The Geisha with the Green Eyes Page 10

  I walked on, turning to Suzume’s directions. Slowly, my initial terror began to ebb away and was replaced by a curiosity so intense it was almost wonderment. Although I kept my eyes down like any other woman in Edo, I risked a glance around me whenever I thought it was safe.

  For years, I had dreamed of what the world looked like outside the Hidden House. When I got the chance, I had, of course, spoken of it to the girls in the Green Tea House who were free to go out into the Floating World. But it was commonplace to them, and nothing they had said could have prepared me for this wonder. The amazement of it all even pushed out my confusion over my own reception, to the extent that I was almost able to forget that I had no real place here, that I was a freak who belonged in the Hidden House.

  Didn’t I?

  It was the people who fascinated me. To begin, there were so many of them. Every inch of roadway seemed to be blocked by bodies. Mainly men, of course, but with a fair sprinkling of women amongst them. A few of the women I decided were wives. They looked even more subservient than I felt myself to be. Some were geisha, dressed in beautiful kimonos and accompanied by one or two maids. In spite of the tottering gait imposed by their kimonos and high geti, these were obviously women who were simply out to enjoy the evening, happy to be alone. The courtesans were dressed more lavishly than the geishas. Their wigs were even bigger and they wore their obi fastened at the back not the front. Their eyes were…restless. One was approached by a man – a middle-aged man, not a peasant, but not very well off either, judging by his clothes. Auntie would never have allowed him into the Hidden House. The woman was beautiful and elegant, but the man immediately put his arm around her and began to feel her breasts. She lowered her eyes and giggled at his attention, and after a second or two of conversation, she walked off with him. I must have stopped to stare because I heard Suzume urging me on.

  Then I saw the caged women. The other girls had spoken of these poor women often and always with sympathy, but I had not really understood what they were talking about.

  Now I did.

  We passed two cages in buildings that were almost next to each other. Both houses looked as if they had seen much better days, but the cages gleamed with gilding and light reflected from inside. I slowed as much as I dared to get a better look.

  I was certainly not alone in my interest. The road in front of the houses was thronged with men. Some stood a few feet away from the lattices, as if the women within were monkeys who might attack them if they ventured too close. I could hardly blame them. Auntie had had a monkey as a pet, once. A tiny, sweet-faced animal with a vicious streak as big as its body. It had bitten one of the patrons once and disappeared the same day. Here, other braver souls actually lounged against the latticework, inspecting the women clustered behind with pursed lips. I thought that they looked like men who were inspecting a banquet laid out for them, pausing before they ate to decide which was the tastiest morsel.

  The women behind the bars flirted with their eyes, their fans, their bodies. They leaned forward and called out. As I passed, a man in front of one of the cages made his mind up and went in. I passed by too quickly to see which woman he had selected.

  I was suddenly grateful for Auntie’s constant protection. Our patrons were invariably wealthy men. Men who were vetted by Auntie and were introduced by an existing patron. Men who, if they overstepped the unwritten rules and went too far with the girls, would rapidly be “educated” by the Boys.

  For the Hidden House was our world, and no matter how high-born or wealthy a patron was, the basic rule was always the same. The girls were not to be harmed. Or at least not harmed permanently, or in any way that showed.

  These poor girls had nothing, and no one, to look out for them.

  “Midori No Me. Stop. We are here.” Suzume’s voice broke in on my wandering thoughts.

  We were in front of a huge building, a building that glittered and shined with light like the sun itself. I wondered if Suzume was mistaken. Had we stopped in front of the Shogun’s palace? Or in front of some wealthy nobleman’s home? But no, this was the theater. People were wandering in and out of the wide entrance doors, and I watched them in fascination.

  Suzume said something that was lost in the uproar of conversation, shouted rather than spoken, and I waved my hand at her in acknowledgment. I barely noticed her disappear. It seemed to me that the whole world was busily engaged in going in and out of the theater. The vast majority were men, but not – as I had naively expected – only wealthy men. The obviously rich literally rubbed shoulders with the very poor, with a good sprinkling of what looked like middle-class men. There were women as well. Some obviously geisha, tottering in tight kimonos and wooden geti. Others were courtesans, both grand and well dressed and some no more than common tarts in cheap cotton robes. Even some perfectly respectable groups of married women, entering in groups of four or five and all giggling happily amongst themselves.

  The strange thing about all these women was that it was obvious that they were here to enjoy themselves, not to attract customers or to act as companions to their men. They were simply here as themselves.

  Many of them stared at me, but with rising joy I realized that they were not staring because of my outlandish appearance, but simply because I was standing alone. That, it appeared, was not done outside the kabuki theater.

  I looked around wildly for Suzume and was immensely relieved to see her trotting along with an elderly man following in her brisk wake. When she reached me, she bowed deeply and apologized for taking so long. A couple of women who had been staring at me curiously immediately lost interest and returned to their conversation.

  Elation bubbled in my throat. For a moment, I forgot that I was a freak. That I was a slave of the Hidden House, where I would have to return after my moment of freedom. For this evening, I was simply Midori No Me. A lucky geisha who had been invited to the theater by Danjuro, the star of the production.

  If it hadn’t been so strictly against protocol, I would have loved to have shouted it out loud. Raised my voice above the hub-hub and called Danjuro’s name. Brimming and overflowing with happiness as I was, I was not quite mad enough to do that. In any event, the man with Suzume was bowing deeply to me. Bowing! To me!

  “Midori No Me-san. Welcome to the kabuki! Danjuro has reserved a box for you. Please, follow me.”

  The man turned and I followed, with Suzume behind me. Once inside, I stopped and gasped, lost in this amazing new world. Of all the shocks that I had suffered on this strangest of days, this was perhaps the most amazing. I heard Suzume tut impatiently, and her hand on the small of my back urged me forward relentlessly.

  The stage jutted out into the body of the theater like a square tongue. The performance was already well under way, with a group of actors pacing about in the midst of all the theater patrons. All around, spectators were arranged on the ground floor in little boxes. Tiers of enclosed boxes rose on each side of the stage, and it seemed to my dazzled eyes that every single space was taken. As I paused, desperate to drink in every detail of this miraculous place, a roar of laughter rose from a hundred, a thousand throats, male and female alike.

  Suzume’s companion picked his way between the boxes on the floor, and I followed as best I could. I was sure I would trip over somebody, and was grateful for Suzume’s helping hand. It didn’t help that I could not take my eyes off the stage for fear of missing a single syllable, a single gesture.

  By the time our guide had handed us into our enclosed box, close to the stage and lightly hidden behind a wide cross-lattice of gilded wood, I was enthralled.

  The man bowed deeply to me again. “Should you require anything, Midori No Me-san, just ask your maid to get it for you. Danjuro has left instructions that you are to have the best this poor house can offer. Could I recommend the sake? It is the best to be found in the whole of Edo.”

  I nodded vaguely, and a few moments later a flask of sake already heated in a burner was bought to our box. Suzume poured
a cup for me and looked shocked when I told her to pour some for herself. It occurred to me that I had been too nervous to eat anything all day and that I would soon be drunk.

  “Do you think we could get something to eat?” I asked hopefully. Suzume nodded and beckoned to a man who was passing below us with a tray full of bowls of noodles. The tray smelled delicious, and I was instantly ravenous.

  The man was at our box immediately. Suzume leaned down and gestured for two bowls, calling that we were guests of Danjuro. The heaped bowls, together with chopsticks, were passed up at once and the man bowed so deeply I thought he was going to lose the rest of his display.

  They were fat udon noodles, and I had always thought I did not greatly care for them. On this day, I loved them. I even drank more sake to wash them down.

