Arthur Golden - Memoirs of a Geisha

Now that I knew Mameha would be spending the afternoon with her danna , I had a much better idea why the futon in her bedroom had been made up with fresh sheets.

I changed quickly into the clothing Mameha had set out for me-an underrobe of light green, and a kimono in russet and yellow with a design of pine trees at the hem. By this time one of Mameha’s maids was just returning from a nearby restaurant with a big lacquer box holding the Baron’s lunch. The foods inside it, on plates and bowls, were ready to be served just as in a restaurant. The largest was a flat lacquer dish with two grilled, salted ayu poised on their bellies as though they were swimming down the river together. To one side stood two tiny steamed crabs of the sort that are eaten whole. A trail of streaked salt curved along the black lacquer to suggest the sand they had crossed.

A few minutes later the Baron arrived. I peeked out through a crack at the edge of the sliding door and saw him standing just outside on the landing while Mameha untied his shoes. My first impression was of an almond or some other kind of nut, because he was small and very round, with a certain kind of heaviness, particularly around his eyes. Beards were very fashionable at that time, and the Baron wore a number of long, soft hairs on his face that I’m sure were supposed to resemble a beard, but looked to me more like some sort of garnish, or like the thin strips of seaweed that are sometimes sprinkled onto a bowl of rice.

“Oh, Mameha… I’m exhausted,” I heard him say. “How I hate these long train rides!”

Finally he stepped out of his shoes and crossed the room with brisk little steps. Earlier in the morning, Mameha’s dresser had brought an overstuffed chair and a Persian rug from a storage closet across the hall and arranged them near the window. The Baron seated himself there; but as for what happened afterward, I can’t say, because Mameha’s maid came over to me and bowed in apology before giving the door a gentle push to slide it the rest of the way closed.

I stayed in Mameha’s little dressing room for an hour or more while the maid went in and out serving the Baron’s lunch. I heard the murmur of Mameha’s voice occasionally, but mainly the Baron did the talking. At one point I thought he was angry with Mameha, but finally I overheard enough to understand that he was only complaining about a man he’d met the day before, who’d asked him personal questions that made him angry. At last when the meal was over, the maid carried out cups of tea, and Mameha asked for me. I went out to kneel before the Baron, feeling very nervous-for I’d never met an aristocrat before. I bowed and begged his favor, and thought perhaps he would say something to me. But he seemed to be looking around the apartment, hardly taking notice of me at all.

“Mameha,” he said, “what happened to that scroll you used to have in the alcove? It was an ink painting of something or other-much better than the thing you have there now.”

“The scroll there now, Baron, is a poem in Matsudaira Koichi’s own hand. It has hung in that alcove nearly four years.”

“Four years? Wasn’t the ink painting there when I came last month?”

“It wasn’t… but in any case, the Baron hasn’t honored me with a visit in nearly three months.”

“No wonder I’m feeling so exhausted. I’m always saying I ought to spend more time in Kyoto, but… well, one thing leads to another. Let’s have a look at that scroll I’m talking about. I can’t believe it’s been four years since I’ve seen it.”

Mameha summoned her maid and asked her to bring the scroll from the closet. I was given the job of unrolling it. My hands were trembling so much that it slipped from my grasp when I held it up for the Baron to have a look.

“Careful, girl!” he said.

I was so embarrassed that even after I’d bowed and apologized, I couldn’t help glancing at the Baron again and again to see if he seemed angry with me. While I held the scroll up, he seemed to look at me more than at it. But it wasn’t a reproachful stare. After a while I realized it was curiosity, which only made me feel more self-conscious.

“This scroll is much more attractive than the one you have in the alcove now, Mameha,” he said. But he still seemed to be looking at me, and made no effort to look away when I glanced at him. “Calligraphy is so old-fashioned anyway,” he went on. “You ought to take that thing in the alcove down, and put up this landscape painting again.”

Mameha had no choice but to do as the Baron suggested; she even managed to look as if she thought it was a fine idea. When the maid and I had finished hanging the painting and rolling up the other scroll, Mameha called me over to pour tea for the Baron. To look at us from above, we formed a little triangle-Mameha, the Baron, and me. But of course, Mameha and the Baron did all the talking; as for me, I did nothing more useful than to kneel there, feeling as much out of my element as a pigeon in a nest of falcons. To think I’d ever imagined myself worthy of entertaining the sorts of men Mameha entertained-not only grand aristocrats like the Baron, but the Chairman as well. Even the theater director from several nights earlier… he’d hardly so much as glanced at me. I won’t say I’d felt worthy of the Baron’s company earlier; but now I couldn’t help realizing once again that I was nothing more than an ignorant girl from a fishing village. Hatsumomo, if she had her way, would keep me down so low, every man who visited Gion would remain forever out of my reach. For all I knew I might never see Baron Matsunaga again, and never come upon the Chairman. Wasn’t it possible Mameha would realize the hopelessness of my cause and leave me to languish in the okiya like a little-worn kimono that had seemed so lovely in the shop? The Baron-who I was beginning to realize was something of a nervous man-leaned over to scratch at a mark on the surface of Mameha’s table, and made me think of my father on the last day I’d seen him, digging grime out of ruts in the wood with his fingernails. I wondered what he would think if he could see me kneeling here in Mameha’s apartment, wearing a robe more expensive than anything he’d ever laid eyes on, with a baron across from me and one of the most famous geisha in all of Japan at my side. I was hardly worthy of these surroundings. And then I became aware of all the magnificent silk wrapped about my body, and had the feeling I might drown in beauty. At that moment, beauty itself struck me as a kind of painful melancholy.

One afternoon as Mameha and I were strolling across the Shijo Avenue Bridge to pick up some new hair ornaments in the Pontocho district-for Mameha never liked the shops selling hair ornaments in Gion-she came to a stop suddenly. An old tugboat was puffing its way beneath the bridge; I thought Mameha was just concerned about the black fumes, but after a moment she turned to me with an expression I couldn’t quite understand.

“What is it, Mameha-san?” I asked.

“I may as well tell you, because you’ll only hear it from someone else,” she said. “Your little friend Pumpkin has just won the apprentice’s award. It’s expected she’ll win it a second time as well.”

Mameha was referring to an award for the apprentice who’d earned the most during the previous month. It may seem strange that such an award existed, but there’s a very good reason. Encouraging apprentices to earn as much as possible helps shape them into the sort of geisha who will be most appreciated in Gion-that is to say, the ones who will earn a lot not only for themselves but for everyone else too.