one back and forth between us.
“He said, ‘You’re an apprentice. What does it matter what you sleep on? When you are accepting clients, you will buy beautiful bedding.’ He wrote down the cost in a column beside my name. ‘This is your account.’ But there were so many charges against it already! ‘I just got here. What are those?’ I asked him. He ticked them off. ‘A month of food. The bedding. Tips for the bearers who brought you here.’ Do you get that, Ei? I paid for my own trip to jail.”
She laughed at her story, and I watched her face to see if it still split up the way it did when I first saw her. It did.
“When I came here, I didn’t understand money. In my home the women didn’t handle coins. Except, maybe, when we sneaked out to buy pictures.”
I handled the coins my father paid no attention to: mon, momme. I pointed to the ones in her palm. “I know some,” I said. There was a squared one. The large brown ones had a hole; those were the ones the moneylenders kept tied in long laces, where they sat at the foot of the Ryogoku Bridge.
“You can help me, then. You worldly thing.”
I was delighted.
The upstairs was one large space around the staircase. In cubicles between thin screens, the courtesans slept; their doors were curtained. I could hear their voices. When one screen opened, I saw a small cooking stove and a teapot and some folded bedding. There was the room of the great oiran Hana-ogi; there was the room of the second-best, Fumi; here was the small room where Shino lived, beside her.
A rumpled-looking man with greasy hair emerged. He looked at Shino frankly and she lowered her eyes. She was an apprentice, under sixteen and off limits, for now.
As he passed, a courtesan appeared behind him. When he turned at the stairwell, their eyes met. They held each other’s gaze as he descended. The courtesan gestured to her heart and sighed. The man’s head disappeared from the stairwell. His footsteps passed the desk; there was the clink of coins. The courtesan’s lip curled. “I ’ope your balls wither an’ your dick falls off an’ you never, ever show up ’ere again!” She whirled and was gone, behind her curtain.
Two other girls hung over the stairwell. “Headz up! He’z comin’!”
“He’z not!”
“Iz too.”
“Znot!”
“Whadda dra-ag! Why duzn he go ?”
“He’z in love!”
“Shee’z good. Super good.”
Everyone giggled.
The courtesans crept to the center window overlooking the street and watched as the man halted halfway down the front steps. He looked up to the second story.
“Now he’z goin’. Look.”
“Farewell, my sweet potato. My little shrimp. My dumpling—”
“Takao! Get out there,” shouted the housekeeper up the stairs, “and see him off.”
The courtesan came out of her room again, pulling her robe around her. She leaned out the open balcony. “The minutes will drag till I see you again,” she lisped. “I’m, like, faintin’ with pain to see you go.” The last was a bit halfhearted.
The other girls groaned and elbowed each other. The housekeeper thumped up the stairs and hit one of them smartly on the side of her head.
“Takao! A little creativity, pulleez.”
“So sorry. I yam trying, but I’m zaus ted. I never sleep till it’z day, and then it’z so noi-zy!”
A cross-looking beauty stepped out from behind a screen. When she saw us her face became kinder.
“Oh, Shino, there yu are. C’n yu come and make me some tea and help me clean up? Come . . . But whooz that chi-yuld ?”
So this was Fumi, the second-best. I had read about her in the saiken. I had seen her picture, or what passed for her picture. I had seen her parading on the boulevard enfolded in her mammoth robes. She looked thin and hunched.
“This is Ei!” pronounced Shino in her bell-like tones, pushing me forward. “She’s the daughter of that artist Hokusai who is painting along the boulevard. I said she could come with me.”
“How
“He said, ‘You’re an apprentice. What does it matter what you sleep on? When you are accepting clients, you will buy beautiful bedding.’ He wrote down the cost in a column beside my name. ‘This is your account.’ But there were so many charges against it already! ‘I just got here. What are those?’ I asked him. He ticked them off. ‘A month of food. The bedding. Tips for the bearers who brought you here.’ Do you get that, Ei? I paid for my own trip to jail.”
She laughed at her story, and I watched her face to see if it still split up the way it did when I first saw her. It did.
“When I came here, I didn’t understand money. In my home the women didn’t handle coins. Except, maybe, when we sneaked out to buy pictures.”
I handled the coins my father paid no attention to: mon, momme. I pointed to the ones in her palm. “I know some,” I said. There was a squared one. The large brown ones had a hole; those were the ones the moneylenders kept tied in long laces, where they sat at the foot of the Ryogoku Bridge.
“You can help me, then. You worldly thing.”
I was delighted.
The upstairs was one large space around the staircase. In cubicles between thin screens, the courtesans slept; their doors were curtained. I could hear their voices. When one screen opened, I saw a small cooking stove and a teapot and some folded bedding. There was the room of the great oiran Hana-ogi; there was the room of the second-best, Fumi; here was the small room where Shino lived, beside her.
A rumpled-looking man with greasy hair emerged. He looked at Shino frankly and she lowered her eyes. She was an apprentice, under sixteen and off limits, for now.
As he passed, a courtesan appeared behind him. When he turned at the stairwell, their eyes met. They held each other’s gaze as he descended. The courtesan gestured to her heart and sighed. The man’s head disappeared from the stairwell. His footsteps passed the desk; there was the clink of coins. The courtesan’s lip curled. “I ’ope your balls wither an’ your dick falls off an’ you never, ever show up ’ere again!” She whirled and was gone, behind her curtain.
Two other girls hung over the stairwell. “Headz up! He’z comin’!”
“He’z not!”
“Iz too.”
“Znot!”
“Whadda dra-ag! Why duzn he go ?”
“He’z in love!”
“Shee’z good. Super good.”
Everyone giggled.
The courtesans crept to the center window overlooking the street and watched as the man halted halfway down the front steps. He looked up to the second story.
“Now he’z goin’. Look.”
“Farewell, my sweet potato. My little shrimp. My dumpling—”
“Takao! Get out there,” shouted the housekeeper up the stairs, “and see him off.”
The courtesan came out of her room again, pulling her robe around her. She leaned out the open balcony. “The minutes will drag till I see you again,” she lisped. “I’m, like, faintin’ with pain to see you go.” The last was a bit halfhearted.
The other girls groaned and elbowed each other. The housekeeper thumped up the stairs and hit one of them smartly on the side of her head.
“Takao! A little creativity, pulleez.”
“So sorry. I yam trying, but I’m zaus ted. I never sleep till it’z day, and then it’z so noi-zy!”
A cross-looking beauty stepped out from behind a screen. When she saw us her face became kinder.
“Oh, Shino, there yu are. C’n yu come and make me some tea and help me clean up? Come . . . But whooz that chi-yuld ?”
So this was Fumi, the second-best. I had read about her in the saiken. I had seen her picture, or what passed for her picture. I had seen her parading on the boulevard enfolded in her mammoth robes. She looked thin and hunched.
“This is Ei!” pronounced Shino in her bell-like tones, pushing me forward. “She’s the daughter of that artist Hokusai who is painting along the boulevard. I said she could come with me.”
“How
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