Geisha

by Mineko Iwasaki

  I’m very glad I moved back home when I did because it meant I was there for the last few months of Big John’s life. He died on October 6, 1972.

  33

  ON MAY 6, 1973, I paid a visit to my parents. It was only the third time I had been back to the house since I left it eighteen years before.

  I had heard my father was dying and I wanted to see him once more. When I looked in his eyes I could see that the end was near and that he knew it. Instead of offering false words of comfort, I spoke to him honestly and openly.

  “Dad, I want to thank you for everything you have given me in this life. I am capable and strong and will always remember everything you taught me. Please go freely. There is nothing to worry about here. I will take care of whatever needs to be done.”

  Tears streamed down his face.

  “Masako, you are the only one of my children who truly listened. You never did let go of your pride, and you have made me very happy. I know how hard you have worked and what it has cost you, and I want to give you something. Open the third drawer of my bureau. Take out the shibori obi. Yes, that one. I made it myself and it’s my favorite. When you find the man of your dreams, I want you to give it to him.”

  “I will, Dad, I promise.”

  I took the obi from my father’s chest and took it with me. I kept it until I met my husband. I gave it to him. He still wears it.

  My father died three days later, on May 9. He was seventy-six years old. I sat beside his corpse and held his cold hand in mine. “I promise you, Dad. I will never forget: The samurai betrays no weakness, even when starving. Pride above all.”

  Even though we only lived together for a few years I had always adored my father and kept him very close to me in my heart. I was immensely saddened by his death.

  Mama Masako had given me some money. I took the purple silk wrapper out of my obi and handed it to my mother. I didn’t know how much it was, but I imagine quite a bit.

  “I’m not sure if this enough, but I want you to give Dad the kind of funeral he would have wanted. If you need more, please ask Kuniko or me for the rest.”

  “Oh, Ma-chan, thank you so much. I’ll do the best that I can. But not everybody around here listens to what I have to say.”

  She glanced toward the other room. Yaeko’s low, sardonic laugh came drifting in over the sound of clinking mahjong tiles. I felt bad, but there was little else I could do.

  As an adopted member of the Iwasaki family I was unable to help my mother in any sort of official capacity. I looked at her with empathy and said, “Mom, I want you know that I never stopped loving you, or Dad, and I never will. Thank you so much for giving me this life.”

  I bowed then, and left.

  When I got home Mama Masako asked me, “Did you give your mother money for the funeral?”

  “Yes, I handed her whatever was in the purple silk wrapper.”

  “Good. It’s important that you learn to spend money wisely, to use it at the proper times. It is okay to send gifts of congratulations after the fact, but not gifts of bereavement. These should be offered in a timely fashion. This is one occasion when it is important not to be stingy. We wouldn’t want to lose face. Now make sure your mother has enough. If she doesn’t, I will cover the additional expenses.”

  This was very generous of her. And I was glad she was finally teaching me how to use money properly. But when you think about it, the money she gave me to give my mother was money I had earned myself.

  Another major event of 1973 was that I received accreditation (natori) from the Inoue School naming me a master dancer. The main advantage in becoming a natori is that one is now allowed to learn and perform certain roles that are reserved for the master dancers. For the Onshukai that autumn I was assigned the role of Princess Tachibana, one such part.

  Big Mistress stood with me behind the curtain as I was about to make my entrance onto the hanamichi, the elevated passageway that runs from the rear of the theater to the stage. She leaned over and whispered in my ear. “All I am able to do is teach you the form. The dance you dance on stage is yours alone.”

  The transmission was done. I was free. The dance was mine.

  But being certified did not mean I was allowed to teach. Only teachers trained from the beginning as such were allowed to do that. It did not mean I could perform outside of the strictly controlled world of the Inoue School or the Kabukai. I still had to follow their rules. So, while it was nice for my career, the certificate was practically useless. It did not contribute in any way to a state of professional or financial independence.

  In midsummer Kyoto celebrates Obon (All Souls’ Day) by lighting a huge bonfire on a mountainside to guide the souls of our ancestors back to their otherworldly abodes. The fire can be seen from anywhere in the city.

  In Gion Kobu we fill black lacquer trays with water and place them on the verandahs of the ochaya to capture the reflection of the flames. People attending an ozashiki that evening take a sip of the water from the tray and say a prayer for good health. This ceremony informally signals the beginning of the summer holiday.

  I used to spend a few weeks each August in Karuizawa, Japan’s premier summer resort. I didn’t consider this a vacation. It was more like a business trip. Many government and business leaders have country homes in Karuizawa along with the aristocracy, who have long retreated to this mountain haven during the steamy hot season. The present emperor of Japan, Akihito, met Empress Michiko on the tennis court in the middle of town in the 1950s.

  I spent my evenings going from one residence to another, entertaining the power brokers and their houseguests. Sometimes I would bump into Big Mistress as she was making her own rounds. She was a different person when she was in the country, kinder somehow and not as somber. She would sit down and we would talk.

