Memoirs of a Geisha (40 page)

*  *  *

As the afternoon progressed I began to feel dizzy, with a strange buzzing in my head, and soon made my way to Mameha's apartment to talk with her. I sat at her table sipping at my chilled barley tea—for we were in the heat of summer—and trying not to let her see how I felt. Reaching the Chairman was the one hope that had motivated me all through my training. If my life would be nothing more than Nobu, and dance recitals, and evening after evening in Gion, I couldn't think why I had struggled so.

Already Mameha had waited a long while to hear why I'd come, but when I set my glass of tea down on the table, I was afraid my voice would crack if I tried to speak. I took a few more moments to compose myself, and then finally swallowed and managed to say, “Mother tells me that within a month it's likely I'll have a
danna
.”

“Yes, I know. And the
danna
will be Nobu Toshikazu.”

By this time I was concentrating so hard on holding myself back from crying, I could no longer speak at all.

“Nobu-san is a good man,” she said, “and very fond of you.”

“Yes, but, Mameha-san . . . I don't know how to say it . . . this was never what I imagined!”

“What do you mean? Nobu-san has always treated you kindly.”

“But, Mameha-san, I don't want kindness!”

“Don't you? I thought we all wanted kindness. Perhaps what you mean is that you want something more than kindness. And that is something you're in no position to ask.”

Of course, Mameha was quite right. When I heard these words, my tears simply broke through the fragile wall that had held them, and with a terrible feeling of shame, I laid my head upon the table and let them drain out of me. Only when I'd composed myself afterward did Mameha speak.

“What did you expect, Sayuri?” she asked.

“Something besides this!”

“I understand you may find Nobu difficult to look at, perhaps. But—”

“Mameha-san, it isn't that. Nobu-san is a good man, as you say. It's just that—”

“It's just that you want your destiny to be like Shizue's. Is that it?”

Shizue, though she wasn't an especially popular geisha, was considered by everyone in Gion to be the most fortunate of women. For thirty years she'd been the mistress of a pharmacist. He wasn't a wealthy man, and she wasn't a beauty; but you could have looked all over Kyoto and not found two people who enjoyed each other's company as they did. As usual, Mameha had come closer to the truth than I wanted to admit.

“You're eighteen years old, Sayuri,” she went on. “Neither you nor I can know your destiny. You may never know it! Destiny isn't always like a party at the end of the evening. Sometimes it's nothing more than struggling through life from day to day.”

“But, Mameha-san, how cruel!”

“Yes, it is cruel,” she said. “But none of us can escape destiny.”

“Please, it isn't a matter of escaping my destiny, or anything of that sort. Nobu-san is a good man, just as you say. I know I should feel nothing but gratitude for his interest, but . . . there are so many things I've dreamed about.”

“And you're afraid that once Nobu has touched you, after that they can never be? Really, Sayuri, what did you think life as a geisha would be like? We don't become geisha so our lives will be satisfying. We become geisha because we have no other choice.”

“Oh, Mameha-san . . . please . . . have I really been so foolish to keep my hopes alive that perhaps one day—”

“Young girls hope all sorts of foolish things, Sayuri. Hopes are like hair ornaments. Girls want to wear too many of them. When they become old women they look silly wearing even one.”

I was determined not to lose control of my feelings again. I managed to hold in all my tears except the few that squeezed out of me like sap from a tree.

“Mameha-san,” I said, “do you have . . . strong feelings for the Baron?”

“The Baron has been a good
danna
to me.”

“Yes, of course that's true, but do you have feelings for him as a man? I mean, some geisha do have feelings for their
danna
, don't they?”

“The Baron's relationship with me is convenient for him, and very beneficial to me. If our dealings were tinged with passion . . . well, passion can quickly slip over into jealousy, or even hatred. I certainly can't afford to have a powerful man upset with me. I've struggled for years to carve out a place for myself in Gion, but if a powerful man makes up his mind to destroy me, well, he'll do it! If you want to be successful, Sayuri, you must be sure that men's feelings remain always under
your
control. The Baron may be hard to take at times, but he has plenty of money, and he's not afraid to spend it. And he doesn't want children, thank heavens. Nobu will certainly be a challenge for you. He knows his own mind much too well. I won't be surprised if he expects more of you than the Baron has expected of me.”

“But, Mameha-san, what about your own feelings? I mean, hasn't there ever been a man . . .”

I wanted to ask if there had ever been a man who brought out feelings of passion in her. But I could see that her irritation with me, if it had been only a bud until then, had burst into full bloom now. She drew herself up with her hands in her lap; I think she was on the point of rebuking me, but I apologized for my rudeness at once, and she settled back again.

“You and Nobu have an
en
, Sayuri, and you can't escape it,” she said.

I knew even then that she was right. An
en
is a karmic bond lasting a lifetime. Nowadays many people seem to believe their lives are entirely a matter of choice; but in my day we viewed ourselves as pieces of clay that forever show the fingerprints of everyone who has touched them. Nobu's touch had made a deeper impression on me than most. No one could tell me whether he would be my ultimate destiny, but I had always sensed the
en
between us. Somewhere in the landscape of my life Nobu would always be present. But could it really be that of all the lessons I'd learned, the hardest one lay just ahead of me? Would I really have to take each of my hopes and put them away where no one would ever see them again, where not even I would ever see them?

“Go back to the okiya, Sayuri,” Mameha told me. “Prepare for the evening ahead of you. There's nothing like work for getting over a disappointment.”

I looked up at her with the idea of making one last plea, but when I saw the expression on her face, I thought better of it. I can't say what she was thinking; but she seemed to be peering into nothingness with her perfect oval face creased in the corners of her eyes and mouth from strain. And then she let out a heavy breath, and gazed down into her teacup with what I took as a look of bitterness.

*  *  *

A woman living in a grand house may pride herself on all her lovely things; but the moment she hears the crackle of fire she decides very quickly which are the few she values most. In the days after Mameha and I had spoken, I certainly came to feel that my life was burning down around me; and yet when I struggled to find even a single thing that would still matter to me after Nobu had become my
danna
, I'm sorry to say that I failed. One evening while I was kneeling at a table in the Ichiriki Teahouse, trying not to think too much about my feelings of misery, I had a sudden thought of a child lost in the snowy woods; and when I looked up at the white-haired men I was entertaining, they looked so much like snowcapped trees all around me that I felt for one horrifying moment I might be the sole living human in all the world.

The only parties at which I managed to convince myself that my life might still have some purpose, however small, were the ones attended by military men. Already in 1938, we'd all grown accustomed to daily reports about the war in Manchuria; and we were reminded every day of our troops overseas by things like the so-called Rising Sun Lunch Box—which was a pickled plum in the center of a box of rice, looking like the Japanese flag. For several generations, army and navy officers had come to Gion to relax. But now they began to tell us, with watery eyes after their seventh or eighth cup of sake, that nothing kept their spirits up so much as their visits to Gion. Probably this was the sort of thing military officers say to the women they talk with. But the idea that I—who was nothing more than a young girl from the seashore—might truly be contributing something important to the nation . . . I won't pretend these parties did anything to lessen my suffering; but they did help remind me just how selfish my suffering really was.

*  *  *

A few weeks passed, and then one evening in a hallway at the Ichiriki, Mameha suggested the time had come to collect on her bet with Mother. I'm sure you'll recall that the two of them had wagered about whether my debts would be repaid before I was twenty. As it turned out, of course, they'd been repaid already though I was only eighteen. “Now that you've turned your collar,” Mameha said to me, “I can't see any reason to wait longer.”

This is what she said, but I think the truth was more complicated. Mameha knew that Mother hated settling debts, and would hate settling them still more when the stakes went higher. My earnings would go up considerably after I took a
danna
; Mother was certain to grow only more protective of the income. I'm sure Mameha thought it best to collect what she was owed as soon as possible, and worry about future earnings in the future.

