Arthur Golden - Memoirs of a Geisha

The Doctor and Arashino were both unable to attend. Nobu didn’t reply; but when the Baron pressed him, he said, “Baron, you don’t honestly think I’d go all the way to Hakone to look at cherry blossoms.”

“Oh, the blossoms are just an excuse to have a party,” said the Baron. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’ll have that Chairman of yours. He comes every year.”

I was surprised to feel flustered at the mention of the Chairman, for I’d been thinking of him on and off throughout the afternoon. I felt for a moment as if my secret had been exposed.

“It troubles me that none of you will come,” the Baron went on. “We were having such a nice evening until Mameha started talking about things she ought to have kept private. Well, Mameha, I have the proper punishment for you. You’re no longer invited to my party this year. What’s more, I want you to send Sayuri in your place.”

I thought the Baron was making a joke; but I must confess, I thought at once how lovely it would be to stroll with the Chairman through the grounds of a magnificent estate, without Nobu or Dr. Crab, or even Mameha nearby.

“It’s a fine idea, Baron,” said Mameha, “but sadly, Sayuri is busy with rehearsals.”

“Nonsense,” said the Baron. “I expect to see her there. Why do you have to defy me every single time I ask something of you?”

He really did look angry; and unfortunately, because he was so drunk, a good deal of saliva came spilling out of his mouth. He tried to wipe it away with the back of his hand, but ended up smearing it into the long black hairs of his beard.

“Isn’t there one thing I can ask of you that you won’t disregard?” he went on. “I want to see Sayuri in Hakone. You could just reply, ‘Yes, Baron,’ and be done with it.”

“Yes, Baron.”

“Fine,” said the Baron. He leaned back on his stool again, and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face clean.

I was very sorry for Mameha. But it would be an understatement to say I felt excited at the prospect of attending the Baron’s party. Every time I thought of it in the rickshaw back to Gion, I think my ears turned red. I was terribly afraid Mameha would notice, but she just stared out to the side, and never spoke a word until the end of our ride, when she turned to me and said, “Sayuri, you must be very careful in Hakone.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” I replied.

“Keep in mind that an apprentice on the point of having her mizuage is like a meal served on the table. No man will wish to eat it, if he hears a suggestion that some other man has taken a bite.”

I couldn’t quite look her in the eye after she said this. I knew perfectly well she was talking about the Baron.

At this time in my life I didn’t even know where Hakone was-though I soon learned that it was in eastern Japan, quite some distance from Kyoto. But I had a most agreeable feeling of importance the rest of that week, reminding myself that a man as prominent as the Baron had invited me to travel from Kyoto to attend a party. In fact, I had trouble keeping my excitement from showing when at last I took my seat in a lovely second-class compartment-with Mr. Itchoda, Mameha’s dresser, seated on the aisle to discourage anyone from trying to talk with me. I pretended to pass the time by reading a magazine, but in fact I was only turning the pages, for I was occupied instead with watching out of the corner of my eye as people who passed down the aisle slowed to look at me. I found myself enjoying the attention; but when we reached Shizuoka shortly after noon and I stood awaiting the train to Hakone, all at once I could feel something unpleasant welling up inside me. I’d spent the day keeping it veiled from my awareness, but now I saw in my mind much too clearly the image of myself at another time, standing on another platform, taking another train trip-this one with Mr. Bekku-on the day my sister and I were taken from our home. I’m ashamed to admit how hard I’d worked over the years to keep from thinking about Satsu, and my father and mother, and our tipsy house on the sea cliffs. I’d been like a child with my head in a bag. All I’d seen day after day was Gion, so much so that I’d come to think Gion was everything, and that the only thing that mattered in the world was Gion. But now that I was outside Kyoto, I could see that for most people life had nothing to do with Gion at all; and of course, I couldn’t stop from thinking of the other life I’d once led. Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.

Late the following morning I was picked up at the little inn overlooking Mount Fuji, and taken by one of the Baron’s motorcars to his summer house amid lovely woods at the edge of a lake. When we pulled into a circular drive and I stepped out wearing the full regalia of an apprentice geisha from Kyoto, many of the Baron’s guests turned to stare at me. Among them I spotted a number of women, some in kimono and some in Western-style dresses. Later I came to realize they were mostly Tokyo geisha-for we were only a few hours from Tokyo by train. Then the Baron himself appeared, striding up a path from the woods with several other men.

“Now, this is what we’ve all been waiting for!” he said. “This lovely thing is Sayuri from Gion, who will probably one day be ‘the great Sayuri from Gion.’ You’ll never see eyes like hers again, I can assure you. And just wait until you see the way she moves… I invited you here, Sayuri, so all the men could have a chance to look at you; so you have an important job. You must wander all around-inside the house, down by the lake, all through the woods, everywhere! Now go along and get working!”

I began to wander around the estate as the Baron had asked, past the cherry trees heavy with their blossoms, bowing here and there to the guests and trying not to seem too obvious about looking around for the Chairman. I made little headway, because every few steps some man or other would stop me and say something like, “My heavens! An apprentice geisha from Kyoto!” And then he would take out his camera and have someone snap a picture of us standing together, or else walk me along the lake to the little moon-viewing pavilion, or wherever, so his friends could have a look at me-just as he might have done with some prehistoric creature he’d captured in a net. Mameha had warned me that everyone would be fascinated with my appearance; because there’s nothing quite like an apprentice geisha from Gion. It’s true that in the better geisha districts of Tokyo, such as Shimbashi and Akasaka, a girl must master the arts if she expects to make her debut. But many of the Tokyo geisha at that time were very modern in their sensibilities, which is why some were walking around the Baron’s estate in Western-style clothing.

The Baron’s party seemed to go on and on. By midafternoon I’d practically given up any hope of finding the Chairman. I went into the house to look for a place to rest, but the very moment I stepped up into the entrance hall, I felt myself go numb. There he was, emerging from a tatami room in conversation with another man. They said good-bye to each other, and then the Chairman turned to me.

“Sayuri!” he said. “Now how did the Baron lure you here all the way from Kyoto? I didn’t even realize you were acquainted with him.”

I knew I ought to take my eyes off the Chairman, but it was like pulling nails from the wall. When I finally managed to do it, I gave him a bow and said: