The Geisha with the Green Eyes

by India Millar

  She didn’t, either. Unless it was to please a client, she just picked at her food most of the time. A little rice with vegetables, a bit of fish, occasionally some meat, and that was as much as Kiku ever wanted. How she came to be the size she was, none of us could work out. Carpi said it was her karma. Perhaps one of her ancestors had died of starvation and this was the way imposed on her to help her find nirvana by suffering in reverse. That seemed a bit deep to me, but then again, I couldn’t find another answer so I daresay Carpi was right after all.

  “You’ll be fine,” she reassured me. I signaled to the maid to prepare me a cup of tea and watched as the girl whisked the tea powder with boiling water. This maid was new – a raw young girl – and amazingly clumsy. Only the day before, she had managed to burn herself on the charcoal burner while making tea and she appeared to have learned nothing from her experience as now she trailed the sleeve of her plain white kimono dangerously near the coals. I called out to her to be careful, and she promptly snatched her hand away, slopping the tea on her hand. To my amazement, she simply shook the scalding liquid off her hand and presented the cup to me, crouching down on her haunches in the proper position. She had filled the cup too full, so I took the fine porcelain gingerly in my fingertips, wary that I would follow her example and scald myself.

  “Doesn’t your hand hurt?” I asked.

  She shook her head, looking down bashfully at the tatami matting.

  “I don’t think she feels pain,” Carpi said. “I noticed the other day when she tripped and banged her knee on the door frame she just carried on. Watch.” Carpi reached out with her left foot and pinched the maid hard on the exposed flesh of her wrist. An angry red mark was left on the girl’s flesh, but she simply continued to look down, as if she felt nothing at all. “See? Told you so. Did that hurt you?”

  The maid appeared not to realize that Carpi had spoken to her, and did not reply. Exasperated, Carpi gave her a kick and repeated her question.

  “I said, didn’t that hurt you? Cat stolen your tongue?”

  I frowned, wanting to tell Carpi not to be horrible to the girl, but I bit the words back. Carpi was senior to me, and I had no right to argue with anything she did. Besides, she was Auntie’s favorite, and nobody – not even Masaki, who had been in the Hidden House longer than anybody except me – dared to defy her.

  The maid spoke – or rather, mumbled – still looking down at the mat. “No, geisha. It did not hurt me.”

  “See?” Carpi crowed. “I told you so.”

  Carpi hopped nimbly to her feet with an athletic grace that was in no way restrained by her kimono. The girl remained crouching subserviently as Carpi circled her, pausing now and then to raise her foot, as if she would kick her, only to put her foot down again and continue circling. Kiku raised her eyes to the heavens but did not speak. I dared do no more than watch. As she came behind the maid, Carpi appeared to tire of her game and raised her foot again, but this time did not put it down. Instead, she struck out with her slippered foot and slammed it into the nape of the maid’s neck. The girl went sprawling on the tatami matting but almost immediately sat up again. I winced for her.

  “Alright then. Did that hurt?”

  The maid stared at her numbly, her expression bewildered. Her lips moved as if she was about to speak, but eventually she did no more than shake her head.

  Carpi sat down again, the movement impossibly elegant, like watching the finest silk being folded.

  “You do know what pain is, don’t you?” she enquired. Carpi was like that. Once she got something into her head, she never let go until she was satisfied, like a cat worrying the life out of a mouse. The girl kept her head down, but stared at her tormentor from beneath her eyelashes.

  Eventually, with obvious reluctance, she shook her head mutely. Carpi hissed triumphantly.

  “Pain,” she said, as if talking to someone who was very stupid or very deaf. “Pain. You know what pain is, don’t you?”

  Again, that reluctant, mute shake of the head from the maid. Carpi howled with laughter, and even Kiku giggled.

