Geisha

by Mineko Iwasaki

  She did talk to me often about dancing. I understood by that time that all the geiko who were dancers began their careers as maiko. And Auntie Oima kept telling me stories about legendary maiko of the past. I wasn’t particularly interested in becoming a maiko but I really wanted to dance, not to show off to others but just because it looked like so much fun. I wanted to dance for myself.

  Auntie Oima promised me that I could start taking lessons on 6-6-6: June sixth after my fifth birthday (counted as my sixth birthday in the old system, when the year you were born was considered your first). Six-Six-Six. In my imagination this became a magical day.

  As my first day of classes drew near, Auntie Oima told me that we had to decide on who was going to be my “older sister.”

  The female society of Gion Kobu is organized along the lines of nominal kinship, with seniority determined by status. Thus, regardless of age, the owners of the okiya and ochaya are referred to as mothers or aunts, while the maiko and geiko are called older sister by anyone who has begun active service after they have. In addition, every maiko and geiko is assigned a senior sponsor who is known as her particular Onesan, or Older Sister.

  The senior geiko acts as a role model and mentor to the junior one. She oversees her artistic progress and mediates any conflicts that arise between the novice and her teachers or peers. She helps her younger sister prepare for her debut and accompanies her on her first professional engagements. The Onesan guides the younger woman through the intricacies of banquet room etiquette and introduces her to important customers and other people who can advance her career.

  One day I overheard Auntie Oima, Mother Sakaguchi, and Old Meanie talking about my Onesan. Mother Sakaguchi mentioned Satoharu.

  If it could only be her!

  Satoharu was a famous geiko from the Tamaki okiya who was one of the Sakaguchi family “sisters.” She was a willowy, graceful beauty who was very sweet and nice to me. I still remember her exquisite dancing in Chikubushima and Ogurikyokubamonogatari. I wanted to be just like her.

  Then Old Meanie mentioned (the dreaded) Yaeko. “But isn’t Yaeko the natural choice? She actually is Mineko’s older sister and belongs to our own okiya. Though we have had some problems with her in the past, I think it will be okay.” My heart sank.

  Mother Sakaguchi countered. “I think Yaeko’s minuses outweigh her pluses,” she said. “Why saddle Mineko with the taint of Yaeko’s defection and divorce? Our little girl deserves better than that. Besides, the other geiko don’t like Yaeko. She might end up causing Mineko more harm than good. What’s wrong with Satoharu? I think she would make an excellent choice.”

  As with the rest of Japanese society, personal relationships are often the key to success and Mother Sakaguchi wanted me attached to a geiko who would elevate my status within the community.

  Please, everybody, listen to her, I prayed from the security of the closet.

  But Old Meanie was firm. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she said. “I don’t think I could work that closely with Satoharu. I find her stuck-up and difficult. I think we would be better off going with Yaeko.”

  Madame Sakaguchi tried to reason with her but Old Meanie had made up her mind.

  I’ve often wondered why Masako chose the tainted Yaeko over the resplendent Satoharu. It must have had to do with issues of control. I think she felt that Yaeko would have to listen to her in ways that Satoharu never would.

  And so, much to my disappointment, it was decided that Yaeko was going to be my “older sister.” It seemed there was nothing I could do to get away from her.

  My mother and father visited often. My father brought me picture books and my favorite foods. Mother would bring me a hand-knit sweater or dress. But I began to dread their visits, because their presence in the house always set off one of Yaeko’s rages. She would scream that my parents were baby sellers and throw things around the kitchen. It was terrifying to me, and made all of my efforts to protect them seem useless.

  I was five years old and still subject to magical thinking. I really believed that I was the only one who could protect my parents from this madwoman. I started to ignore them when they did visit, hoping that would make them stay away. Looking back on it now, as a mother, I can’t imagine how agonizing my aloofness must have been for them.

  I started to find a place for myself in the Iwasaki okiya and on the streets of Gion Kobu. There were many children in the postwar neighborhood and I made my first friends. All the surrounding adults, knowing who I was and who I might become, showered me with treats and attention. I began to feel very safe and secure under the umbrella of the Iwasaki name. I was starting to become one of them.

