“Do you really still have doubts,” I asked him, “even over ninety?”
“Some things we can never be sure of, “he replied, “even if we live to be a hundred years. This proves that we are human.”
In his final years I used to visit Dr. Tanigawa at his home in Tokyo whenever I had the chance. One day I was being playful and pretended to steal an ancient Egyptian fly, made of gold, from his collection. He said. “Each piece in my collection has already been promised to a museum. They belong in the public eye, where they can teach us what they have to say about art and culture. So please return it to me immediately.”
To make up for my embarrassing gaffe, I commissioned a box for the amulet that I designed myself. The outside of the box was made of Chinese quince, the inside of paulownia, and the whole was lined with amethyst silk. Dr. Tanigawa was very pleased with the gift, and kept the amulet in its special box from then on.
Another brilliant man who left a strong impression on my young mind was Dr. Hideki Yukawa. Dr. Yukawa was a professor of physics at Kyoto University who had won the 1949 Nobel prize in physics for predicting the existence of the elementary particle meson. He was someone else who took my questions seriously.
Dr. Yukawa tended to get drowsy when he drank sake. One time he fell asleep and I had to rouse him.
“Wake up, Dr. Yukawa. It’s not your bedtime.”
His eyes were all bleary and his face was crinkled, “What do you want? I’m so sleepy.”
“I want you to explain to me about physics. What is it? And tell me what you had to do to win that big prize. You know, the Nobel one.”
I was way out of my depth, but he didn’t laugh at me. He sat up and patiently answered my questions in great detail (though I’m not sure how much I actually understood).
23
UNFORTUNATELY, NOT ALL my early encounters in the ochaya were pleasant or instructive. One night I was summoned to a certain ozashiki. I was told that the host was very anxious I attend, but for some reason I had a bad feeling about the engagement. Sure enough, trouble was waiting for me. A geiko named Miss K. was there. She was already drunk as usual.
In Gion Kobu, upon entering an ozashiki, a geiko first bows to her elder sisters before she bows to the customers. Accordingly, I bowed to Miss K. and greeted her politely. “Good evening, onesan.” Then I turned and bowed to the host.
He greeted me in return. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
I looked up and recognized him as one of the men who had been at the infamous banquet when I ran over to look at the dolls before greeting the guests.
It had only been a matter of weeks, but so much had happened in that short time that it felt like ages. “My, it seems like a long time since we last met. Thank you so much for inviting me to be with you this evening.”
Miss K. cut in. Her words were slurred. “What are you talking about, a long time? A long time since what?”
“Excuse me?” I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Speaking of which, what is it with that Onesan of yours? What’s her problem? She’s not even a good dancer. Why is she always acting like she’s better than everybody else?”
“I’m terribly sorry if she’s done something to offend you.”
Miss K. was puffing away on a cigarette, surrounded by a cloud of smoke.
“You’re sorry? What does that mean? Your being sorry doesn’t change a thing.”
“Why don’t I come by to discuss this with you tomorrow?”
I was uncomfortable and noticed that the customer was looking increasingly displeased. This is not what he was paying for.
He tried to take control of the situation. “Now now, Miss K., I came here to enjoy myself. Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
But she refused to let it go.
“No, let’s not. I’m trying to help out Mineko here. I don’t want her to turn out like her terrible Onesan.”
He tried again.
“I’m sure that will never happen.”
“What do you know about it? Why don’t you just shut up!”
The customer was justifiably upset. He raised his voice. “Miss K., how dare you talk to me that way?”
The only way I could think to get out of this mess was to keep apologizing for Yaeko.
“Nesan, I promise I’ll speak to Yaeko about this immediately. I’ll tell her how angry you are. We are so sorry that we have upset you.”
She answered with a non sequitur.
“What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see that I’m smoking?”
“Oh, of course. Excuse me. I’ll bring you an ashtray right away.” When I went to stand up, Miss K. put her hand on my arm.
“No, it’s okay. There’s one right here. Give me your hand for a moment.”
I thought she was going to hand me an ashtray that needed emptying.
Instead she took hold of my left hand and flicked her ashes into my open palm. She kept my hand in a tight grasp so that I couldn’t pull away. The customer was horrified and called out for the okasan. Miss K. refused to let go of my hand.
I remembered Auntie Oima telling me over and over that a proper geiko always remains calm, no matter what happens. I thought to myself, This is like a spiritual exercise. If I think the ashes are hot they will be hot, if I think they are nothing, they will be nothing. Focus. As the okasan came bustling through the door, Miss K. proceeded to grind out the stub of her cigarette in my palm and let go of my hand. I know this sounds like an exaggeration but it really happened.
“Thank you,” I said, not knowing how else to respond. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
“Good. I think I’ll be going now.”
She was too drunk to stand up. The okasan half carried/half dragged her out of the room. I excused myself and went to the kitchen for a chunk of ice. Gripping it tightly in my burnt hand, I reentered the room and greeted the customer again as though nothing was amiss.
I bowed. “I am so sorry about the time with the dolls. Please forgive me.”
