kind yu are, Shino,” said Fumi, looking me over absently and putting a hand on my head. “I fear it will only do yu harm. But the urchin can come too.”
I sat on the floor.
Fumi had a low black lacquer chest and two round mirrors on handles. Holding one in each hand, she looked this way and that to see the back of her head. “Need that hairdresser again. Too bad I canna ’ford it.” She had a small brush, which she offered Shino, instructing her to powder her neck. Then she gave Shino a hairpin to tuck up the hairs that had escaped and fallen onto her nape.
“Your old man’z an artist? We usta have one here watchin’ our every move, ” said Fumi. “We were, like, pozen all the time. He watched how we dressed and when we played our music and when we looked at the moon—evrythin’. But he duzn come here anymore. Maybe he’z, like, scared he’ll get fined or go to jail”—here her face became tragic—“or end up on the White Sands or even, like, banished. Can you ’magine? Jus’ for painting us. It’z ’cause we’re so evil. ” She raised her eyebrows at me. “So here I am—all in my glory—and whooz to see? Only these yobs.”
“You’re beautiful anyway,” said Shino.
We were all gazing in the mirrors, as if we couldn’t look directly at her face. From where I sat the mirror was too bright, reflecting the sun. I couldn’t see her at all.
“I know,” said Fumi, looking contentedly in the bronze circle. She moved aside. Now I could see my own face behind hers. It was an awful sight. “But beauty’z not everything.”
“You think so?” Shino’s face was unreadable.
“Oh, yeah. Men say they wan’ beauty,” Fumi said. “They dream aboudit; they pay a fortune. But what they really wan’ is kindness. Yu’ll do fine in here ’f yu’re gennle and considerate. Yu’ve just got to forget everything that’z for yu and remember everything that’z for them .”
Shino moved around, setting up the kettle on the little grill.
“I’m no good at pleasing,” she said. “I didn’t please my real husband. So how can I please a false husband in the pleasure quarter?”
The courtesan twitched her lips in her mirror. It might have been a smile.
“That’s a very good question. Jus’ keep yur eyes open,” she said. “Yu’ve godda brain. Yu’ll finna way.”
After that, if I was lonely or bored when my father worked in the Yoshiwara, I’d go to the Corner Tamaya and ask for Shino. One morning when she’d been up late and I was up early, I even crawled into her bed and lay there beside her. I was curled up in the warmth when a crowd of the other women came in to get her.
“Yu up, yakko ? C’mon, geddup!”
They pushed past the screen, about five of them; behind them I could see Kana.
Shino had been sound asleep and woke up confused. But she sat up. Her hair was down in a soft, long braid that lay like a rope in the bed.
They giggled.
“Lookit her! She’z so, like, stiff. She’z, like, a lady! She’ll never gedda man. No one’z ever gonna wan’ her,” one of them said.
Kana hit one of them on the back of the legs. “You’re just ignorant country oafs! Shino knows a lot. A lot. You should take advantage. She knows writing and music; she can draw, she can dance. She’ll do jus’ fine. Fumi thinks so anyway.” She pulled the futon off us. “C’mon downstairs, yakko. And bring yur liddle friend. It’z time to eat.”
Shino protested as she got up.
“I don’t like to be called that. You’ve given me a name. Can’t you call me by it?”
“It’s jus,’ like, easier to call yu the yakko, ” yawned one of them. “Besides, yur so . . . yur, like, so . . .”
“I know I am,” Shino said quietly.
We got up. Everybody clattered downstairs to the kitchen.
It was the one day a month when the prostitutes took over the dining room. Normally they sat back on their knees, as if they had no interest in food, while clients filled their stomachs. But I had
I sat on the floor.
Fumi had a low black lacquer chest and two round mirrors on handles. Holding one in each hand, she looked this way and that to see the back of her head. “Need that hairdresser again. Too bad I canna ’ford it.” She had a small brush, which she offered Shino, instructing her to powder her neck. Then she gave Shino a hairpin to tuck up the hairs that had escaped and fallen onto her nape.
“Your old man’z an artist? We usta have one here watchin’ our every move, ” said Fumi. “We were, like, pozen all the time. He watched how we dressed and when we played our music and when we looked at the moon—evrythin’. But he duzn come here anymore. Maybe he’z, like, scared he’ll get fined or go to jail”—here her face became tragic—“or end up on the White Sands or even, like, banished. Can you ’magine? Jus’ for painting us. It’z ’cause we’re so evil. ” She raised her eyebrows at me. “So here I am—all in my glory—and whooz to see? Only these yobs.”
“You’re beautiful anyway,” said Shino.
We were all gazing in the mirrors, as if we couldn’t look directly at her face. From where I sat the mirror was too bright, reflecting the sun. I couldn’t see her at all.
“I know,” said Fumi, looking contentedly in the bronze circle. She moved aside. Now I could see my own face behind hers. It was an awful sight. “But beauty’z not everything.”
“You think so?” Shino’s face was unreadable.
“Oh, yeah. Men say they wan’ beauty,” Fumi said. “They dream aboudit; they pay a fortune. But what they really wan’ is kindness. Yu’ll do fine in here ’f yu’re gennle and considerate. Yu’ve just got to forget everything that’z for yu and remember everything that’z for them .”
Shino moved around, setting up the kettle on the little grill.
“I’m no good at pleasing,” she said. “I didn’t please my real husband. So how can I please a false husband in the pleasure quarter?”
The courtesan twitched her lips in her mirror. It might have been a smile.
“That’s a very good question. Jus’ keep yur eyes open,” she said. “Yu’ve godda brain. Yu’ll finna way.”
After that, if I was lonely or bored when my father worked in the Yoshiwara, I’d go to the Corner Tamaya and ask for Shino. One morning when she’d been up late and I was up early, I even crawled into her bed and lay there beside her. I was curled up in the warmth when a crowd of the other women came in to get her.
“Yu up, yakko ? C’mon, geddup!”
They pushed past the screen, about five of them; behind them I could see Kana.
Shino had been sound asleep and woke up confused. But she sat up. Her hair was down in a soft, long braid that lay like a rope in the bed.
They giggled.
“Lookit her! She’z so, like, stiff. She’z, like, a lady! She’ll never gedda man. No one’z ever gonna wan’ her,” one of them said.
Kana hit one of them on the back of the legs. “You’re just ignorant country oafs! Shino knows a lot. A lot. You should take advantage. She knows writing and music; she can draw, she can dance. She’ll do jus’ fine. Fumi thinks so anyway.” She pulled the futon off us. “C’mon downstairs, yakko. And bring yur liddle friend. It’z time to eat.”
Shino protested as she got up.
“I don’t like to be called that. You’ve given me a name. Can’t you call me by it?”
“It’s jus,’ like, easier to call yu the yakko, ” yawned one of them. “Besides, yur so . . . yur, like, so . . .”
“I know I am,” Shino said quietly.
We got up. Everybody clattered downstairs to the kitchen.
It was the one day a month when the prostitutes took over the dining room. Normally they sat back on their knees, as if they had no interest in food, while clients filled their stomachs. But I had
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