by Asha Lemmie
I see something then, a hint of defiance, flash across her frightened face. She bunches her small hands into fists. “I don’t.”
“You do,” I say patiently. This is not uncommon. It’s a hard reality for any girl to realize that her family has traded her like cattle. Especially hard for a daughter of a noble house, even if she is nothing but a bastard. “Your grandmother sold you to us. You are ours to do with as we like.”
Her eyes grow wet. “She wouldn’t do that. This is a test.”
I roll my eyes at her. She’s an idiot, this girl. “No. She has sold you to us. She has relieved herself of an unwanted burden and added to her considerable fortune.”
She looks up at me. “I’m her granddaughter,” she says stoutly, though I know her courage has already failed her because I can see her hands shaking. “She said so herself. I am her flesh and blood.”
“But she never wanted you,” I say, and I make sure to put ice in my voice. “She never asked for you. She kept you locked away and now she has sold you to us. You will live here in the okiya with me and the other girls. And you will obey.”
I can see her deflating, folding in on herself like a paper doll. “No.”
“Your mother passed you off,” I continue, and I catch the swift pang of agony that crosses her face. “Your grandmother has passed you off. They couldn’t bear the shame of you. But here, we have no grand pretensions. We have no aspirations to be anything but accommodating to our patrons. We ask that you be clean, that you be pretty, that you be obedient and smiling. You can do that, can’t you, sweet girl?”
I see the cogs turning in her head as she grasps at a defense. She won’t find one.
“What are you going to do to me?” she whispers.
I show her a ready, charming smile. “Nothing. Not for many years yet. You’re special, Noriko-chan. You won’t be given cheaply. Your virtue is to be preserved and given only to one gentleman who is worthy of it.” What I mean is, one who is willing to pay the highest price for it. Worthiness, really, has nothing to do with it, but it sounds better this way.
She emits a horrified squeak, and I am beginning to think that she has no idea what kind of business this house deals in. It appears that Yuko did not bother to educate her on the facts of life—or any facts, for that matter.
If I told her that this is sometimes a geisha house, sometimes a whorehouse, but always a house discreetly owned by her outwardly respectable grandfather, she would probably keel over dead and I’d have wasted all my money. I doubt the poor girl knows what the yakuza is or the foothold they’ve managed to gain since the war ended. I am certain she has no idea that it has anything to do with her. She has never worried her pretty little head about crime syndicates, or black markets, or where her family’s money keeps coming from even though the government has turned off the tap.
But she certainly looks worried now. Poor little princess, thrown down in the gutter with the rest of us.
Clutching her stomach, Noriko bends forward so far that her forehead is pressed against the ground.
“Please. Let me go.”
I don’t know if she’s talking to me, but I answer anyway. “There is nowhere for you to go. This is the only place for you now.”
She doesn’t say anything else. Her knees slide out from under her, and now she is lying on the floor, silent, broken in like a wild horse that is now tame to my will.
“Will you obey now?”
She raises her head just slightly, and I can see that her face is covered with tears. She chokes back a sob and nods at me.
Perhaps she is not so special after all.
* * *
There was an old shrine behind the main house, with bright red flowers blooming all around it like scarlet tears. Nori liked to think that they were weeping with her that holiness could exist alongside such bitter sin. She spent as much time as she could kneeling beside it, weaving flower crowns in her lap.
Kiyomi, as it turned out, had fewer rules than her grandmother. Nori was allowed outside, she could wander anywhere in the house except the guest rooms, and she could eat whenever she pleased because Kiyomi wanted her to fatten up. There were no maids here, though. All the girls had daily chores. When Nori asked Kiyomi what her task was, the woman smiled and told her not to concern herself with it. Nori was to spend her days reading poetry, learning the art of tea ceremonies and flower arrangements, and practicing the violin, whether she liked it or not.
“You can play the violin for our guests,” Kiyomi explained with a wry smile. “I have to say, there’s nobody else here who can play that kind of music. They lack your education.”
Nori’s sullen face was answer enough. Kiyomi sighed and flipped her long hair over one shoulder.
“You don’t have a choice.”
This task, at least, was rare. In the six weeks that she had been here, she had only been asked to play a handful of times. Every other Saturday night, twenty-odd men filed into the large hall that Kiyomi called the hana no heya: the room of flowers. It had tatami floors, silk cushions, and low tables with places set for tea, a set of sliding doors left open to reveal a blossoming water garden. The fountains made a musical sound as they splashed onto smooth rocks. There were freshly picked flowers on all of the tables, arranged into elaborate patterns to mimic origami. Nori tried to focus on all of this beauty. She tried not to look at the men.
In her mind, they had all been oni, ogres with twisted faces and curved talons. They had been horrible-looking, fat, deformed, covered in sores and fur, closer to beasts than men.
But they weren’t. All of them were well-dressed, whether in loose summer yukatas or tailored suits, and some of them were even . . . handsome. The other girls, who had been avoiding Nori since the day she’d arrived, were hardly shy with them either. There was no screaming or crying. When Kiyomi clapped her hands, all of them filed in like a pack of peacocks desperate to preen. They all looked to be older than she. They had rouged faces and red lips, dressed up like a ghastly parody of true geisha. Though they played games and amused the men with their attempts to sing, Nori had learned what they did when they slipped out of the room holding a man by the hand.
