay for him?”
Hearing those words, Misao finally realized how horribly Masaomi had misunderstood.
“Well now” Katsuragi answered patronizingly, smirking thoughtfully. “All together, I’d say it came to three hundred and twenty yen.”
“I’ll pay twice that. For you to leave him alone,” Masaomi shouted instantly, open hostility plain on his face. Misao’s eyes nearly popped.
“Masaomi!”
“Be quiet!” Masaomi shouted sharply without looking at him.
Misao felt the anger gushing out of the man.
“Thanks.”
Katsuragi gave Misao a little shove. Misao stumbled and almost fell, but Masaomi caught him in one arm and brought him to his chest. But it felt very different from the sensation he had experienced so many times before now. He felt like he was being treated in a very businesslike way. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, as if someone had dropped ice on it.
“You can pay me later. You can have that.”
Katsuragi jerked his chin at Misao, then started climbing to the second floor, his business with them completed.
“Oh, by the way.”
When he’d gotten halfway up the stairs, he turned around, as if he’d just remembered something.
“A nice old gentleman by the name of Sakai who’s very fond of Misao is coming soon, so could you leave his clothes on until he gets here? He really wanted to see it.”
Misao was ready now for any horrible thing that Katsuragi might say. But the coolness in the hand that held his shoulder and the blankness on the face he saw above him were enough to hurt him.
Masaomi said nothing.
Katsuragi snorted. It was like a laugh, but since he turned around as soon as it was out of him, it was hard to say for sure.
Masaomi removed his hand from Misao’s shoulder and fell back a step.
“Masaomi”
Misao called to him, but Masaomi turned his face away; he wouldn’t look at Misao. Misao watched his flocked coat walk away in silent shock for a long moment.
He took a shuddering breath and when it caught in his throat, he ran up the stairs after him.
He caught up with Masaomi on the second floor.
“Please don’t misunderstand.”
Misao tried desperately to explain, but Masaomi refused to listen. He didn’t even glance at Misao.
“Masaomi!”
He didn’t stop, and Misao’s face contorted at the sheer coldness of his retreating figure.
Still, he pleaded with him desperately.
“I don’t care about the money. I’ll pay it back to Katsuragi!”
“Katsuragi”
Masaomi repeated in a murmur, coming to a stop. He turned a frighteningly lucid expression on Misao.
“I’ve heard that name before.”
His anger flared white-hot.
That was all the explanation he gave for a long, burning instant. He said nothing else.
“Omi?”
Ukigumo approached elegantly from the hallway that surrounded the interior garden. Sazu and one of the men from the tea house trailed after her. Her mincing steps stopped in front of Masaomi.
“I have come to escort you to the room, sir.”
Ukigumo spoke modestly, her eyes raised only to the level of Masaomi’s lips.
“After you, if you please, sir.”
Masaomi lowered his face slightly in obvious self-loathing and let out a short sigh.
“I’m sorry.”
Ukigumo looked up at him in silence. She slowly blinked her clear eyes once, then turned them to Misao.
He didn’t want to face her. But still, he couldn’t look away. Maybe because part of him sensed that this was a competition. If he looked away, it would be like acknowledging his guilt.
“How beautiful,” Ukigumo whispered, her eyes rapturous. She took a step forward, her kimono sweeping behind her. “Work well.”
As she passed Misao, she left him with these cool words.
He was astounded.
She hadn’t confronted him at all.
Did her unwavering assurance come from the fact that Masaomi cared for her? She looked as if she had absolutely no need to worry about Misao, whom Masaomi was only a little fond of. He watched Masaomi disconsolately as Ukigumo left, expecting to see him miserably watch her disappear. Instead, he was surprised to find Masaomi looking at him, a complex expression on his face.
It was a shock.
Misao was flustered. Shutting off all the emotion in his face, Masaomi called to him. “Let’s go.”
Of course, Misao fell in behind him without argument, but it was not an atmosphere that encouraged him to speak.
They walked down the hall and Masaomi led them unerringly to Ukigumo’s tea room. He was clearly already in Ukigumo’s inner circle. It was difficult to contain the searing pain of that fact, and Misao’s eyelids drooped.
Wine had already been laid out when they reached the room, but Masaomi did not sit down at the table; instead, he continued on to the window. It was wide enough for several people to sit all at once.
The shutters were open, allowing a playful night breeze to steal in.
Masaomi sat on the edge of the windowsill.
“It’s so red.”
Masaomi said this as he gazed out at the pleasure district.
“Everywhere you look in this place, you see red.”
His face twisted painfully and he looked desperately up at Misao, who could only stand there.
“I feel like I’m going crazy.”
Misao had not the faintest idea how to respond to this.
He didn’t recognize this man.
“Let me take your jacket.”
His voice shook.
Masaomi stood up without a word, so Misao walked over to help him. As he was reaching for his collar, the man’s hands took strong hold of his fingers.
Misao gasped.
“Why?” Masaomi asked, his forehead wrinkling in intense pain.
“You told me you weren’t a male prostitute. I was so glad to learn that. I believed you. Why did you say that?”
“You believed?” Misao smiled as he repeated the words. But his lips began trembling instantly and he shouted. “It was all a lie!”
The tremor that ran through Masaomi’s eyes at this show of rage did not escape Misao’s notice. He glared into those eyes and tore open his kimono with one hand.
He was practicall
y in tears.
“Katsuragi said he paid, but he meant he bought this kimono. He never told you he paid for my body, did he? So why did you think that’s what he meant? Huh? Why? Do you even know?”
Masaomi sucked in a breath and Misao knew he was holding it in.
He awkwardly released his grip on Misao’s wrists.
He was sad.
The wail of his heart came quietly to his lips.
“Because that’s what you thought I was.”
Masaomi’s thin eyelids finally broke his gaze on Misao as they fell over his eyes. He hung his head. After a long sigh, Masaomi shook his head weakly and put a hand to his head. He sat back down at the window.
“You’re right. I thought I wouldn’t care even if you were a prostitute. But”
Masaomi raised his head to look at Misao. His lips quirked sadly.
“When I was actually confronted with the idea, I just couldn’t think straight anymore. I’m sorry.”
Misao pushed back his tears and stared at Masaomi for several seconds, then the tension suddenly broke inside him and he laughed sadly.
“You almost sounded like you were jealous.”
As Misao realized what it meant to truly be on the brink of tears, he whispered his forgiveness to Masaomi.
He wasn’t going to lecture him anymore. He just wanted to laugh about it and forget it. But Masaomi nodded seriously.
“Yes. Iwasjealous.”
Misao’s mouth fell open slightly.
He felt as if he might sink to the floor.
What was this man telling him?
A faint, breathy voice passed his lips. “Are you just trying to trick me, Masaomi?”
“What?”
Misao smiled ruefully at the perplexed expression on Masaomi’s face.
“You’re very good at making me dream,” he whispered. He sat at Masaomi’s feet.
“Dream?” Masaomi repeated, taking off his flocked coat. Misao started to rise to take it, but Masaomi stopped him. He folded it in half and set it on the windowsill.
“What do you dream of?”
Masaomi tilted his head, the same peaceful expression on his face as always, and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He seemed to be looking into Misao’s face with his entire body.
If he leaned his head forward just a little more, he would be close enough to kiss.
Why couldn’t they close such a small distance?
Love Water Page 9
