They had invested so much in Yaeko, and now they were losing confidence in her as the right successor. But Yoneyu felt she had no choice. Masako was out of the running.
So, almost by default, she adopted Yaeko into the family.
And then things started to fall apart.
A year after Yaeko became a maiko, in 1939, Auntie Oima’s mother, Auntie Yuki died.
Auntie Oima became head of the Iwasaki family. Yoneyu was still in active service and not ready to retire so Auntie Oima had to put her dreams of owning a restaurant on hold and take over the Iwasaki okiya.
That is about the time that my sister Kuniko joined the Iwasaki household. Kuniko was my parent’s third-eldest daughter and was in elementary school at the time. She had a warm and nurturing personality, but, unfortunately, had also two flaws that prevented her from becoming a maiko. The first was that she had terrible eyesight and couldn’t see well enough to navigate the world without glasses. The second problem was that she had inherited my mother’s physique and was short and fat. So between her eyesight and amplitude the powers that be decided it would be best if she trained as a support person rather than any kind of geiko. She was sent to public school and began to apprentice with Aba as an assistant.
On December 8, 1941, Japan entered World War II. The war lasted for four long years during which time Gion Kobu, along with the rest of the country, suffered severe hardship. In its effort to focus the nation’s resources and attention on the war effort, the government closed down the Gion Kobu for business in 1943. Many geiko went home to their families. Those that were left were conscripted to work in a munitions factory.
The Iwasaki okiya didn’t own any kimono made from indigo-dyed cloth (like that worn by laborers) so they made work clothes out of their old geiko costumes. They must have looked strange to people from outside the karyukai. Work clothes were ordinarily made out of cotton, never from flimsy silk. As Auntie Oima told me years later, “Even though it was wartime, those of us who lived in Gion Kobu competed with each other over who had the most beautiful silk work clothes. We attached collars to our necklines, and braided our hair neatly in two long braids, and wore sharp white headbands. We still wanted to feel feminine. We became famous for lining up, heads held high, to go to work in the factory.”
Auntie Oima divided the okiya’s possessions into three lots and sent each one to a different place for safekeeping.
Yoneyu, Masako, Yaeko, and Kuniko, the core of the family, were the only people Auntie Oima allowed to remain in the okiya. She sent the remaining maiko and geiko back to their parents. The city ran out of food. Auntie Oima and Kuniko told me that they were afraid they were going to starve. They subsisted on a meager diet of scavenged roots and a thin gruel made from water, salt, and a bit of grain.
Yaeko’s boyfriend Seizo became an officer and was stationed in Japan throughout the war, during which time they continued their relationship. In 1944 she announced that she was leaving to marry him. She had not yet repaid the money the Iwasaki okiya had invested in her career but Auntie Oima didn’t want to fight with her. She decided to absorb the loss and graciously let Yaeko out of her contract. This sort of breach is not unheard of but is in very bad form. She just turned her back and walked away.
Because Yaeko was legally a member of the Iwasaki family, Auntie Oima treated her like a daughter and sent her off with a proper dowry. It consisted of jewelry, including the ruby the Baron had given her, and two large dressing chests filled with valuable kimono and obi. Yaeko moved to Osaka and began her new life.
In December of that same year the Iwasaki okiya suffered another blow. Yoneyu died unexpectedly of kidney disease. She was only fifty-two. Auntie Oima was left without a successor. And Masako, then twenty-two, was left without a mother.
Both of the Iwasaki okiya’s stars had gone out.
The war ended on August 15, 1945. The Iwasaki okiya was at an all-time low. There were only three women living in the spacious house. Aging Auntie Oima, depressed Masako, and chubby Kuniko. That was it. Auntie Oima told me she was at her wits’ end and considered closing down the okiya altogether.