A few of them exchanged coy smiles with some of the guests and went straight to their tables. Kiyomi explained to her at the start of the first evening that the best girls all had regulars. “Megumi got a gold bracelet from hers,” she’d whispered into Nori’s ear. “And he has promised her another.” Nori’s blank face had been met with a sour smile. “Of course, this means nothing to you, little princess. But most of us here never expected to know what gold feels like.”
Nori stood in the corner, dressed in one of her beautiful new kimonos with her hair all done up and wearing more makeup than she’d ever worn in her life. She kept fidgeting, resisting the urge to wipe it off. She watched as Kiyomi flitted about the room, smiling brightly enough to dull the sun, laughing and chatting with the men like they were all old friends. Sometimes a group of girls would get up and dance to a record or Kiyomi would nod to Nori to play a tune.
The girls danced well. In their brightly colored kimonos they twirled about the room, filling it with giddy laughter. One of the younger girls could stand on one leg and extend the other towards the ceiling with a pretty pointed foot. When the dancing ended, the girls would gamble with the men, throwing dice and laughing. Even from her isolated place in the corner of the room, Nori noticed that the girls were always certain to let the men win.
The food was served mid-evening—heaping platters full of fresh-caught fish, sliced raw or served roasted in herbs and spices. There were piping hot soups of all kinds: beef, chicken, shrimp, and strange proteins that Nori had never eaten. And there was sake, lots and lots of sake, always poured by a girl into her gentleman’s cup.
The room got louder then. Nori saw an older man with black hair and a gray beard slide his hand down the front of one
girl’s linen underclothes. She looked away. Akira would be so ashamed to see her in a place like this.
The room swirled, and she had to put a hand against the wall. Thinking of Akira was treacherous. It filled her with such a sense of hateful weakness that she could barely stand.
The evening wore on, pulling at her and making her limbs feel weighed down with sand. She forced herself to stand up straight, remembering her brutal lessons in maintaining a rigid posture at all times. She played until her arm grew sore and her neck grew stiff. Unless it was to look at her fingers, she tried not to open her eyes.
Little by little, the chatter grew quieter as more and more girls left the great hall, the men either leading or trailing behind them like eager bloodhounds. When the moon was at its highest point, everyone had gone. Kiyomi walked over to Nori and told her that she could leave.
“You did well tonight. You always play better than expected.”
“Arigatou.”
Kiyomi nodded her approval. “You’re very talented, you know. It’s not really necessary, but it can’t hurt. The right kind of man will appreciate it.”
Nori resisted the urge to flinch. Anger boiled up in her belly, but she kept her voice sweet. “I’m glad you find it pleasing.”
“I do. You’re clever too. So I expect you to learn. You’ll come to my room twice a week in the mornings, and I’ll teach you what you need to know.”
Nori wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to know anything you have to teach.”
Kiyomi’s dark eyes went cold, and she folded her arms over her half-exposed breasts.
“You’re going to have to lose that arrogance,” she said flatly. “It won’t serve you here.”
“I shouldn’t be here,” Nori whispered hotly, cheating her eyes sideways to avoid tearing up. “It’s not right.”
Kiyomi did not even dignify this with a response. She shrugged a slim shoulder at Nori’s pointless lament. “This is the only place for you now. You can accept it with grace, or you can fight against it and destroy yourself in the process. In any case, I expect you to do as I say.”
Nori bowed her head and said nothing.
* * *
The next morning, Kiyomi summoned Nori to her room.
It was surprisingly messy for a woman who was always so put together. Clothes were scattered on the floor, and at least a dozen cosmetics lay strewn across the vanity. Kiyomi was dressed in a simple red kimono. Her hair was down, her face was freshly scrubbed, and she looked . . . young. Almost innocent. Nori had never noticed before, but the woman in front of her had kind eyes.
“So,” Kiyomi said, gesturing for Nori to join her at the card table. “How are you adjusting?”
Nori balked at her. “You can’t mean that.”
“But I do,” the woman said, quite matter-of-factly. “Look, I don’t expect you to love it here. But there’s no reason this should be harder than it needs to be. I take it your room is comfortable?”
“Yes,” Nori said, her suspicion mounting. “It is. Thank you.”
“Good.”
The door opened, and one of the girls came in carrying a tea tray. She placed it down in front of them, and Kiyomi smiled and patted her hand.
“Thank you, Rinko.”
The girl nodded and left as quickly as she’d come.
“Now,” Kiyomi said. “Pour the tea, please.”
Nori did. She was proud of the fact that her hands didn’t shake.
This earned her an approving nod. “You move well. You have a natural grace.”
Nori flushed. “I . . . I do?”
Kiyomi laughed. “Not used to compliments, I see. I wasn’t either.”
Nori fidgeted. “Why . . . why did you ask me to come here? For . . . for tea?”