  “Didn’t I tell you? Oh, she will do so well! You just watch. As soon as Auntie teaches her some manners, she’ll have her on display here in the Hidden House so quickly her feet won’t even feel the mat!“

  I didn’t know whether to envy the little maid or feel sorry for her, but decided in the end that it didn’t matter. If she really could not feel pain, she would, indeed, do very well. And would probably be very happy with her lot. At any rate, better than being a peasant, constantly wondering where your next meal was coming from.

  Tired of her tormenting, Carpi suddenly turned on me for sport. “Looking forward to your mizuage, are you, Midori?”

  I shrugged. Better not to annoy Carpi when she was in this mood.

  “When I had mine, Auntie told me that there were so many bidders who wanted to be my danna that she could name her own price.” She sat back smugly and sipped her tea. “Of course, I’m unique. There will never be another maiko like me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Kiku said thoughtfully. I had noticed before that she was less afraid of Carpi than the rest of us were. In fact, I sometimes thought that there was not a lot that Kiku was frightened of. “I bet there’s some more like you, somewhere. The patrons like you, but if one of them likes you enough to buy you out, I bet Auntie would find somebody to take your place in no time.”

  Carpi glared at her, but Kiku met her gaze and Carpi tossed her head indignantly, pretending to take a sudden interest in the shrine niche.

  “Fat lot you know,” she said, and howled at her own inadvertent witticism. Kiku raised her eyes and tutted, holding her hand out to the maids to signal them to help her to her feet. Both girls rushed forward, one grasping Kiku’s hand and the other her wrist. Kiku groped blindly behind herself and placed her other hand flat on the floor. Once she was satisfied, she snapped, “Now!” and both maids tugged at the same time as she pushed. About halfway up, Kiku tottered for a moment, but then the instant of danger passed and she made it safely to her feet. As soon as she was sure of her balance, she clapped her hands and her tiny pet spaniel awoke and shook itself briskly, trotting over the mats to fawn around her mistress’s ankles.

  In spite of the fact that she was naked apart from her socks, she walked out of the room with a curious grace. Her belly and buttocks ballooned almost to her knees, but Kiku had her own beauty, and her rolls of fat were as lovely in their way, like the bell of a jellyfish. As it followed her, the spaniel looked as tiny as a kitten compared to her mistress.

  In spite of the fact that I was wary of upsetting Carpi, as soon as Kiku had pulled the frame closed behind her, I leaned forward to satisfy my curiosity.

  “Carpi, is it true that some danna has made an offer to buy Kiku?”

  Carpi rolled her lips and pulled a sour face. I waited silently; if Carpi chose not to reply, I would not push the issue. I was, I knew, on dangerous ground. Carpi was not Auntie’s favorite for nothing. Carpi had the most clients, made the most in tips and presents, brought the most money into the house. We all knew that a number of potential danna had bid for Carpi, but had been turned down by Auntie. Carpi was simply too precious to let go, at least until she was well past her prime.

  Auntie might find a replacement for the rest of us, but in spite of what Kiku had said, there was surely only one Carpi.

  “She’s had two bids recently.” Carpi shrugged. “Auntie’s thinking about the most generous one. You know who it is – that chap who looks like a big dinner would do him good.”

  I nodded. It was odd, I thought. It was always the small, scrawny men who were entranced by the opulence of Kiku. The big, swaggering kind – the ones who resembled Sumo wrestlers – invariably wanted little Masaki. I often worried for Masaki’s welfare. I could see her being broken or smothered inadvertently by one of her massive clients. Masaki herself was unconcerned. She said it didn’t matter how big they were, they all treated her like some sort of
precious doll. In fact, she said, she would really enjoy a man who treated her like a woman occasionally.

  Carpi and I both fell silent as we considered Kiku’s fate. Lucky, lucky Kiku! I knew the man Carpi meant. He had been haunting the Hidden House for nearly a year. From the very first, it had been Kiku, and no other, for him. Normally, he made an assignation. If by some mischance he did not and turned up unannounced and found Kiku was unavailable, his face would fall to his feet and he would retreat, inconsolable by the charms of another girl. Now he had made his mind up; Kiku was to be his mistress. Lucky Kiku!

