Arthur Golden - Memoirs of a Geisha

“Her name is Sayuri, and you’d better call her that, or she won’t agree to come. Now stand up, Minister. It’s time for us to get you home.”

I walked them as far as the entryway, where I helped them into their coats and shoes and watched the two of them set out in the snow. The Minister was having such a hard time, he would have trudged right into the gate if Nobu hadn’t taken him by the elbow to steer him.

Later the same night, I dropped in with Mameha on a party full of American officers. By the time we arrived, their translator was of no use to anyone because they’d made him drink so much; but the officers all recognized Mameha. I was a bit surprised when they began humming and waving their arms, signaling to her that they wanted her to put on a dance. I expected we would sit quietly and watch her, but the moment she began, several of the officers went up and started prancing around alongside. If you’d told me it would happen, I might have felt a little uncertain beforehand; but to see it… well, I burst out laughing and enjoyed myself more than I had in a long while. We ended up playing a game in which Mameha and I took turns on the shamisen while the American officers danced around the table. Whenever we stopped the music, they had to rush back to their places. The last to sit drank a penalty glass of sake.

In the middle of the party, I commented to Mameha how peculiar it was to see everyone having so much fun without speaking the same language-considering that I’d been at a party with Nobu and another Japanese man earlier that evening, and we’d had an awful time. She asked me a bit about the party.

“Three people can certainly be too few,” she said after I’d told her about it, “particularly if one of them is Nobu in a foul mood.”

“I suggested he bring the Chairman next time. And we need another geisha as well, don’t you think? Someone loud and funny.”

“Yes,” said Mameha, “perhaps I’ll stop by…”

I was puzzled at first to hear her say this. Because really, no one on earth would have described Mameha as “loud and funny.” I was about to tell her again what I meant, when all at once she seemed to recognize our misunderstanding and said, “Yes, I’m interested to stop by… but I suppose if you want someone loud and funny, you ought to speak to your old friend Pumpkin.”

Since returning to Gion, I’d encountered memories of Pumpkin everywhere. In fact, the very moment I’d stepped into the okiya for the first time, I’d remembered her there in the formal entrance hall on the day Gion had closed, when she’d given me a stiff farewell bow of the sort she was obliged to offer the adopted daughter. I’d gone on thinking of her again and again all during that week as we cleaned. At one point, while helping the maid wipe the dust from the woodwork, I pictured Pumpkin on the walkway right before me, practicing her shamisen. The empty space there seemed to hold a terrible sadness within it. Had it really been so many years since we were girls together? I suppose I might easily have put it all out of my mind, but I’d never quite learned to accept the disappointment of our friendship running dry. I blamed the terrible rivalry that Hatsumomo had forced upon us. My adoption was the final blow, of course, but still I couldn’t help holding myself partly accountable. Pumpkin had shown me only kindness. I might have found some way to thank her for that.

Strangely, I hadn’t thought of approaching Pumpkin until Mameha suggested it. I had no doubt our first encounter would be awkward, but I mulled it over the rest of that night and decided that maybe Pumpkin would appreciate being introduced into a more elegant circle, as a change from the soldiers’ parties. Of course, I had another motive as well. Now that so many years had passed, perhaps we might begin to mend our friendship.

I knew almost nothing about Pumpkin’s circumstances, except that she was back in Gion, so I went to speak with Auntie, who had received a letter from her several years earlier. It turned out that in the letter, Pumpkin had pleaded to be taken back into the okiya when it reopened, saying she would never find a place for herself otherwise. Auntie might have been willing to do it, but Mother had refused on the grounds that Pumpkin was a poor investment.

“She’s living in a sad little okiya over in the Hanami-cho section,” Auntie told me. “But don’t take pity on her and bring her back here for a visit. Mother won’t want to see her. I think it’s foolish for you to speak with her anyway.”

“I have to admit,” I said, “I’ve never felt right about what happened between Pumpkin and me…”

“Nothing happened between you. Pumpkin fell short and you succeeded. Anyway, she’s doing very well these days. I hear the Americans can’t get enough of her. She’s crude, you know, in just the right sort of way for them.”

That very afternoon I crossed Shijo Avenue to the Hanami-cho section of Gion, and found the sad little okiya Auntie had told me about. If you remember Hatsumomo’s friend Korin, and how her okiya had burned during the darkest years of the war… well, that fire had damaged the okiya next door as well, and this was where Pumpkin was now living. Its exterior walls were charred all along one side, and a part of the tiled roof that had burned away was crudely patched with wooden boards. I suppose in sections of Tokyo or Osaka, it might have been the most intact building in the neighborhood; but it stood out in the middle of Kyoto.

A young maid showed me into a reception room that smelled of wet ash, and came back later to serve me a cup of weak tea. I waited a long while before Pumpkin at last came and slid open the door. I could scarcely see her in the dark hallway outside, but just knowing she was there made me feel such warmth, I rose from the table to go and embrace her. She took a few steps into the room and then knelt and gave a bow as formal as if I’d been Mother. I was startled by this, and stopped where I stood.

“Really, Pumpkin… it’s only me!” I said.

She wouldn’t even look at me, but kept her eyes to the mats like a maid awaiting orders. I felt very disappointed and went back to my place at the table.

When we’d last seen each other in the final years of the war, Pumpkin’s face had still been round and full just as in childhood, but with a more sorrowful look. She had changed a great deal in the years since. I didn’t know it at the time, but after the closing of the lens factory where she’d worked, Pumpkin spent more than two years in Osaka as a prostitute. Her mouth seemed to have shrunken in size-perhaps because she held it taut, I don’t know. And though she had the same broad face, her heavy cheeks had thinned, leaving her with a gaunt elegance that was astonishing to me. I don’t mean to suggest Pumpkin had become a beauty to rival Hatsumomo or anything of the sort, but her face had a certain womanliness that had never been there before.

“I’m sure the years have been difficult, Pumpkin,” I said to her, “but you look quite lovely.”

Pumpkin didn’t reply to this. She just inclined her head faintly to indicate she’d heard me. I congratulated her on her popularity and tried asking about her life since the war, but she remained so expressionless that I began to feel sorry I’d come.

Finally after an awkward silence, she spoke.

“Have you come here just to chat, Sayuri? Because I don’t have anything to say that will interest you.”

“The truth is,” I said, “I saw Nobu Toshikazu recently, and… actually, Pumpkin, he’ll be bringing a certain man to Gion from time to time. I thought perhaps you’d be kind enough to help us entertain him.”

“But of course, you’ve changed your mind now that you’ve seen me.”