He was very gracious but the atmosphere was a little somber. Luckily, the okasan soon escorted some veteran geiko into the room and they skillfully livened up the party.
And I had followed two important rules:
Always show respect to one’s older sisters.
Never display conflict or rude behavior in front of customers.
But I needed to show her that I was not intimidated by her appalling actions. So the next day I took the initiative and paid her a visit. My hand was bandaged and I was in a lot of pain, but I pretended it wasn’t her fault.
“Onesan, I’m so sorry for the trouble last night.”
“Yeah, fine. What did you do to your hand?”
“Oh, I’m so clumsy. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I tripped. It’s nothing. But I wanted to thank you for all the advice you gave me last night. I will take your words to heart and try to follow them in the future.”
“Sure, whatever.” She was clearly mortified and amazed that I had the gumption to act as if nothing had happened. “Would you care for a cup of tea.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I really must be going. I haven’t finished my lessons for today. Goodbye for now.”
I had taken the upper hand. She never bothered me again.
When I began my career, besides dealing with difficult characters, I had to adjust to the rigors of an extremely demanding schedule that included daily classes, nightly ozashiki and regular public performances.
Consider at my first six months. On February 15 I went into rehearsals for my first Miyako Odori. I became a maiko on March 26. The Miyako Odori opened on April 1, seven days later, and ran for a solid month. Then I danced in a series of special performances at the New Kabukiza Theater in Osaka for the month of May. As soon as that was finished, I went straight into rehearsal for the Rokkagai performances in June.
I couldn’t wait to participate in that. Rokkagai refers to “the five karyukai” and is the one time a y
ear when all the karyukai of Kyoto get together and put on a group performance that showcases our different styles of dance. (There used to be six karyukai in Kyoto. Now there are only five because the Shimabara area is no longer active.)
I was looking forward to getting to know the other girls and feeling a sense of community spirit. But I was soon disappointed. The whole operation simmered with competitiveness and barely disguised rivalry. The order in which the karyukai appear on the program is considered its de facto ranking for that year. Gion Kobu retains the annual privilege of appearing first so is spared the infighting, but it was disturbing to see the level of conflict. It forever dashed my fantasy of “one happy family.”
I was quickly becoming the most popular maiko in Kyoto, which meant I received numerous requests to appear at ozashiki at ochaya in other karyukai besides Gion Kobu. People who had the means to do so wanted to get a look at me, and if the invitation were important enough, Mama Masako would accept. This traipsing about didn’t seem odd to me. I naively believed that anything that was good for the business of the karyukai was good for everyone involved.
But not everyone in Gion Kobu shared this belief. Other maiko and geiko felt I was intruding into other karyukai and would insinuatingly ask: “Which karyukai did you say you were from again?”
Again, I have always liked things clear and simple, and found all the jockeying for rank and position silly. In hindsight it is easy to say that I was able to take the high road because I was in such a powerful position, but at the time I honestly didn’t understand the reason for all the drama. And I didn’t like it at all. I kept trying to use my position to get the officials of the Kabukai to listen to me.
Snapping photos of maiko is a favorite tourist and paparazzi pastime in Kyoto. I was often surrounded by shutterbugs as I made my way from one event to the other. One day I went to Kyoto Station to take a train to Tokyo. My face was everywhere. The kiosks were selling shopping bags advertising Kyoto with my picture on them. I had never seen the photo before and had certainly never given my permission for it to be used commercially. I was furious. The next day, I stormed into the Kabukai.
“How dare someone use my picture without my authorization?” I demanded.
I was fifteen but the man behind the desk spoke to me like I was about four.
“Now now, Mine-chan, don’t worry your pretty little head about such grown-up matters. Think of it as the price of fame.”
Needless to say, I wasn’t satisfied by his response. I went back after class the next day and badgered the official until he let me speak with the director. But he wasn’t much better. He told me repeatedly that he would look into it but nothing ever happened.
This kind of thing went on for years.
I never let my growing dissatisfaction interfere with my dedication. By the time the Rokkagai performances were over in mid-June I was completely exhausted. I was supposed to go right into rehearsals for the Yukatakai, a summer series of dance put on by the Inoue School. But my body couldn’t take it and I finally broke down.
I came down with an acute case of appendicitis and had to have an appendectomy. I was supposed to stay in the hospital for ten days. Kuniko never left my side, though I slept for the first four days and don’t remember them at all.
Kuniko later told me that I kept going over my schedule in my sleep. “I have to be at the Ichirikitei at six sharp and then go to the Tomiyo by seven.”
I finally woke up.
The head doctor came to examine me and asked if I had passed gas. “Gas?” I asked.
“Yes, gas. Has any come out yet?”
“Come out? From where?”
“What I mean is, have you broken wind? Have you farted?”
“Excuse me,” I replied indignantly, “I don’t do things like that.”
But I did ask Kuniko if she noticed anything gassy about me and she said she hadn’t heard or smelled a thing. The doctor decided to mark it down anyway.
Mama Masako came to visit.
