Memoirs of a Geisha (16 page)

“Chiyo is here, ma’am!” she cried.

Then I heard Mameha call from the back room, “All right, thank you, Tatsumi!”

The young woman led me to a table by an open window, where I knelt on one of the cushions and tried not to look nervous. Very shortly another maid came out with a cup of tea for me—because as it turned out, Mameha had not one maid, but two. I certainly wasn’t expecting to be served tea; and in fact, nothing like this had happened to me since dinner at Mr. Tanaka’s house years earlier. I bowed to thank her and took a few sips, so as not to seem rude. Afterward I found myself sitting for a long while with nothing to do but listen to the sound of water passing over the knee-high cascade in the Shirakawa Stream outside.

Mameha’s apartment wasn’t large, but it was extremely elegant, with beautiful tatami mats that were obviously new, for they had a lovely yellow-green sheen and smelled richly of straw. If you’ve ever looked closely enough at a tatami mat, you’d notice that the border around it is edged in fabric, usually just a strip of dark cotton or linen; but these were edged in a strip of silk with a pattern of green and gold. Not far away in an alcove hung a scroll written in a beautiful hand, which turned out to be a gift to Mameha from the famous calligrapher Matsudaira Koichi. Beneath it, on the wooden base of the alcove, an arrangement of blossoming dogwood branches rose up out of a shallow dish that was irregular in shape with a cracked glaze of the deepest black. I found it very peculiar, but actually it had been presented to Mameha by none other than Yoshida Sakuhei, the great master of the
setoguro
style of ceramics who became a Living National Treasure in the years after World War II.

At last Mameha came out from the back room, dressed exquisitely in a cream kimono with a water design at the hem. I turned and bowed very low on the mats while she drifted over to the table; and when she was there, she arranged herself on her knees opposite me, took a sip of tea the maid served to her, and then said this:

“Now . . . Chiyo, isn’t it? Why don’t you tell me how you managed to get out of your okiya this afternoon? I’m sure Mrs. Nitta doesn’t like it when her maids attend to personal business in the middle of the day.”

I certainly hadn’t expected this sort of question. In fact, I couldn’t think of anything at all to say, even though I knew it would be rude not to respond. Mameha just sipped at her tea and looked at me with a benign expression on her perfect, oval face. Finally she said:

“You think I’m trying to scold you. But I’m only interested to know if you’ve gotten yourself into trouble by coming here.”

I was very relieved to hear her say this. “No, ma’am,” I said. “I’m supposed to be on an errand fetching Kabuki magazines and shamisen strings.”

“Oh, well, I’ve got plenty of those,” she said, and then called her maid over and told her to fetch some and put them on the table before me. “When you go back to your okiya, take them with you, and no one will wonder where you’ve been. Now, tell me something. When I came to your okiya to pay my respects, I saw another girl your age.”

“That must have been Pumpkin. With a very round face?”

Mameha asked why I called her Pumpkin, and when I explained, she gave a laugh.

“This Pumpkin girl,” Mameha said, “how do she and Hatsumomo get along?”

“Well, ma’am,” I said, “I suppose Hatsumomo pays her no more attention than she would a leaf that has fluttered into the courtyard.”

“How very poetic . . . a leaf that has fluttered into the courtyard. Is that the way Hatsumomo treats you as well?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the truth is, I wasn’t sure what to say. I knew very little about Mameha, and it would be improper to speak ill of Hatsumomo to someone outside the okiya. Mameha seemed to sense what I was thinking, for she said to me:

“You needn’t answer. I know perfectly well how Hatsumomo treats you: about like a serpent treats its next meal, I should think.”

“If I may ask, ma’am, who has told you?”

“No one has told me,” she said. “Hatsumomo and I have known each other since I was a girl of six and she was nine. When you’ve watched a creature misbehaving itself over such a long period, there’s no secret in knowing what it will do next.”

“I don’t know what I did to make her hate me so,” I said.

“Hatsumomo is no harder to understand than a cat. A cat is happy so long as it’s lying in the sun with no other cats around. But if it should think someone else is poking around its meal dish . . . Has anyone told you the story of how Hatsumomo drove young Hatsuoki out of Gion?”

I told her no one had.