But then things began to look up. The American Occupation Forces ordered Gion Kobu to reopen and the karyukai slowly came back to life. The Americans requisitioned part of the Koburenjo Theater as a dance hall. The military officers started to patronize the ochaya. A few of the geiko and maiko who had left during the war asked if they could come back to the okiya, including Koyuki, the Iwasaki geiko with the largest following. Aba came back to work. The Iwasaki okiya was back in business.
I asked Auntie Oima if people had difficulty welcoming the Americans into the ochaya after we had just lost the war to them. She said it wasn’t that cut-and-dried. Of course there was some resentment but in general the officers were kind. Most people were happy just to have the business. And the ability to serve all honored guests equally, without discrimination, is deeply ingrained in the psyche of the karyukai. But she did tell me a story that seemed to portray her true feelings.
One night Koyuki was summoned to appear at a banquet for General MacArthur at the Ichirikitei. He was so taken with the kimono she was wearing that he asked if he could have it to take back to the United States with him.
The owner of Ichirikitei transmitted the request to Auntie Oima, who made the following retort: “Our kimono are our lives. He can take the kimono if he wants, but he’ll have to take me with it. He may occupy my country, but he will never occupy my soul!”
The owner of Ichirikitei conveyed the response to the general, and he never asked for the kimono again. Whenever Auntie Oima told me this story she lifted her chin up in the air and beamed. Her sense of pride was one of the things I loved about her.
I still own that kimono. It is stored safely away in a chest in my house.
The Iwasaki okiya struggled forward, along with the rest of Japan, for the next few years.
Masako was still waiting for her fiancé to come home from the war. The government did not notify Chojiro’s family of his death until 1947. Masako was devastated. Hugging her marriage quilt to her chest, she cried for days. Now she was truly alone, with no future prospects and nowhere to go.
After long consultations with Auntie Oima, Masako decided to become a geiko. She debuted as a jikata (musician) geiko in 1949, when she was twenty-six, under the name of Fumichiyo.
Even though she was quite beautiful, Fumichiyo was not skillful at charming customers. She lacked the playful artifice and sense of humor that a successful geiko needs. Being a geiko is not simply a matter of mastering one’s art form. One must also have passion and enthusiasm for the profession, which requires a profound commitment, an enormous amount of work, an unflappable countenance, and the presence of mind to stay calm in the midst of disaster.
None of this describes Masako. But, feeling she had no other choice, she persevered. And then she met with more misfortune. Soon after she began working, she came down with a case of tuberculosis and had to stop for over a year. She went back to work in the early 1950s but her desultory efforts did little to improve the overall economy of the household.
Kuniko had now reached the marriageable age of eighteen. Inquiries were made and arrangements discussed, but Kuniko refused to consider any offers. She felt that she had to continue living in the Iwasaki okiya to uphold my family’s honor in light of Yaeko’s defection. Kuniko worked in the Iwasaki okiya for the next thirty years. She remained single her entire life.
At this point, the Iwasaki okiya was barely self-supporting. The house owned a magnificent collection of costumes and retained a full staff trained to dress geiko in them, but there weren’t enough geiko to put them on. The few geiko who were there were not enough to carry the whole operation. Auntie Oima needed to find fresh talent if the Iwasaki okiya was to survive. That is what led her to come speak to my parents about Tomiko in the winter of 1952.
And, with Yoneyu and Yaeko gone, she had to find a successor.
7
AUNTIE OIMA NEVER EXPECTED to see Yaeko again and was totally unprepared when she reappeared at the Iwasaki okiya, unbidden, soon after Tomiko had moved in.
She announced that she was coming back to work. Her marriage was a disaster and she had filed for divorce. Seizo had turned out to be an inveterate womanizer. He also got involved in some shady business deals and lost all of their money. He abandoned Yaeko with two small boys and a mountain of debt for which she was legally responsible. Yaeko decided that reclaiming her position in the Iwasaki okiya would solve all her problems. She wanted Auntie Oima to pay off her debts. She planned to pay her back by working again as a geiko.