Several days afterward, I was summoned downstairs to the reception room of our okiya to find Mameha and Mother across the table from each other, chatting about the summer weather. Beside Mameha was a gray-haired woman named Mrs. Okada, whom I'd met a number of times. She was mistress of the okiya where Mameha had once lived, and she still took care of Mameha's accounting in exchange for a portion of the income. I'd never seen her look more serious, peering down at the table with no interest in the conversation at all.

“There you are!” Mother said to me. “Your older sister has kindly come to visit, and has brought Mrs. Okada with her. You certainly owe them the courtesy of joining us.”

Mrs. Okada spoke up, with her eyes still on the tabletop. “Mrs. Nitta, as Mameha may have mentioned on the telephone, this is more a business call than a social call. There's no need for Sayuri to join us. I'm sure she has other things to do.”

“I won't have her showing disrespect to the two of you,” Mother replied. “She'll join us at the table for the few minutes you're here.”

So I arranged myself beside Mother, and the maid came in to serve tea. Afterward Mameha said, “You must be very proud, Mrs. Nitta, of how well your daughter is doing. Her fortunes have surpassed expectations! Wouldn't you agree?”

“Well now, what do I know about
your
expectations, Mameha-san?” said Mother. After this she clenched her teeth and gave one of her peculiar laughs, looking from one of us to the other to be sure we appreciated her cleverness. No one laughed with her, and Mrs. Okada just adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. Finally Mother added, “As for my own expectations, I certainly wouldn't say Sayuri has surpassed them.”

“When we first discussed her prospects a number of years ago,” Mameha said, “I had the impression you didn't think much of her. You were reluctant even to have me take on her training.”

“I wasn't sure it was wise to put Sayuri's future in the hands of someone outside the okiya, if you'll forgive me,” said Mother. “We do have our Hatsumomo, you know.”

“Oh, come now, Mrs. Nitta!” Mameha said with a laugh. “Hatsumomo would have strangled the poor girl before she'd have trained her!”

“I admit Hatsumomo can be difficult. But when you spot a girl like Sayuri with something a little different, you have to be sure to make the right decisions at the right times—such as the arrangement you and I made, Mameha-san. I expect you've come here today to settle our account?”

“Mrs. Okada has been kind enough to write up the figures,” Mameha replied. “I'd be grateful if you would have a look at them.”

Mrs. Okada straightened her glasses and took an accounting book from a bag at her knee. Mameha and I sat in silence while she opened it on the table and explained her columns of figures to Mother.

“These figures for Sayuri's earnings over the past year,” Mother interrupted. “My goodness, I only wish we'd been so fortunate as you seem to think! They're higher even than the total earnings for our okiya.”

“Yes, the numbers are most impressive,” Mrs. Okada said, “but I do believe they are accurate. I've kept careful track through the records of the Gion Registry Office.”

Mother clenched her teeth and laughed at this, I suppose because she was embarrassed at having been caught in her lie. “Perhaps I haven't watched the accounts as carefully as I should have,” she said.

After ten or fifteen minutes the two women agreed on a figure representing how much I'd earned since my debut. Mrs. Okada took a small abacus from her bag and made a few calculations, writing down numbers on a blank page of the account book. At last she wrote down a final figure and underscored it. “Here, then, is the amount Mameha-san is entitled to receive.”

“Considering how helpful she has been to our Sayuri,” Mother said, “I'm sure Mameha-san deserves even more. Unfortunately, according to our arrangements, Mameha agreed to take half of what a geisha in her position might usually take, until after Sayuri had repaid her debts. Now that the debts are repaid, Mameha is of course entitled to the other half, so that she will have earned the full amount.”

“My understanding is that Mameha did agree to take half wages,” Mrs. Okada said, “but was ultimately to be paid double. This is why she agreed to take a risk. If Sayuri had failed to repay her debts, Mameha would have received nothing more than half wages. But Sayuri has succeeded, and Mameha is entitled to double.”