  But I was still fixated on the stage, even more hungry and thirsty for the action beneath us than I was for food and drink. A number of actors were on stage, all wearing heavy makeup and wigs. As I watched, an old woman, bent almost in two, hobbled on to the stage, pushing a younger woman before her. The young woman hid her face behind a fan and giggled. I realized quickly that the crone was trying to sell her daughter to what appeared to be a rich noble. This man’s clothes were so opulent that they gleamed in the torchlight. After some prolonged bargaining, the young woman was propelled into her purchaser’s arms and her mother left the stage.

  Both of the actors who were left burst into song and were then interrupted by a newcomer, a young, vigorous man who began to argue heatedly with the noble, trying to tug the woman from his arms. The audience obviously loved it, as they began to shout and hiss, waving their fists in the air. After a moment or two, I picked up on the plot. The old woman had sold her daughter to the noble, against the younger woman’s will, and this handsome young man was her lover, who was trying to take her back and marry her himself. Alas, he had neither money nor family and it seemed obvious that his intentions were doomed.

  I watched enthralled, with Suzume leaning over at my side to get a better view.

  The only thing that stopped the whole thing from being absolutely perfect was that I could not see Danjuro anywhere. I whispered my disappointment to Suzume.

  “I thought he was the star of the theater? Why isn’t he here?”

  She looked at me strangely and then started to giggle. “Can’t you see him?” she asked. I glanced around the theater, wondering how Suzume had picked him out amongst this huge throng when I could not. She giggled again, and pointed at the stage. “There! Look, Danjuro is the young suitor. He was the old mother as well.”

  “No!” I exclaimed in disbelief. I stared intently at the young man on stage and then caught my breath in disbelief. Now that I knew, I could see it was Danjuro beneath the heavy, white makeup. But could he possibly have also been the old woman?

  “He’ll probably take another part as well,” Suzume said confidently.

  I spared her a glance. How, exactly, did little Suzume know all this? And come to that, what had happened to the quiet, timid little maid that was Suzume in the Hidden House? I would have a long conversation with her when we got back.

  The thought of going back to the Hidden House depressed my spirits for a moment, but such was the exuberance of the kabuki that the sadness was gone in a flash. Yes, I would have to go back. Yes, Bigger would demand I keep my side of the bargain. Yes, there would be other patrons on other nights, but that was then. Tonight, I had walked the streets of the Floating World as my own woman. For the moment, I was watching the kabuki as the honored guest of the great Danjuro. I would live for this moment, this night. And, I hoped with all my heart, for the rest of the night that was to come.

  Now that I knew what to look for, I was able to pick Danjuro out quite easily. The production was one that tugged at my heart. It was a tale of two lovers who were parted by circumstances and eventually ran away together. Rather than be parted again, they committed suicide. Just as Suzume had said, Danjuro also played the part of a samurai and then came back as the young lover. When the two lovers committed seppuku together, the whole theater erupted in a roar of approval. It was so realistic, with what looked like blood all over the place, that I was horrified. It was only when the dead lovers got to their feet and made their bows that I was able to breathe again.

  Behind me, Suzume breathed a sigh of contentment.

  Another production followed, but Danjuro did not appear. After a while, the man who had escorted us to our box appeared. Bowing deeply, he said, “Midori No Me-san, Danjuro has requested you.”

  I was on my feet in an instant, the play suddenly losing its attraction. Suzume hid a smile and said she would stay where she was, if the theater employee would be kind enough to send for her when she was wanted.

  I kept my eyes on the man’s back. My head was still full of the wonders of the play, and as much as I wanted to see Danjuro, to thank him for sending for me and to touch him, to have him touch me, I wanted more than anything to tell him how much I had loved the play. How breathtaking it had been.

  He was pacing up and down in what I assumed was his dressing room as restless as a caged tiger. He still had his heavy stage makeup on and the robes he had been wearing as the young lover. My mouth dried at the sight of him and my legs began to shake. How could I not have recognized him?

  I bowed deeply. He nodded at me, but carried on with his restless movement. I waited, having no idea whether I should speak or remain silent. As he continued to pace, my stomach knotted itself. Had he forgotten me? Was he regretting inviting me here? He stopped abruptly, right in front of me.