  She told me what it was like during the war. “There was so little food. We were all hungry. I went from place to place, spread a mat out on the floor, and danced. People gave me rice and vegetables. That is how I fed my students. It was a hard life. I thought it was never going to end.”

  I liked hearing her stories. I could see flashes of the spirit she must have had when she was younger.

  The mornings in Karuizawa were my own, and I luxuriated in the relaxation. I got up at six A.M. and went for long morning walks. Then I read until it was time for me to meet Tanigawa Sensei at the Akaneya Café at ten o’clock. Dr. Tanigawa and I spent many precious hours together during those long summer days. I was able to ask him anything I wanted. He never seemed to tire of giving me well-thought-out answers.

  He loved a good cup of coffee and ordered a different variety every day. Instant geography lesson. He would delight in describing to me the part of the world where the coffee came from. One thing led to another and, before we knew it, it was time for lunch. There was a soba restaurant across the street from the café. We ate there often.

  Many of my friends were in Karuizawa at the same time I was. Most of them traveled about on bicycles but I didn’t know how to ride. I was too embarrassed to admit it, so I walked around pushing a bicycle by its handlebars. I don’t know who I thought I was kidding.

  One day I ran into someone I knew.

  “Hello there, Mineko. How are you? And what are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m pushing this bike.”

  “Really? Just think, I always thought bicycles were something that one sat on and pedaled. I never knew you were supposed to push them.”

  “Very funny. If I knew how to ride this I would.”

  “You mean you can’t ride?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Then why don’t you ride about in a horse carriage?”

  “Wouldn’t that be lovely!”

  “Come with me, then. My treat.”

  She took me to a nearby hotel and ordered me a horse carriage. I left the bicycle in the drive and spent the afternoon riding around by myself. I must say, I felt like royalty. I was having a grand time
.

  I passed by one of my friends.

  “Mineko,” she called out. “What are you doing hogging that carriage all to yourself?”

  “Watch your language,” I called back. “Please address me politely if you wish to converse with me.”

  “Don’t be a jackass.”

  “Then may I assume you don’t wish to join me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “In that case, please use the right tone of voice. You may begin again.”

  “Good afternoon, Sister Mineko. Would you be so kind as to allow me to accompany you in the carriage?”

  “Certainly, my dear. Most pleased to have you.”

  34

  THE GION KOBU is the only karyukai district in Japan that is allowed to host visitors of state. We are informed of these diplomatic missions months in advance and studiously prepare for them. We read up on the dignitary’s country of origin and research his or her personal areas of interest so that we can maintain an intelligent conversation.

  I met many heads of state over the years. Each one was so different. There is one evening I remember particularly well. We were entertaining President Ford and Henry Kissinger. President Ford was at an ozashiki in a banquet room downstairs while Dr. Kissinger was in one on the floor above. I was asked to entertain at both. I thought the contrast most revealing.

  President Ford was pleasant and engaging, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in traditional Japanese culture. His ozashiki was rather staid and dull. Secretary of State Kissinger, on the other hand, was curious about everything and kept asking questions. He was very amusing, even mildly risqué. The party became quite boisterous and we all ended up dancing around the room together and singing.

  The wonderful thing about the atmosphere of an ozashiki is that when guests get into the spirit of it, as did Dr. Kissinger, all distinctions between high and low disappear and everyone is free to relax and have a wonderful time.

  And then there are the occasions, like the one in honor of Queen Elizabeth, where informality of any sort is prohibited. In May of 1975 the queen and her husband made a state visit to Japan. I was invited to attend a banquet for them at the Tsuruya restaurant.

  Even though this was an unofficial dinner, it still had the trappings of a major diplomatic event. I had to show personal identification to the secret service men who were covering the event and it was clear that we were in a restricted zone of specialized security.

  We were all in place when the queen arrived. As we stood to greet her, she made a majestic entrance into the room, accompanied by the duke of Edinburgh. She was wearing a beautiful floor-length dress of pale yellow silk organdy, brushed with a flower pattern suggestive of roses, England’s national flower.

  We took our seats and the banquet began. The table was laid with elaborate French dinnerware, even though the guests were from Great Britain. The knives, forks, and chopsticks were of solid gold and there were large displays of ostentatious peonies in the middle of the table. (The whole thing struck me as a bit nouveau riche.)

  I was seated next to the queen. In these situations we are not allowed to speak to the dignitary directly. If the visitor asks us a question, we have to ask their attendant if we are permitted to answer face to face. Once granted permission, we still have to converse with them through the official interpreter. It is all quite stilted and cumbersome.

  Queen Elizabeth didn’t touch anything she was served.

  “Doesn’t Her Majesty care for anything to eat?”

  “Is Her Majesty not feeling well?”

  I tried my best, through the interpreter and the attendant, to encourage conversation but the queen didn’t choose to reply. Since I was working, I couldn’t enjoy any of the sumptuous feast myself. My mind began to wander. I spent some time studying, as discreetly as possible, the jewelry that the queen was wearing: her earrings, her necklace, her bracelets.