This didn’t seem like much of a lesson, though admittedly she was relieved. She’d been afraid she’d be expected to hear horrid stories or, worse, do . . . those things. Like the others.
The madam had clearly read her mind. “No one will touch you,” she said simply. “Later, I will teach you some dances and songs. Flower arranging, tea ceremonies, and the like. But for today I just want to talk to you. You must become well versed in the art of conversation.”
“I didn’t know conversation was an art.”
Kiyomi wagged a finger. “For a woman, everything is an art. I’ll make sure you learn that soon enough.”
Nori caught a glimpse of her reflection in her tea. The weight of all that had happened settled squarely on her shoulders.
She was driven to ill-advised honesty. “I don’t think I want to be a woman,” she whispered.
Kiyomi gave her a long look. For a moment, she looked as if she too could feel the invisible burden.
“Ah, my dear,” she said, with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Someone has to do it.”
* * *
Nori did not sleep that night. The night air was sticky hot, though it was well into October. As far as Nori could tell, the heat decided to linger just to annoy her. Her room had no windows, and she rarely ventured outside, except for her required duties, the occasional meal, or to use the bathroom. The other girls all ate together at assigned mealtimes, but not Nori. When she wanted to eat, which was usually only once a day, she would wander down to the kitchen and tell the gruff men with tattooed arms what she wanted. They looked at her like she was a rat that had scurried into the cupboards to steal cheese, but they always gave her what she asked for. She usually ate in her room. It had a door that led directly to the outside area, where, far past the tables arranged for the guests, there was a little grove of trees that offered much-needed shade. Sometimes, if she was feeling up to it, she would eat out there or sit in the grass and knit. No one ever went back there, it seemed, and though it was nothing special to look at, it was a place she could feel slightly less caged.
The heat became too much. She threw off her nightgown and wrapped herself in nothing but a silk robe—one of her grandmother’s parting gifts to her. The expensive fabric was cool against her skin. Not for the first time, she wondered why so much time and money had been put into her. Surely her grandmother could have just had her killed and been done with it. The only thing Nori could think of was that death was too quick. She had to be punished for the sins of her mother and father, for the sins of countrymen she had never known, for the sins of all the unwanted girls who had gone before her. Certainly, that was a great many people and it would take more than one lifetime to atone.
She put her hair on top of her head, winding her long plait and pinning it with three sturdy pins. It was nice to feel the air on her neck. She opened the sliding door that led to the patio and headed for the spot beneath the trees.
It was no cooler, but it was somehow still comforting. The quiet helped to numb her further. Nori had realized soon after her arrival here that that was the only way to survive. She pulled her knees up to her chest and let the grass slide between her outstretched fingers. She had neither energy nor faith left to pray, but in her most private moments, she whispered to no one that everything would turn out right.
This night, a voice answered.
“Who’re you talking to?” the voice said.
Nori whirled around wildly, her eyes struggling to find the source of the sound. It was not a god or a savior. Rather, it was a chubby girl wearing an ugly pink robe. The girl smiled at her and stuck out her hand, which was covered in ink that didn’t look entirely dry. Her smile revealed a large gap between her two front teeth.
“I’m Miyuki,” she said. She had a strong country accent, so strong that Nori had to strain to understand her. “I’ve been watching you play in the great hall. It’s real pretty.”
Nori blinked. “I’m Noriko.”
She reached out and shook the offered hand, which was, as she’d suspected, covered in wet ink.
“Oh, sorry,” M
iyuki said with a laugh. “I was writing. I don’t write so good, though. Always make a mess. I bet you write really nice.”
“I don’t write much.”
The strange girl plopped down beside her, uninvited, and wiped her dirty hands on the grass. “I was writing a letter to my sister.”
Nori really looked at her then. Miyuki had tan skin and thin lips that looked like they’d been pulled too tight across a wide mouth. Her hair was thick and, at the moment, full of tangles. She was short, shorter even than Nori, and plumper by quite a lot. Despite this plumpness, she had no chest to speak of. All of her fat seemed to have settled in her arms and legs. Still, it was a comfortable kind of plumpness that hinted at warmth. And she had pretty eyes. Nori did not think that she could be much more than fourteen.
“Your sister?”
Miyuki smiled. “Yeah. She’s only four, though, so she can’t read ’em. But it makes me feel better sending her something. She’s back in Osaka. She’s in an orphanage right now, but that’s just for a little bit, until I pay off my debt. Then I’m gonna go get her.”
Nori bit her lip. “So your parents are . . .”
“Dead,” said Miyuki without missing a beat. “Ma died right after Nanako—that’s my sister—was born, and Dad got injured in the war. He never really recovered and died a few months after Ma did.”
Instantly, Nori felt a bolt of guilt shoot through her. Her breath hitched. “I’m so sorry.”
Miyuki scrunched up her mouth. “He wasn’t the best.”
“I’m still sorry.”
Miyuki scooted around on the grass so that she was fully facing Nori.
“I heard,” she said, lowering her voice, “that your grandmother was a princess. Is it true?”
Nori didn’t like where this was going. “Yes, it’s true.”
The chubby girl beside her brightened. “So does that mean . . . does that mean you’re a princess too?”
