Arthur Golden - Memoirs of a Geisha

After breakfast the following morning, we all took a walk through the tropical forest to the sea cliffs nearby, where the stream from our inn poured over a picturesque little waterfall into the ocean. We stood a long while admiring the view; even when we were all ready to leave, the Chairman could hardly tear himself away. On the return trip I walked beside Nobu, who was still as cheerful as I’d ever seen him. Afterward we toured the island in the back of a military truck fitted with benches, and saw bananas and pineapples growing on the trees, and beautiful birds. From the mountaintops, the ocean looked like a crumpled blanket in turquoise, with stains of dark blue.

That afternoon we wandered the dirt streets of the little village, and soon came upon an old wood building that looked like a warehouse, with a sloped roof of thatch. We ended up walking around to the back, where Nobu climbed stone steps to open a door at the corner of the building, and the sunlight fell across a dusty stage built out of planking. Evidently it had at one time been a warehouse but was now the town’s theater. When I first stepped inside, I didn’t think very much about it. But after the door banged shut and we’d made our way to the street again, I began to feel that same feeling of a fever breaking; because in my mind I had an image of myself lying there on the rutted flooring with the Minister as the door creaked open and sunlight fell across us. We would have no place to hide; Nobu couldn’t possibly fail to see us. In many ways I’m sure it was the very spot I’d half-hoped to find. But I wasn’t thinking of these things; I wasn’t really thinking at all, so much as struggling to put my thoughts into some kind of order. They felt to me like rice pouring from a torn sack.

As we walked back up the hill toward our inn, I had to fall back from the group to take my handkerchief from my sleeve. It was certainly very warm there on that road, with the afternoon sun shining full onto our faces. I wasn’t the only one perspiring. But Nobu came walking back to ask if I was all right. When I couldn’t manage to answer him right away, I hoped he would think it was the strain of walking up the hill.

“You haven’t looked well all weekend, Sayuri. Perhaps you ought to have stayed in Kyoto.”

“But when would I have seen this beautiful island?”

“I’m sure this is the farthest you’ve ever been from your home. We’re as far from Kyoto now as Hokkaido is.”

The others had walked around the bend ahead. Over Nobu’s shoulder I could see the eaves of the inn protruding above the foliage. I wanted to reply to him, but I found myself consumed with the same thoughts that had troubled me on the airplane, that Nobu didn’t understand me at all. Kyoto wasn’t my home; not in the sense Nobu seemed to mean it, of a place where I’d been raised, a place I’d never strayed from. And in that instant, while I peered at him in the hot sun, I made up my mind that I would do this thing I had feared. I would betray Nobu, even though he stood there looking at me with kindness. I tucked away my handkerchief with trembling hands, and we continued up the hill, not speaking a word.

By the time I reached the room, the Chairman and Mameha had already taken seats at the table to begin a game of go against the bank director, with Shizue and her son looking on. The glass doors along the far wall stood open; the Minister was propped on one elbow staring out, peeling the covering off a short stalk of cane he’d brought back with him. I was desperately afraid Nobu would engage me in a conversation I’d be unable to escape, but in fact, he went directly over to the table and began talking with Mameha. I had no idea as yet how I would lure the Minister to the theater with me, and even less idea how I would arrange for Nobu to find us there. Perhaps Pumpkin would take Nobu for a walk if I asked her to? I didn’t feel I could ask such a thing of Mameha, but Pumpkin and I had been girls together; and though I won’t call her crude, as Auntie had called her, Pumpkin did have a certain coarseness in her personality and would be less aghast at what I was planning. I would need to direct her explicitly to bring Nobu to the old theater; they wouldn’t come upon us there purely by accident.

For a time I knelt gazing out at the sunlit leaves and wishing I could appreciate the beautiful tropical afternoon. I kept asking myself whether I was fully sane to be considering this plan; but whatever misgivings I may have felt, they weren’t enough to stop me from going ahead with it. Clearly nothing would happen until I succeeded in drawing the Minister aside, and I couldn’t afford to call attention to myself when I did it. Earlier he’d asked a maid to bring him a snack, and now he was sitting with his legs around a tray, pouring beer into his mouth and dropping in globs of salted squid guts with his chopsticks. This may seem like a nauseating idea for a dish, but I can assure you that you’ll find salted squid guts in bars and restaurants here and there in Japan. It was a favorite of my father’s, but I’ve never been able to stomach it. I couldn’t even watch the Minister as he ate.

“Minister,” I said to him quietly, “would you like me to find you something more appetizing?”

“No,” he said, “I’m not hungry.” I must admit this raised in my mind the question of why he was eating in the first place. By now Mameha and Nobu had wandered out the back door in conversation, and the others, including Pumpkin, were gathered around the go board on the table. Apparently the Chairman had just made a blunder, and they were laughing. It seemed to me my chance had come.

“If you’re eating out of boredom, Minister,” I said, “why don’t you and I explore the inn? I’ve been eager to see it, and we haven’t had the time.”

I didn’t wait for him to reply, but stood and walked from the room. I was relieved when he stepped out into the hallway a moment later to join me. We walked in silence down the corridor, until we came to a bend where I could see that no one was coming from either direction. I stopped.

“Minister, excuse me,” I said, “but… shall we take a walk back down to the village together?”

He looked very confused by this.

“We have an hour or so left in the afternoon,” I went on, “and I remember something I’d very much like to see again.”

After a long pause, the Minister said, “I’ll need to use the toilet first.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” I told him. “You go and use the toilet; and when you’re finished, wait right here for me and we’ll take a walk together. Don’t go anywhere until I come and fetch you.”

The Minister seemed agreeable to this and continued up the corridor. I went back toward the room. And I felt so dazed-now that I was actually going through with my plan-that when I put my hand on the door to slide it open, I could scarcely feel my fingers touching anything at all.

Pumpkin was no longer at the table. She was looking through her travel trunk for something. At first when I tried to speak, nothing came out. I had to clear my throat and try again.

“Excuse me, Pumpkin,” I said. “Just one moment of your time…”

She didn’t look eager to stop what she was doing, but she left her trunk in disarray and came out into the hallway with me. I led her some distance down the corridor, and then turned to her and said:

“Pumpkin, I need to ask a favor.”

I waited for her to tell me she was happy to help, but she just stood with her eyes on me.

“I hope you won’t mind my asking-”

“Ask,” she said.

“The Minister and I are about to go for a walk. I’m going to take him to the old theater, and-”

“Why?”

“So that he and I can be alone.”