  6

  AUNTIE OIMA WAS A GREAT STORYTELLER.

  I spent many cold winter nights huddled with her close to the brazier, roasting nuts and drinking tea. Or we would while away a summer evening fanning ourselves on stools in the garden.

  She told me how Gion Kobu came to be.

  “In olden times there was an entertainment district near the Imperial Palace, on Imadegawa Street near the river. It was called the ‘Willow World.’ In the late sixteenth century a powerful general unified the country. His name was Hideyoshi Toyotomi. Hideyoshi was very strict and wanted people to work hard. He moved the Willow World away from the palace and out of the city altogether.”

  “Where did he put it?”

  “He moved it south to the town of Fushimi. But people naturally want to enjoy themselves, so a new section of town arose to take its place.

  “Guess where that was?”

  “Here?”

  “Very good! Pilgrims have been coming to Yasaka Shrine for thousands of years to view its legendary cherry blossoms in the spring and maple leaves in the fall. During the seventeenth century taverns known as mizukakejaya opened near the shrine for the refreshment of the visitors. These became the ochaya of today, and Gion Kobu grew up around them.”

  Yasaka Shrine lies nestled in the foothills of the Higashiyama Mountains, the chain that flanks the eastern border of Kyoto. The Gion Kobu, to the west of the shrine, is about one square mile in size. The district is crisscrossed by a neat grid of manicured lanes. Hanamikoji (Cherry Blossom Viewing Path) runs through the center of the district from north to south and Shinmonzen Street divides it east to west. An ancient canal, bearing clear water from the eastern mountains, meanders diagonally through the neighborhood. Shinbashi Street, on which the okiya was located, leads up to the precincts of the shrine.

  Auntie Oima told me about herself.

  “I was born here, not long after Admiral Perry came to Japan. If Captain Morgan had seen me first, I bet he would have married me instead of Oyuki.”

  This made us scream with laughter. Oyuki was one of the most famous geiko of all time. She had a patron named George Morgan who was an American millionaire. He ended up marrying her, they moved to Paris, and she became a legend.

  “No way were you as beautiful as Oyuki!” we protested.

  “I was more beautiful!” Auntie Oima teased back. “Oyuki was funny looking. She had a big nose, but, you know, foreigners like that kind of thing.”

  There was no way we were going to believe her.

  “I became a naikai and worked my way up to head captain of Chimoto, the famous restaurant south of Pontocho. I dreamed of owning my own establishment some day.”

  Naikai are the women who oversee and serve the banquets at the ochaya and exclusive restaurants. Being a naikai is a skilled occupation in and of itself.

  “And I lived here too,” Aba chimed in. “That was before I married Uncle. We were one of the busiest establishments in Gion Kobu. You never saw such coming and going. It was a grand time.”

  “We had four geiko and two maiko,” Auntie Oima added. “One of our geiko was the biggest star in Gion Kobu. Her name was Yoneyu. She was one of the greatest geiko of them all. I hope you are going to be like her.”

  “Mineko, Mother Sakaguchi’s family owned a big okiya back then. My
mother, Yuki Iwasaki, was associated with them, which is why the Iwasaki okiya is a branch of the Sakaguchi okiya. That’s why I always ask Mother Sakaguchi to help me decide things and why I call her Mother, even though I am ten years older than she is!”

  Over time, the bits and pieces of the story came together into a coherent whole.

  Yoneyu had a brilliant career. She was the highest grossing geiko in prewar Japan, ensuring that the Iwasaki okiya was one of the most successful houses.

  She was a classic beauty and men fell all over her. One of her sponsors was a very important Baron who kept her on a generous retainer. He paid her a stipend so that she would be available to entertain him and his guests whenever he so desired.

  This sort of arrangement is not unusual. Having a principal geiko at your beck and call is a major status symbol in Japanese society. And the 1930s were a time of flourishing abundance for Gion Kobu. The district attracted guests from all over, men from the highest ranks of the business world and the aristocracy. They competed with each other to help support the most popular geiko. It is somewhat similar to the patronage of, say, the opera, but instead of being on the board of the opera house, a man would choose to support his favorite diva. And in the same way that a patron of the opera does not expect sexual favors from the diva, the Baron supported Yoneyu solely because of the artistic perfection that she embodied and the luster that she lent to his reputation.

