Arthur Golden - Memoirs of a Geisha

“Thank heavens for people like you, Pumpkin,” said the Chairman. “You make the rest of us seem positively dull.”

“Well, that’s my story. I’m not telling another one. If the rest of you want to play ‘big liar,’ somebody else can start.”

“I’ll start,” said Mameha. “Here’s my first story. When I was about six years old I went out one morning to draw water from the well in our okiya, and I heard the sound of a man clearing his throat and coughing. It was coming from inside the well. I woke up the mistress, and she came out to listen to it. When we held a lantern over the well, we couldn’t find anyone there at all, but we continued to hear him until after the sun had come up. Then the sounds stopped and we never heard them again.”

“The other story is the true one,” said Nobu, “and I haven’t even heard it.”

“You have to listen to them both,” Mameha went on. “Here’s my second. One time I went with several geisha to Osaka to entertain at the home of Akita Masaichi.” He was a famous businessman who’d made a fortune before the war. “After we sang and drank for hours, Akita-san fell asleep on the mats, and one of the other geisha snuck us into the next room and opened a big chest full of all kinds of pornography. There were pornographic woodblock prints, including some by Hiroshige-”

“Hiroshige never made pornographic prints,” said Pumpkin.

“Yes, he did, Pumpkin,” the Chairman said. “I’ve seen some of them.”

“And also,” Mameha went on, “he had pictures of all sorts of fat European women and men, and some reels of movies.”

“I knew Akita Masaichi well,” said the Chairman. “He wouldn’t have had a collection of pornography. The other one is true.”

“Now, really, Chairman,” Nobu said. “You believe a story about a man’s voice coming out of a well?”

“I don’t have to believe it. All that matters is whether Mameha thinks it’s true.”

Pumpkin and the Chairman voted for the man in the well. The Minister and Nobu voted for the pornography. As for me, I’d heard both of these before and knew that the man in the well was the true one. The Minister drank his penalty glass without complaining; but Nobu grumbled all the while, so we made him go next.

“I’m not going to play this game,” he said.

“You’re going to play it, or you’re going to drink a penalty glass of sake every round,” Mameha told him.

“All right, you want two stories, I’ll tell you two stories,” he said. “Here’s the first one. I’ve got a little white dog, named Kubo. One night I came home, and Kubo’s fur was completely blue.”

“I believe it,” said Pumpkin. “It had probably been kidnapped by some sort of demon.”

Nobu looked as if he couldn’t quite imagine that Pumpkin was serious. “The next day it happened again,” he went on tentatively, “only this time Kubo’s fur was bright red.”

“Definitely demons,” said Pumpkin. “Demons love red. It’s the color of blood.”

Nobu began to look positively angry when he heard this. “Here’s my second story. Last week I went to the office so early in the morning that my secretary hadn’t yet arrived. All right, which is the true one?”

Of course, we all chose the secretary, except for Pumpkin, who was made to drink a penalty glass of sake. And I don’t mean a cup; I mean a glass. The Minister poured it for her, adding drop by drop after the glass was full, until it was bulging over the rim. Pumpkin had to sip it before she could pick the glass up. I felt worried just watching her, for she had a very low tolerance for alcohol.

“I can’t believe the story about the dog isn’t true,” she said after she’d finished the glass. Already I thought I could hear her words slurring a bit. “How could you make something like that up?”

“How could I make it up? The question is, how could you believe it? Dogs don’t turn blue. Or red. And there aren’t demons.”

It was my turn to go next. “My first story is this. One night some years ago, the Kabuki actor Yoegoro got very drunk and told me he’d always found me beautiful.”

“This one isn’t true,” Pumpkin said. “I know Yoegoro.”

“I’m sure you do. But nevertheless, he told me he found me beautiful, and ever since that night, he’s sent me letters from time to time. In the corner of every letter, he glues one little curly black hair.”

The Chairman laughed at this, but Nobu sat up, looking angry, and said, “Really, these Kabuki actors. What irritating people!”

“I don’t get it. What do you mean a curly black hair?” Pumpkin said; but you could see from her expression that she figured out the answer right away.

Everyone fell silent, waiting for my second story. It had been on my mind since we’d started playing the game, though I was nervous about telling it, and not at all certain it was the right thing to do.

“Once when I was a child,” I began, “I was very upset one day, and I went to the banks of the Shirakawa Stream and began to cry…”

As I began this story, I felt almost as though I were reaching across the table to touch the Chairman on the hand. Because it seemed to me that no one else in the room would see anything unusual in what I was saying, whereas the Chairman would understand this very private story-or at least, I hoped he would. I felt I was having a conversation with him more intimate than any we’d ever had; and I could feel myself growing warm as I spoke. Just before continuing, I glanced up, expecting to find the Chairman looking at me quizzically. Instead, he didn’t seem even to be paying attention. All at once I felt so vain, like a girl posturing for the crowds as she walks along, only to discover the street is empty.

I’m sure everyone in the room had grown tired of waiting for me by this time, because Mameha said, “Well? Go on.” Pumpkin mumbled something too, but I couldn’t understand her.

“I’m going to tell another story,” I said. “Do you remember the geisha Okaichi? She died in an accident during the war. Many years before, she and I were talking one day, and she told me she’d always been afraid a heavy wooden box would fall right onto her head and kill her. And that’s exactly how she died. A crate full of scrap metal fell from a shelf.”

I’d been so preoccupied, I didn’t realize until this moment that neither of my stories was true. Both were partially true; but it didn’t concern me very much in any case, because most people cheated while playing this game. So I waited until the Chairman had chosen a story-which was the one about Yoegoro and the curly hair-and declared him right. Pumpkin and the Minister had to drink penalty glasses of sake.

After this it was the Chairman’s turn.

“I’m not very good at this sort of game,” he said. “Not like you geisha, who are so adept at lying.”

“Chairman!” said Mameha, but of course she was only teasing.

“I’m concerned about Pumpkin, so I’m going to make this simple. If she has to drink another glass of sake, I don’t think she’ll make it.”

It was true that Pumpkin was having trouble focusing her eyes. I don’t even think she was listening to the Chairman until he said her name.

“Just listen closely, Pumpkin. Here’s my first story. This evening I came to attend a party at the Ichiriki Teahouse. And here’s my second. Several days ago, a fish came walking into my office-no, forget that. You might even believe in a walking fish. How about this one. Several days ago, I opened my desk drawer, and a little man jumped out wearing a uniform and began to sing and dance. All right, now which one is true?”

“You don’t expect me to believe a man jumped out of your drawer,” Pumpkin said.