  The banquet hostess motioned for me to rise. It is usual for maiko and geiko to move about during a banquet, to greet the various guests, so this was not considered rude. The hostess led me outside to the entrance vestibule. The shoe valet, a wonderful old man I had known for years, called me over. He had a mischievous glint in his eye.

  “Mineko, there’s something here I know you would like to see.”

  He took a pair of black satin pumps out of a cedar carrying box. They were the queen’s shoes. Each one was decorated with seven diamonds.

  “Can I have one of the diamonds?” I teased. “What if you take one from each shoe and give it to me? I bet she wouldn’t notice.”

  “Stop your foolishness,” he chided me. “I just wanted to show them to you.”

  I vented my annoyance.

  “Gramps, Queen Elizabeth hasn’t eaten one morsel of the food that she’s been served. Isn’t that awful? Everyone worked so hard to prepare this wonderful meal.”

  “You don’t want to be disrespectful, now, Mineko. People in foreign countries eat different things than we do so maybe she can’t eat what she’s been given.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. You know how these things work. Every little detail is agreed upon beforehand. I don’t care if she’s a queen, I still think it’s terribly rude.”

  I mean, the head chef of the Tsuruya didn’t just get up that morning and think, “Oh, the queen is coming today. Whatever shall I cook?” I was sure that he had been planning the menu for months and that every item had been sanctioned by the queen’s people. How could she refuse to even sample a meal that had been orchestrated specifically for her enjoyment? I didn’t get it.

  Gramps tried to humor me. “Mineko, I understand what you are saying, but please don’t make an issue of it. We don’t want to provoke an international incident now, do we?”

  At his urging, I finally returned to my post. I continued to sit there quietly, forbidden to engage in conversation without permission, waiting for the whole thing to be over.

  The translator came over. “Miss, the duke of Edinburgh wishes to speak with you.”

  Maybe this would be more interesting. I went over to sit beside him. The duke gave me permission to speak to him directly and listened intently to my answers to his questions. He appeared to be very interested in the dances of Gion Kobu. He asked me about the Inoue School, about the differences between being a maiko and a geiko, and many other things about our lifestyle. At one point my eyes inadvertently met those of the queen. There was a steely iciness in her gaze. It brought out the devil in me.

  The queen still hadn’t touched a thing on her plate. I continued to chat with her husband and moved ever so slightly closer to him. I feigned an air of intimacy that I imagined would be imperceptible to most but clear to one. I glanced over at her again. She looked out of sorts. It was nice to know that queens are human too.

  The following day I received a call from Tadashi Ishikawa, the head of the Imperial Palace Agency.

  “Mine-chan, what in the world did you do yesterday? At the ozashiki?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “All I know is that the royal couple suddenly decided to sleep in separate chambers last night, and I had to scramble to find the extra security to cover them.”

  “And what could that possibly have to do with me?”

  “I’m not sure, but you were the only person who spoke directly to the duke. I assumed you must have done something—”

  “But the Duke was the one who initiated the conversation and he extended permission for me to speak to him directly. He seemed to enjoy our tête-à-tête immensely.”

  “So that’s it. That must be what they argued about.”

  “But I don’t see why. I was only trying to do my job.”

  “Of course you were, but….”

  “Mr. Ishikawa, may I ask you something? I have visited a number of different countries and I always try to eat whatever my host has been kind enough to serve me. To refuse would be discourteous and, if I were a visitor of state, could even be construed as
an affront to the nation. To say nothing of all the people who have worked so hard to prepare the meal. What do you think? Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Aha, Mine-chan, I see. It all becomes clear. And I have to hand it to you, you are a little rascal.”

  As far as I’m concerned, there is never an excuse for bad behavior.

  35

  FOR FIVE YEARS I BELIEVED that Toshio was going to divorce his wife and marry me. During this period he lied to me twice. Both lies involved his family. The first time he told me he had to go out of town on business when he was actually spending the night in Kyoto with his wife, who had come down from Tokyo to see him. The second was when we were returning to Tokyo from San Francisco. He said we had to exit the plane separately because he had heard a report that there were reporters at the gate. Always looking to avoid scandal, I dutifully complied. There weren’t any reporters. When I exited customs I saw in the distance that his wife and children had come to the airport to welcome him home.

  I know I said in the beginning of our relationship that lying was unacceptable but life is not so simple. Once we became involved, I saw that I needed to give Toshio time to figure it all out, to take that final step.

  But after five years I realized that he wasn’t taking it and I had to face facts. We weren’t any closer to being a real couple now than we were that night at the Waldorf. I decided to end the relationship and began looking for the right opportunity. He was kind enough to hand it to me.

  In March of 1976, Toshio lied to me for the third and final time.

  I used to travel frequently to Tokyo on business. When I was by myself I stayed on the ladies floor of the New Otani Hotel but when I was with Toshio we always stayed in the same suite on the fifth floor of the Tokyo Prince hotel. I still remember the number of our room.