Auntie Oima thought that Yaeko had lost her mind. What she was proposing was out of the question, for reasons almost too numerous to articulate. First of all, Yaeko’s last name was no longer Iwasaki. It was Uehara. As she was no longer a member of the family, she could not be the atotori. But even when her divorce became final, Auntie Oima would not want to reinstate her. Yaeko had shown by her own actions that she didn’t deserve the mantle; she was just too selfish and irresponsible.
Secondly, when a geiko retires her career is deemed over. Yaeko would have to be entirely relaunched. It costs a small fortune to outfit a geiko and Yaeko no longer owned any costumes. If anything, she owed the Iwasaki okiya money, not the other way around. Besides, all Auntie Oima’s cash reserves were being used to prepare for Tomiko’s debut. She had nothing extra to pay off Yaeko’s debts. In any event, Yaeko had turned her back on the okiya in a time of need and Auntie Oima had not forgiven her.
But the list went on and on. Yaeko wasn’t a very good geiko when she was actively in service, so she surely wasn’t going to be any better now. She hadn’t taken a dance class in seven years. People didn’t like her. And what about her sons? They certainly couldn’t live with Yaeko in the Iwasaki okiya.
The whole idea was repugnant to Auntie Oima. It was a complete breech of protocol. To Auntie Oima, this was the most distressing thing of all.
Citing all of these reasons in vigorous detail, Auntie Oima told Yaeko no. She suggested that she (a) go to her in-laws for help because Yaeko and the children were actually their responsibility now and (b) find a job in an ochaya or restaurant, for which her training made her well-qualified.
During this rather heated exchange Auntie Oima let slip that Tomiko was now in her care and that she was very much hoping I would come live with her and be her successor.
Now, Yaeko hadn’t been in touch with my parents in years and didn’t know that I existed. Auntie Oima’s words put her in a fury. Not only was she being usurped by a pretender to the throne, but the pretender was another issue from her loathsome parents. She stormed out of the Iwasaki okiya and caught the next tram.
Yaeko was very cunning, and in the short ride to Yamashina she assessed her options. She now saw that it would be impossible for her to inherit the Iwasaki okiya. But she also knew that the only collateral she had against her debts was her future earnings, and that being a geiko was the quickest way for her to earn money. She had to make Auntie Oima take her back.
Now, what had the old lady said? She said she really wanted Masako to join the Iwasaki okiya.
Yaeko could read Auntie Oima like a book and she knew the system. She knew how much Auntie Oima needed me.
Maybe I can use the little brat as a bargaining chip to buy my way back in, she must have thought. And what else? Oh yes, the boys. No problem. My parents can take care of them. They owe me.
She was wearing a dark kimono belted with an obi that had a beige, brown, and black geometric pattern on it. I watched her walk over the bridge and approach the house.
My parents were powerless in the face of her vehemence and their own guilt. She accused them of making babies in order to sell them. They agreed to take in her two sons.
Yaeko went back to Auntie Oima and told her she was now free to move back in and begin work. And she promised Auntie Oima that she would deliver me on a silver platter.
Auntie Oima was confused. She was willing to front Yaeko if it would help bring me to her. Yaeko was lazy but she had been a big star. A tarnished star might be better than nothing. She went to talk it over with Mother Sakaguchi.
“I want to the meet the child,” Mother Sakaguchi said. “The one you fell in love with. I trust your instincts, and I think we should do what we can to bring her into the Iwasaki okiya. Let’s give in for the time being and turn the tables on her so she ends up helping us. Besides, she was very popular in her day and will bring a certain amount of income and face back to the house.”
“What about her debts? I don’t have the money to cover them right now.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Let me pay the debt instead of you. But let’s keep it between ourselves. I don’t want Yaeko to know. We want her under your control as much as possible and I don’t want any trouble from her. You can give me back the money when she pays it back to you. Agreed?”
“I humbly accept your generous offer.” Auntie Oima bowed all the way to the tatami. “I will do everything in my power to introduce you to Masako as soon as possible.”
