Read Online Fireflies by Ben Byrne - Free Book Online Page A

and a little wooden stage with chairs and tables set up. Red streamers and paper lanterns decorated the cracked earthen walls, and American and British flags were tacked up at jaunty angles.
    â€œVery nice,” said Michiko, nodding approvingly. A scratchy jazz record was playing on the gramophone, and a very tall and solemn-looking American man was turning slowly around in the middle of the room. A tiny girl appeared, clinging onto him — she could barely clasp her arms around his back.
    Mr. Shiga’s office was in an old storage cupboard piled high with buckets for water relays. He looked at us haughtily over the rims of his spectacles, and told us how lucky we both were.
    â€œOnly the best kind of girls get to work here,” he said. “This place has got class.” He coughed heavily and spat into his handkerchief. “So you’d better keep our guests happy. And you’re not just here to spread your legs either.”
    He explained that, aside from the usual services, we were to encourage the Americans to spend their dollars on drinks and dances and snacks.
    â€œAnd don’t let them palm you off with yen!” he said.
    Dabbing at his lips, he quickly went through the financial arrangements, which didn’t seem very fair to me. The Oasis would take practically half of everything we earned, though we were still expected to pay for our own makeup and clothing and any medical treatment that might be necessary. But it was a sign of how desperate I had become that I just knelt meekly before him. Anything seemed better than the International Palace.
    We took great care making ourselves up that night, in the cramped dressing room filled with perfume and perspiring flesh. The girls were fanning each other, slumped on the floor in their underclothes. Michiko sprinkled powder on the back of my neck and brushed it until my skin was as smooth and white as china.
    â€œWhy, Satsuko,” she said, pulling my obi tight around my waist, “you look just like a real geisha!”
    I laughed at the thought. But when we looked at ourselves in the mirror, I saw that I really did look quite pretty, even next to Michiko, who was so stunning.
    Years before, I recalled, my mother and I had dressed up together before going to watch the summer fireworks over the river. We’d painted our faces and glued silk petals to our combs. After things had started to go badly for Japan, though, there’d been no makeup or jewellery anymore. Skirts had been banned, and the busybodies from the National Defence Women’s Association went around spying, scolding you in public for any hint of rouge. Abolish desire until victory!
    I remembered how, soon after I’d reported for war work, Mr. Ogura had ordered all the girls out into the yard one morning. He told us we were to unpick every colourful thread from our clothes, one by one. After that, it was nothing but shapeless khaki trousers for us. No colour but National Defence Colour!
    â€œWhatever would Mr. Ogura say if he could see us now, Michiko?” I said.
    She applied a last dusting of powder to her nose. “I think he’d keel over, Satsuko, just like he did when the emperor made his speech.”
    We slid open the door to the cabaret. It was already filled with American officers from the army and navy, with girls perched on their knees, pouring their beers and lighting their cigarettes.
    As we walked out into the damp, smoky room, a thought struck me. “Michiko,” I asked. “How was it that you persuaded the boss to move us here in any case?”
    She gave a low laugh. For a moment, she had sounded just like one of the vulgar types we’d been working with until so very recently. It was a nasty laugh, of the kind that asks: isn’t the answer obvious?

9
    ERO GURO NANSENSU
    (OSAMU MARUKI)
    Japan appeared, like an emerald set in glittering blue, as our troop ship sailed at last along the winding shore, the peaceful