  However, I don’t want to give the wrong impression. You can’t put talented, beautiful, elegant women together with rich and powerful men and expect nothing to happen. Romantic entanglements happen all the time, some leading to marriage and others to heartache. I met the love of my life, for example, while I was working. Old Meanie, on the other hand, was constantly falling in love with customers who ended up breaking her heart.

  Yoneyu herself had a long-term relationship with a wealthy and powerful man named Seisuke Nagano, the heir to a major kimono concern. It was not uncommon in prewar Japan for successful men to have extramarital affairs. Marriages were arranged for the purpose of continuing bloodlines, not for pleasure, and men of means often had mistresses.

  Yoneyu became pregnant with Seisuke’s child. She gave birth to a baby girl at home in the okiya on January 24, 1923. The household met the news with great joy. A girl child was a treasure. She could be raised in the okiya, and, if talented, might become a great geiko herself. She might even become an atotori. Boys, however, presented a problem. Okiya were only for women. The mother of a boy child had to move out of the okiya and live separately or give him up to foster care.

  “What was Yoneyu’s baby’s name?” I asked.

  “Her name was Masako,” Auntie Oima winked.

  “You mean Old Meanie?” I was incredulous when she first told me this part of the story.

  Even though Auntie Oima didn’t have a daughter, I somehow assumed that Old Meanie was her granddaughter.

  “Yes, Mineko, ‘Old Meanie’ is Yoneyu’s daughter. She and I aren’t related by blood.”

  At the time that Masako was born Auntie Oima, as Yuki’s natural daughter, was in line to inherit the business. She had no children of her own and so had adopted Yoneyu as her daughter to ensure uninterrupted succession. Yoneyu was an ideal candidate for successor. She was versed in all the accomplishments of a complete geiko and was in a position to train those who came after her. She had established a large base of patrons to introduce to the geiko under her care, which would enable her to sustain and help the business grow.

  Maintaining an unbroken line of succession is one of the chief responsibilities of the owner of an okiya. Auntie Oima and Yoneyu had their eye out for someone who could be next in line. Thus they were thrilled with Masako’s arrival. They prayed that she would have the qualities and develop the qualifications required of an atotori.

  Masako began to study jiuta (a classical form of Japanese music and singing) when she was three and showed a great deal of promise. When she was six she began classes in tea ceremony, calligraphy, and koto (Japanese lute). But as she grew, it became evident that she had a difficult personality. She was blunt to the point of sarcasm and not particularly friendly.

  Auntie Oima confided in me later that Masako suffered terribly from the fact that she was an illegitimate child. Seisuke visited her regularly while she was growing up but he was not in a position to acknowledge his paternity publicly. She felt great shame in this, and her embarrassment only intensified her inherently melancholic nature.

  Auntie Oima and Yoneyu came to the grudging realization that Masako was not atotori material and that, in fact, she wouldn’t make a very good geiko either. They encouraged her to get married and live the life of an ordinary householder instead. Accordingly, when Masako graduated from high school she was sent to a temple finishing school to study the wifely arts. But she hated it and came home three days later. She decided to live at home until her elders found her a husband.

  I don’t mean to imply that a geiko can’t be married. Some of the most successful geiko I knew were married and lived independently from their okiya. I was in awe of one geiko in particular, a tall, willowy woman named Ren, for the way she skillfully balanced the demands of an active career with those of a husband. But most of us found the idea too daunting and waited until we retired to get married. Others enjoyed their independence so much they never gave it up.

  In 1943, when Masako was twenty, she was betrothed to a man named Chojiro Kanai. He went off to war. She stayed home and worked on her trousseau. Unfortunately, the wedding never took place. Chojiro was killed in action.