“How are you feeling, my child?” she asked kindly. Then, with a wicked grin, she said, “You know, you shouldn’t laugh when you have stitches because it really hurts.” She put her hands up to her head and twisted her face into a completely loopy expression. “What do you think of this one?” she said. “And this?”
The whole performance was so uncharacteristic that I found it hysterically funny and couldn’t stop laughing. It hurt so much that I had tears rolling down my face.
“Please, stop,” I begged.
“Usually when I come to visit you are sleeping and I am bored. But this is fun. I must come back again.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “And tell everybody to please stop sending me all these flowers.”
There were so many bouquets in the room that the scent was no longer pleasant. It was downright cloying. She convinced my friends to bring me manga instead, the thick comic books that Japanese teenagers devour like candy. This was absolutely the best thing about being in the hospital. I got to spend hours reading manga, something I never had the free time to do at home. I just lay there relaxing, reading, laughing, hurting.
During the ten days I was in the hospital I was hoping that I could get out one day early. I had wanted to experience ochaohiku for many years and decided to try it. The okiya had already distributed fliers all over Gion Kobu announcing that I was unavailable for those ten days so no requests would come in for appearances. This gave me the chance to finally do ochaohiku.
As part of her job a geiko dresses every evening even if she has no scheduled appointments, so that she can respond immediately to any request that might come into the okiya. The term “ochaohiku” is used for those times when a geiko has to dress up with nowhere to go. In other words, the store is open but there are no customers.
I had been booked solid ever since I started to work so had never had the opportunity to do ochaohiku. I thought I should experience it at least once. I first took a luxurious bath.
It felt good to be in our spacious bathhouse after the confines of the hospital. I taped over my scar so it wouldn’t get wet and gratefully doused myself with hot water from the large cedar tub. I lowered myself gingerly into the steaming water and soaked until my skin was supple. Then I got out of the tub and, with a bucket and hot water from a spigot in the wall, washed thoroughly with soap and water. Next I rubbed myself all over with a net pouch filled with rice bran. Rice bran contains a significant amount of Vitamin B and is great for the skin. Then I got back in the tub for a final soak.
The family members and Kuniko were the only okiya residents allowed to use the bathhouse. Everyone else went to the local public bath, which was the norm at the time. Few Japanese could afford to maintain a bathhouse at home. Relaxed from my bath, I went to have my hair done.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to go back to work until tomorrow,” my hairdresser said when she saw me.
“I know,” I said. “But I thought I would try my hand at ochaohiku.”
She looked at me funny but did what I asked. I contacted the Suehiroya and asked my otokoshi to come dress me. He didn’t get the point either but went along with my request. When I was all ready to go I sat down and waited. Nothing happened, of course, because I was off duty. But I learned something very important. I didn’t like being idle. I found sitting around in the heavy costume exhausting. “It’s much easier to be busy,” I realized.
24
THE NEXT DAY I went into rehearsal for the Yukatakai, the summer dances, and life returned to normal.
That night, still feeling weak and vulnerable, I attended a scheduled ozashiki. As I bowed in greeting, one of the guests, who was pretending to be drunk, pushed me over on the floor. I landed on my back and was just about to get up when he grabbed hold of the padded hem of my kimono and lifted the skirt all the way up to my thighs, exposing my legs and under-garments. He then took hold of my legs and dragged me around the floor like a rag doll. Everybody started laughing, including the other
maiko and geiko who were in the room.
I was livid with rage and embarrassment. I jumped up, pulled my skirts together, and headed straight for the kitchen. I borrowed a sashimi knife from one of the maids. I placed it on a tray and went back to the banquet room.
“Alright everybody, stop it right there. Nobody move!”
“Please, Mine-chan, I was only kidding around. I didn’t mean anything.”
The okasan came running in after me.
“Stop, Mine-chan. Don’t!”
I paid no attention to her. I was furious.
I spoke slowly and calmly. “Stay where you are. I want you all to listen very carefully to what I have to say. I’m going to wound this gentleman. I may even kill him. I want you all to realize how deeply humiliated I feel.”
I went up to my assailant and shoved the knife up against the base of his throat.
“Stab the body and it heals. But injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime. You have wounded my pride and I do not suffer disgrace lightly. I will not forget what happened here tonight for as long as I live. But you are not worth going to jail over, so I’ll let you go. This time. But don’t you ever do anything like this again.”
With that I thrust the knife point-down into the tatami next to where the guest was sitting and, with head held high, marched out of the room.
The next day I was having lunch in the cafeteria at school when one of the maiko who had been in the room the previous night sat down next to me. She wasn’t much older than I. She told me how the geiko had planned the whole thing and put the customer up to it. She said they were all laughing about how much fun it would be to humiliate me. The poor girl felt terrible. She hadn’t wanted to go along with it but didn’t know what to do.
My cool fury did not put an end to the harassment. In fact, it got worse. The hostility took many forms; some were crueler than others. For example, my props and accessories (fans, parasols, tea whisks, etc.) were constantly disappearing. Other geiko were rude or ignored me at banquets. People called the okiya and left messages purposely misdirecting me to appointments.
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