Yaeko was thrilled that her scheme seemed to be working. She moved back into the Iwasaki okiya and made preparations to return to work. But she didn’t have anything to wear. The Iwasaki okiya’s spare kimono were in reserve for Tomiko. Yaeko had the gall to go directly to the closet where the kimono were stored, pull out a few of the best, and announce, “These will do. I’ll wear these.”
Auntie Oima told me she was dumbfounded. It’s difficult for me to express adequately the importance of kimono in a geiko’s life or to convey just how transgressive Yaeko’s act actually was. Kimono, the costumes of our profession, are sacred to us. They are the emblems of our calling. Made from some of the finest and most expensive textiles in the world, kimono embody beauty as we understand it. Each kimono is a one-of-a-kind work of art that its owner has taken an active role in creating.
In general, we can tell a lot about a person from the quality of the kimono that he or she is wearing: financial status, sense of style, family background, personality. There may be little variation in the cut of a kimono but there is a tremendous variety in the colors and patterns of the materials used to make them.
There is an art to matching the choice of kimono to the situation in which it is worn. Seasonal appropriateness is paramount. The canons of traditional Japanese taste divide the year into twenty-eight seasons, each of which has its own symbols. Ideally, the colors and patterns on the kimono and obi reflect the exact season, nightingales in late March, for example, or chrysanthemums in early November.
Yaeko’s casual appropriation of Tomiko’s kimono was a violation. It was almost as though Yaeko had assaulted Tomiko or invaded the deepest recesses of her privacy. But Auntie Oima was powerless to stop her. I hadn’t yet arrived.
Yaeko went to my parents and told them she had promised me to the Iwasaki okiya. They told her over and over again that she had no right to make that decision. But Yaeko refused to listen. It was like she was stupid. Or an idiot.
In the midst of this drama, I decided to go live with Auntie Oima in the Iwasaki okiya. I made the decision independently, of my own free will.
Looking back on it now, I am surprised and a little impressed at how determined and resolute I was at such a young age.
8
ON JUNE 6, 1954, I woke up early in the morning, just as I had when I lived with my parents. Crows were cawing overhead. There were new green leaves on the maple tree in the garden.
No one was stirring, not even the maids. I pulled out one of my books, a present from my father. I had read it to myself so many times that I could recite the words by heart.
In Japan there is a long held custom that children destined for professional artistic careers officially begin formal training in their discipline on June 6 of the year they turn six (6-6-6). However, many children who wish to pursue a traditional art form begin lessons as early as three.
This early training is particularly characteristic of Japan’s two great theatrical traditions, Noh and Kabuki. Noh drama, developed in the fourteenth century, is based on the ancient court dances that were performed as offerings to the gods. It is aristocratic, stately, and lyrical. Kabuki theater, developed two hundred years later as entertainment for the common people, is more lively than noh and can be likened to Western opera.
Both Noh and Kabuki are performed exclusively by men. The sons of the lead actors begin training as children. Many grow up to succeed their fathers. A number of famous contemporary performers can trace their lineages back ten generations or more.
On my first day, I woke at dawn and impatiently waited until it was safe to awaken Auntie Oima. Finally the neighborhood “alarm clock” went off. There was a grocery store across from the okiya on Shinbashi Street. The old lady of the shop sneezed three times every morning. Very loudly. At exactly 7:30. I depended on her for years.
I nudged Auntie Oima awake.
“Can we go yet?”
“Not yet, Mineko. There is something we have to take care of first.”
She brought out a small tin bucket. Inside the bucket were brushes, a little broom, a feather duster, tiny floor cloths, and a miniature container of scouring powder. She had thought of everything.
We went into the altar room to say our morning prayers. Afterwards, she tucked up my long sleeves with a cord so I could work and stuck the feather duster in the back of my obi. Then she took me to the lavatory and taught me the proper way to clean a toilet.
Since this is the first responsibility that a person gives to his or her successor, handing me the toilet brush was like passing me the baton. Auntie Oima’s work was now done. Mine had begun.
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