“What an attractive girl Hatsuoki was,” Mameha began. “And a very dear friend of mine. She and your Hatsumomo were sisters. That is to say, they’d both been trained by the same geisha—in this case, the great Tomihatsu, who was already an old woman at the time. Your Hatsumomo never liked young Hatsuoki, and when they both became apprentice geisha, she couldn’t bear having her as a rival. So she began to spread a rumor around Gion that Hatsuoki had been caught in a public alleyway one night doing something very improper with a young policeman. Of course there was no truth in it. If Hatsumomo had simply gone around telling the story, no one in Gion would have believed her. People knew how jealous she felt about Hatsuoki. So here’s what she did: whenever she came upon someone very drunk—a geisha, or a maid, or even a man visiting Gion, it didn’t matter—she whispered the story about Hatsuoki in such a way that the next day the person who’d heard it didn’t remember that Hatsumomo had been the source. Soon poor Hatsuoki’s reputation was so damaged, it was an easy matter for Hatsumomo to put a few more of her little tricks to use and drive her out.”

I felt a strange relief at hearing that someone besides me had been treated monstrously by Hatsumomo.

“She can’t bear to have rivals,” Mameha went on. “That’s the reason she treats you as she does.”

“Surely Hatsumomo doesn’t see me as a rival, ma’am,” I said. “I’m no more a rival to her than a puddle is a rival to the ocean.”

“Not in the teahouses of Gion, perhaps. But within your okiya . . . Don’t you find it odd that Mrs. Nitta has never adopted Hatsumomo as her daughter? The Nitta okiya must be the wealthiest in Gion without an heir. By adopting Hatsumomo, not only would Mrs. Nitta solve that problem, but all of Hatsumomo’s earnings would then be kept by the okiya, without a single sen of it paid out to Hatsumomo herself. And Hatsumomo is a very successful geisha! You’d think Mrs. Nitta, who’s as fond of money as anyone, would have adopted her a long time ago. She must have a very good reason not to do so, don’t you think?”

I’d certainly never thought of any of this before, but after listening to Mameha, I felt certain I knew exactly what the reason was.

“Adopting Hatsumomo,” I said, “would be like releasing the tiger from its cage.”

“It certainly would. I’m sure Mrs. Nitta knows perfectly well what sort of adopted daughter Hatsumomo would turn out to be—the sort that finds a way to drive the Mother out. In any case, Hatsumomo has no more patience than a child. I don’t think she could keep even a cricket alive in a wicker cage. After a year or two, she’d probably sell the okiya’s collection of kimono and retire. That, young Chiyo, is the reason Hatsumomo hates you so very much. The Pumpkin girl, I don’t imagine Hatsumomo feels too worried about Mrs. Nitta adopting her.”

“Mameha-san,” I said, “I’m sure you recall the kimono of yours that was ruined . . .”

“You’re going to tell me you’re the girl who put ink on it.”

“Well . . . yes, ma’am. And even though I’m sure you know Hatsumomo was behind it, I do hope that someday I’ll be able to show how sorry I am for what happened.”

Mameha gazed at me a long while. I had no notion what she was thinking until she said:

“You may apologize, if you wish.”

I backed away from the table and bowed low to the mats; but before I had a chance to say anything at all, Mameha interrupted me.

“That would be a lovely bow, if only you were a farmer visiting Kyoto for the first time,” she said. “But since you want to appear cultivated, you must do it like this. Look at me; move farther away from the table. All right, there you are on your knees; now straighten out your arms and put your fingertips onto the mats in front of you. Just the tips of your fingers; not your whole hand. And you mustn’t spread your fingers at all; I can still see space between them. Very well, put them on the mats . . . hands together . . . there! Now that looks lovely. Bow as low as you can, but keep your neck perfectly straight, don’t let your head drop that way. And for heaven’s sake, don’t put any weight onto your hands or you’ll look like a man! That’s fine. Now you may try it again.”

So I bowed to her once more, and told her again how deeply sorry I was for having played a role in ruining her beautiful kimono.

“It was a beautiful kimono, wasn’t it?” she said. “Well, now we’ll forget about it. I want to know why you’re no longer training to be a geisha. Your teachers at the school tell me you were doing well right up until the moment you stopped taking lessons. You ought to be on your way to a successful career in Gion. Why would Mrs. Nitta stop your training?”