  Once they passed over Masako, the family had to find someone else to be Yoneyu’s successor. This is when Auntie Oima was introduced to my father by a mutual acquaintance. Auntie Oima agreed to bring Yaeko into the Iwasaki okiya. It was 1935. Yaeko was ten years old.

  Yaeko was an adorable child, outgoing and funny. She was as beautiful as the Mona Lisa. Auntie Oima and Yoneyu decided to groom her to be the atotori.

  Because of Yoneyu’s enormous success, they were in the position to make a huge investment in Yaeko’s career, which they did. They brought Yaeko out as a maiko in 1938, when she was thirteen years old, under the name Yaechiyo. Before the war, girls didn’t have to graduate from junior high school before they became maiko. Some debuted as early as eight or nine. They spent three years planning Yaeko’s spectacular debut into the karyukai.

  Decades later people were still talking about the magnificence of Yaeko’s wardrobe. They ordered Yaeko’s kimono from the very best shops in Kyoto, such as Eriman. One could have built a house from the cost of one of her ensembles, and she had many. No expense was spared to provide her with the best hair ornaments and other accoutrements of a maiko’s costume. Auntie Oima told me again and again how extraordinary it was. She said that Yaeko’s wardrobe was a direct testimonial to the wealth and power of the Iwasaki patrons.

  To mark the occasion, Yoneyu’s Baron presented the thirteen-year-old Yaechiyo with a ruby the size of a peach pit. It was not a lavish gift for Gion Kobu, where patrons are generous and extravagant gifts are customary.

  But Yaeko was not happy. In fact, she was miserable. She felt betrayed by my parents and hated having to work. She later told me that she felt like she had fallen from heaven into hell.

  According to Yaeko, life with grandmother Tomiko had been bliss. My grandmother adored her and the two of them were always together. Yaeko sat in her lap while she reigned imperiously over her fifty-odd servants and assorted family members. Occasionally my grandmother would get up and shout, “Look at this, Yaeko!” and chase my mother around with her lance. Apparently, Yaeko found this very amusing.

  Yaeko says that when she was little she didn’t even know that our mother and father were her parents. She thought they were just members of my grandparents’ staff and called out “Hey you” to them when she wanted something.

  So it came as a terrible shock to her when she suddenly found herself living in the Iwasaki okiya, havin
g to follow a strict regimen of lessons and protocol. She had no understanding of the fact that what had been heaven for her was hell for my mother. And, of course, she was too young to understand their financial situation. Her anger coalesced into a burning sense of victimization that she has carried her whole life.

  I’m sure her distress was real, but I have to add that Yaeko was by no means the only daughter of the aristocracy to find herself in this predicament. Many noble families became impoverished after the Meiji Restoration and found livelihood for their girls in the karyukai. Here was a place where they could practice the dance and tea ceremony they had learned at home, wear the higher quality kimono they were used to, become financially independent, and have a chance at making a decent marriage.

  Not Yaeko. She just felt cheated.

  Yaeko hid her seething resentment behind a carefully sculpted mask of flippant seductiveness. She got away with doing as little as she could and taking as much as she could get.

  When she was sixteen Yaeko fell in love with one of her customers, a young man named Seizo Uehara who regularly accompanied his father to Gion Kobu. The Ueharas were from Nara where they owned a large hat company. The relationship seemed to improve her temper, and, as Seizo was single, it didn’t pose a problem for anyone.

  At first Auntie Oima and Yoneyu were satisfied with Yaeko’s progress. Yoneyu was the top-ranked geiko in the Gion Kobu (thus all of Japan) and Yaeko soon became number two. Yoneyu and Yaechiyo became household names throughout the country. The fortunes of the Iwasaki okiya looked bright.

  But there was a problem. It soon became evident that Yaeko wasn’t serious about her career. Frankly, it is possible for a maiko, especially one as stunning as Yaeko, to coast for a while on her magnificent costumes and childlike charisma, but her career can’t blossom unless she capitalizes on her talent. Yaeko was lazy and undisciplined. She got bored easily and didn’t see things through. She hated lessons and barely paid attention during rehearsals. Her dancing wasn’t getting any better. Auntie Oima told me it was making her very nervous.