  “How was it?” he demanded. “Did you enjoy the play?”

  His voice was urgent, and I realized with amazement that my opinion actually mattered to him, the great Danjuro. I thought carefully before I answered.

  “Danjuro-san. I have never been to the kabuki before.” He thrust his face forward, watching my expression intently. “But if I never see it again, I will always remember this as the greatest night of my life.”

  He began to nod, and I could almost see the tension leaving his body. But he was still overflowing with excitement. He threw his head back and laughed and then reached out, grabbing my shoulders tightly. I felt the buzz coming from his fingers as if I had been stung by a bee. My legs finally gave way and I sank to my knees in front of him.

  Even through his robes, I could see clearly the shape of his tree of flesh, so vigorous that I thought it was pulsing with a life of its own. I moaned out loud and reached forward, parting his robes and taking his tree in my hand.

  I rubbed it gently back and forward. It was as if Danjuro’s excitement had concentrated itself in his stem. As soon as I touched it, he jerked back and forward with his whole body, immediately in rhythm with my movement. Much as I was desperate to feel him inside me, I made myself lean forward and placed my lips around his hood, licking and nibbling softly. I heard him moan out loud and suddenly reveled in the power I held in my hands, in my mouth.

  I teased him with my tongue, my lips. First biting very gently, then darting forward to sink my teeth hard into his flesh. With his hood in my mouth, I rubbed his stalk back and forward with my fingers, allowing my hand to meander down to his testicles and slide back to the slit of his delicious bum. He arched against me and I let him slip out of my mouth.

  His hips were bucking as he searched for me again. Instead of taking him between my lips, I caught his tree of flesh in my fingers and licked the length of him, coming back to run my tongue around the head of his hood. I could hear – above the pounding of my own blood – him moaning out loud.

  Suddenly confident, I leaned back and stood up. His eyes were wide, his face, even beneath his stage makeup, intensely hungry. The white makeup attracted me immensely. It was as if while I was making love to the Danjuro I knew, I was also making love to a complete stranger. I found the thought deeply arousing even though the irony of it took me aback. How often had I raged when a complete stranger took me? How often had I
headed quickly for the bath afterward to try and wash every trace of the man away from my body? And now, I was not just welcoming a man who might as well have been a complete stranger, I was longing for him. Desperate for him.

  The strangeness of it made me tremble with excitement. I stood back a step, then another. I tugged at my obi and it came away obediently. Tonight nothing would go wrong. Nothing would come between me and Danjuro and whoever was living in Danjuro’s body and mind with him. The under sash followed and I untied my kimono and shrugged out of it. I would have taken off my chemise and under-skirt, but I had no time.

  Danjuro lunged for me with a roar of pure lust and bore me to the floor beneath his weight. He fumbled to push my under-skirt aside and I helped him, crumpling the supple silk recklessly. His fingers found my black moss and were then probing inside me. I think I shouted with pleasure, and the sound seemed to make him lose whatever control he still had as he plunged his tree into me with the ease of a sword seeking a familiar scabbard.

  This was not the Danjuro I remembered from the Hidden House. That man had been tender, almost hesitant. This Danjuro was hard and strong and demanding. Taking rather than giving. And I reveled in it.

  I met his every movement, not bothering to tease or even to try and slow him down, instead raising my own body to meet him as he pounded me. Our movements were perfectly synchronized, perfectly right and it was no surprise to me at all when I felt him coming to his climax seconds after I had already come to the bursting of the fruit myself. How could it have been otherwise?

  Afterward, Danjuro talked to me. Talked with me. And I realized that this great man, this amazing actor who held the whole of Edo in the palm of his hand, was hiding behind his makeup and his costumes. On stage, he was the character he was playing – male or female, young or old. At that moment, in front of an audience roaring its approval, the character was Danjuro. The real Danjuro was a frightened little boy, always worried that even his best was not going to be quite good enough.