I told her about my debts, including the kimono and the brooch Hatsumomo had accused me of stealing. Even after I was finished, she went on looking coldly at me. Finally she said:

“There’s something more you’re not telling me. Considering your debts, I’d expect Mrs. Nitta to feel only
more
determined to see you succeed as a geisha. You’ll certainly never repay her by working as a maid.”

When I heard this, I must have lowered my eyes in shame without realizing it; for in an instant Mameha seemed able to read my very thoughts.

“You tried to run away, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I had a sister. We’d been separated but we managed to find each other. We were supposed to meet on a certain night to run away together . . . but then I fell off the roof and broke my arm.”

“The roof! You must be joking. Did you go up there to take a last look at Kyoto?”

I explained to her why I’d done it. “I know it was foolish of me,” I said afterward. “Now Mother won’t invest another sen in my training, since she’s afraid I may run away again.”

“There’s more to it than that. A girl who runs away makes the mistress of her okiya look bad. That’s the way people think here in Gion. ‘My goodness, she can’t even keep her own maids from running away!’ That sort of thing. But what will you do with yourself now, Chiyo? You don’t look to me like a girl who wants to live her life as a maid.”

“Oh, ma’am . . . I’d give anything to undo my mistakes,” I said. “It’s been more than two years now. I’ve waited so patiently in the hopes that some opportunity might come along.”

“Waiting patiently doesn’t suit you. I can see you have a great deal of water in your personality. Water never waits. It changes shape and flows around things, and finds the secret paths no one else has thought about—the tiny hole through the roof or the bottom of a box. There’s no doubt it’s the most versatile of the five elements. It can wash away earth; it can put out fire; it can wear a piece of metal down and sweep it away. Even wood, which is its natural complement, can’t survive without being nurtured by water. And yet, you haven’t drawn on those strengths in living your life, have you?”

“Well, actually, ma’am, water flowing was what gave me the idea of escaping over the roof.”

“I’m sure you’re a clever girl, Chiyo, but I don’t think that was your cleverest moment. Those of us with water in our personalities don’t pick where we’ll flow to. All we can do is flow where the landscape of our lives carries us.”

“I suppose I’m like a river that has come up against a dam, and that dam is Hatsumomo.”

“Yes, probably that’s true,” she said, looking at me calmly. “But rivers sometimes wash dams away.”

From the moment of my arrival in her apartment, I’d been wondering why Mameha had summoned me. I’d already decided that it had nothing to do with the kimono; but it wasn’t until now that my eyes finally opened to what had been right before me all along. Mameha must have made up her mind to use me in seeking her revenge on Hatsumomo. It was obvious to me they were rivals; why else would Hatsumomo have destroyed Mameha’s kimono two years earlier? No doubt Mameha had been waiting for just the right moment, and now, it seemed, she’d found it. She was going to use me in the role of a weed that chokes out other plants in the garden. She wasn’t simply looking for revenge; unless I was mistaken, she wanted to be rid of Hatsumomo completely.

“In any case,” Mameha went on, “nothing will change until Mrs. Nitta lets you resume your training.”

“I don’t have much hope,” I said, “of ever persuading her.”

“Don’t worry just now about persuading her. Worry about finding the proper time to do it.”

I’d certainly learned a great many lessons from life already; but I knew nothing at all about patience—not even enough to understand what Mameha meant about finding the proper time. I told her that if she could suggest what I ought to say, I would be eager to speak with Mother tomorrow.

“Now, Chiyo, stumbling along in life is a poor way to proceed. You must learn how to find the time and place for things. A mouse who wishes to fool the cat doesn’t simply scamper out of its hole when it feels the slightest urge. Don’t you know how to check your almanac?”

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen an almanac. To open one and flip through the pages, you’d find it crammed with the most complicated charts and obscure characters. Geisha are a very superstitious lot, as I’ve said. Auntie and Mother, and even the cook and the maids, scarcely made a decision as simple as buying a new pair of shoes without consulting an almanac. But I’d never checked one in my life.

“It’s no wonder, all the misfortunes you’ve experienced,” Mameha told me. “Do you mean to say that you tried to run away without checking if the day was auspicious?”

I told her my sister had made the decision when we would leave. Mameha wanted to know if I could remember the date, which I managed to do after looking at a calendar with her; it had been the last Tuesday in October 1929, only a few months after Satsu and I were taken from our home.