  Not his wife, of course. That would never be the way. Not that any of us would want to be a mere wife, oh no! Not even me. Being a wife meant enduring the hell of a mother-in-law who had waited for years to have somebody of lower status in the family than she was herself. A daughter-in-law to bully and demean at any and every opportunity. Although thinking about it, I had to admit that I really could not see Kiku being bullied by anybody, not even the worst of mothers-in-law. No, she would simply stare through the turbulent in-law, and not allow her new relative to bother her at all. Lucky, lucky Kiku!

  And anyway, being a mistress carried other advantages. A wife could be divorced with little or no fuss. Virtually cast into the street at will, thrown out with little more than the clothes on her back. I remember one such unfortunate wife who had come to the Green Tea House some years before. A dramatically beautiful woman, skilled on the samisen and a most graceful dancer. A woman of great wit and learning as well. I spoke to her a little when she arrived; the poor thing desperately needed someone to talk to and was willing to settle even for me, a resident of the Hidden House. She could not, naturally, criticize her husband. She insisted the divorce was her fault because her husband had become deeply enamored of a younger woman who was herself a courtesan in the Floating World and she had dared to criticize him for it. Even her own children were ashamed of her, she said. Her sons refused to talk to her after the divorce. In any event, she did very well in the Green Tea House, and it was not long at all before somebody made an offer for her, and off she went to be a mistress. I believe she was very happy about it, particularly since the man who became her danna was a business rival of her ex-husband. I wonder what kind of pillow talk went on there!

  A mistress could never be thrown off like a patched coat as a wife could. If a man should become tired of his mistress, then he was expected to pay her generous compensation. And there was always another man to be found. Even if a man patronized the same courtesan more than three times, he was expected to offer her a generous parting gift if he decided he was tired of her. Woe betide the man who did not if he tried to show his face again in the Floating World!

  I sighed, thinking that I would miss Kiku. Carpi hissed at me and I realized with a start that she was waggling her hands at me. Generally, Carpi only did that when she was either very agitated or one of her clients had tipped her exceptionally well to do so. I sat up straight and lowered my head quickly, making it clear that I was listening. To my relief, Carpi stopped waggling and leaned toward me.

  “Listen, Midori. Your mizuage is tomorrow.”

  Just “Green,” you notice. Not even my full name. Even though my heart started beating like a horse at a canter, I felt the snub. Still, I kept my eyes lowered and listened with every appearance of quiet courtesy. It would not do to anger Carpi. She had been well named. The Japanese love koi carp, they are appreciated for their color, their slender elegance, their sinuous movements. Carpi was as slender and supple as any koi. She could also be vicious, flashing out with her legs and feet at the slightest provocation. I had seen her try it once with Kiku, but Kiku was having none of it. She had grabbed Carpi’s foot with surprising speed and flipped the other girl on her back like a tortoise dropped by an eagle, looming over her and daring her to rise until Kiku was ready to allow her to do so. I knew that Carpi had hated Kiku ever since, but somehow Kiku was simply invulnerable. I was not.

  “Yes, Carpi?”

  “Yes. Auntie told me. I am going to be your Older Sister for the ceremony, so listen carefully to me.”

  “Yes, Carpi.”

  I sat humbly, my eyes fixed on the tatami as she spoke. Carpi was going to be my Older Sister. I had hoped that it might be Masaki, or even Kiku, but thinking about it, I suppose neither would have been a very practical choice. Masaki was too small to be of much help to anybody – she barely came up to my waist even when she was dressed to go out in high wooden geti. In bare feet, she was less than three feet tall. Kiku was so fat she could not get dressed without the help of a maid, not even her own tabi. A sensation of relief stole over me; at least Auntie had not decided that she herself was going to be my Older Sister. Anything, anybody was better than that. Even Carpi.

  Carpi was rambling on, and I did try to listen to what she was telling me, but my mind seemed to have gone somewhere else entirely. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was my mizuage. It was here, at last. Tomorrow. My mouth was suddenly very dry, and I signaled to the maid for tea. The little girl who Carpi had decided could feel no pain jumped up to her feet and made my tea at once, crouching down and looking adoringly at me from under her eyelashes. I was quite touched, it appeared I had made a new friend. Although what good I could do for the poor child, I had no idea.

  “So there you are,” Carpi finished. “Your danna will be here at six, but you must be ready for him well before, in case he is early.”

  Taking my courage in both hands – and praying to any god who might be listening – I asked, “Who is my danna, Carpi? Do I know him?”

  “You will have seen him. He’s been in a few times recently, but never settled on one girl. He must have a taste for Barbarians. Auntie told me that he was sniffing around Naruko for a while but eventually he decided on you instead.”

  I cudgeled my brains, trying to remember a particular man who had shown me some attention. In spite of my extreme ugliness and, as Auntie was fond of reminding me, my deformities, many of the men who visited the Hidden House took an interest in me. I always hoped that it was because of my skill with the samisen or my singing voice – which even Auntie grudgingly admitted was exceptionally good – but I never deceived myself for long. No, these men were enthralled by my very strangeness. It was my deformity that appealed to them, not any sort of talent that I might have. In that way, at least, Carpi and I were sisters. Carpi could sing, she was a witty companion, and she was very beautiful. But none of her many admirers were in the least interested in any of her accomplishments. They simply wanted her because she was different.

  Because nobody else in the whole of the Floating World was like her. Not even me.

  In spite of her beauty and her accomplishments, it was Carpi’s malformation that lured the patrons back, time after time. She had no arms. She had hands, perfectly normal hands. But they sprouted straight from her shoulders. If one looked carefully, it was possible to see that she did have wrists. Not that any of us dared look. Carpi’s temper saw to that!

  “It’s nowhere near your time of the month, is it?” Trust Carpi to think of the practicalities. I shook my head. “Good. Teruki-san probably wouldn’t mind too much if it was, but you never know. Better not to risk it. Not when he’s paying good money for you.”

  Teruki-san. Did the name mean anything to me? Try as I might, I couldn’t put a face to the name. Carpi was rattling on, and I pushed my thoughts away, concentrating on listening to her carefully.

  “You’ll need a decent wig, of course.” She stared disdainfully at my hair. I shrugged apologetically, but there was nothing I could do about it. No matter how it was combed, my hair curled extravagantly. And – even worse – it wasn’t black. In some lights it appeared almost black, but let the sun or lamplight catch it and it was obvious that it was actually dark brown with the strangest red sheen. Even Naruko had proper hair, black as pitch and straight. But not me. “You can borrow my divided peach wig. I haven’t worn it since I was a maiko myself. But after your mizuage, Auntie will
probably buy you a proper wig. Unless the customers like your hair as it is. It has novelty value, I suppose. If she does buy you a wig, she’ll take the money out of what Teruki-san pays for your mizuage, of course. A taka shimada will do for you nicely. You’ll need a new kimono for the ceremony as well. Not that your mizuage fee will cover all of that, not to mention what you already owe her for your keep all these years, but it’s a start, I suppose. After your mizuage, you can start earning real money instead of just tips and presents.”

  I nodded in agreement. No matter how long I worked at the Hidden House, I could never hope to pay Auntie back for all I owed her. Perhaps, one day, I would be as lucky as Kiku and have a man who wanted me for his mistress. That fee would also go to Auntie, but at least then I would be free.

  Free as a caged bird.

  Chapter Three

  The birds on my roof

  Fly away. Would that I

  Could follow.

  Carpi had collected me and taken me to the bathhouse earlier that afternoon. She had supervised critically as the maids poured hot water over me, soaped me from head to foot, and rinsed time and again until she was satisfied. Eventually, she had discarded her own kimono and gestured at me to climb into the bath with her, even grudgingly allowing me to help her climb down the rather slippery steps.