Read Online Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden - Free Book Online
Authors: Arthur Golden
Tags: Fiction
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flint on her back for good luck.
After this, Hatsumomo walked away, using such tiny steps that she seemed to glide along with the bottom of her kimono fluttering just a bit. I didn’t know that she was a geisha at the time, for she was worlds above the creature I’d seen in Senzuru a few weeks earlier. I decided she must be some sort of stage performer. We all watched her float away, and then Mr. Bekku handed me over to the older woman in the entryway. He climbed back into the rickshaw with my sister, and the driver raised the poles. But I never saw them leave, because I was slumped down in the entryway in tears.
The older woman must have taken pity on me; for a long while I lay there sobbing in my misery without anyone touching me. I even heard her shush up a maid who came from inside the house to speak with her. At length she helped me to my feet and dried my face with a handkerchief she took from one sleeve of her simple gray kimono.
“Now, now, little girl. There’s no need to worry so. No one’s going to cook you.” She spoke with the same peculiar accent as Mr. Bekku and Hatsumomo. It sounded so different from the Japanese spoken in my village that I had a hard time understanding her. But in any case, hers were the kindest words anyone had said to me all day, so I made up my mind to do what she advised. She told me to call her Auntie. And then she looked down at me, square in the face, and said in a throaty voice:
“Heavens! What startling eyes! You’re a lovely girl, aren’t you? Mother will be thrilled.”
I thought at once that the mother of this woman, whoever she was, must be very old, because Auntie’s hair, knotted tightly at the back of her head, was mostly gray, with only streaks of black remaining.
Auntie led me through the doorway, where I found myself standing on a dirt corridor passing between two closely spaced structures to a courtyard in the back. One of the structures was a little dwelling like my house in Yoroido—two rooms with floors of dirt; it turned out to be the maids’ quarters. The other was a small, elegant house sitting up on foundation stones in such a way that a cat might have crawled underneath it. The corridor between them opened onto the dark sky above, which gave me the feeling I was standing in something more like a miniature village than a house—especially since I could see several other small wooden buildings down in the courtyard at the end. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a very typical dwelling for the section of Kyoto in which it stood. The buildings in the courtyard, though they gave the impression of another group of tiny houses, were just a small shed for the toilets and a storehouse of two levels with a ladder on the outside. The entire dwelling fitted into an area smaller than Mr. Tanaka’s home in the countryside and housed only eight people. Or rather nine, now that I had arrived.
After I took in the peculiar arrangement of all the little buildings, I noticed the elegance of the main house. In Yoroido, the wood structures were more gray than brown, and rutted by the salty air. But here the wood floors and beams gleamed with the yellow light of electric lamps. Opening off the front hallway were sliding doors with paper screens, as well as a staircase that seemed to climb straight up. One of these doors stood open, so that I was able to see a wood cabinet with a Buddhist altar. These elegant rooms turned out to be for the use of the family—and also Hatsumomo, even though, as I would come to understand, she wasn’t a family member at all. When family members wanted to go to the courtyard, they didn’t walk down the dirt corridor as the servants did, but had their own ramp of polished wood running along the side of the house. There were even separate toilets—an upper one for family and a lower one for servants.
I had yet to discover most of these things, though I would learn them within a day or two. But I stood there in the corridor a
After this, Hatsumomo walked away, using such tiny steps that she seemed to glide along with the bottom of her kimono fluttering just a bit. I didn’t know that she was a geisha at the time, for she was worlds above the creature I’d seen in Senzuru a few weeks earlier. I decided she must be some sort of stage performer. We all watched her float away, and then Mr. Bekku handed me over to the older woman in the entryway. He climbed back into the rickshaw with my sister, and the driver raised the poles. But I never saw them leave, because I was slumped down in the entryway in tears.
The older woman must have taken pity on me; for a long while I lay there sobbing in my misery without anyone touching me. I even heard her shush up a maid who came from inside the house to speak with her. At length she helped me to my feet and dried my face with a handkerchief she took from one sleeve of her simple gray kimono.
“Now, now, little girl. There’s no need to worry so. No one’s going to cook you.” She spoke with the same peculiar accent as Mr. Bekku and Hatsumomo. It sounded so different from the Japanese spoken in my village that I had a hard time understanding her. But in any case, hers were the kindest words anyone had said to me all day, so I made up my mind to do what she advised. She told me to call her Auntie. And then she looked down at me, square in the face, and said in a throaty voice:
“Heavens! What startling eyes! You’re a lovely girl, aren’t you? Mother will be thrilled.”
I thought at once that the mother of this woman, whoever she was, must be very old, because Auntie’s hair, knotted tightly at the back of her head, was mostly gray, with only streaks of black remaining.
Auntie led me through the doorway, where I found myself standing on a dirt corridor passing between two closely spaced structures to a courtyard in the back. One of the structures was a little dwelling like my house in Yoroido—two rooms with floors of dirt; it turned out to be the maids’ quarters. The other was a small, elegant house sitting up on foundation stones in such a way that a cat might have crawled underneath it. The corridor between them opened onto the dark sky above, which gave me the feeling I was standing in something more like a miniature village than a house—especially since I could see several other small wooden buildings down in the courtyard at the end. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a very typical dwelling for the section of Kyoto in which it stood. The buildings in the courtyard, though they gave the impression of another group of tiny houses, were just a small shed for the toilets and a storehouse of two levels with a ladder on the outside. The entire dwelling fitted into an area smaller than Mr. Tanaka’s home in the countryside and housed only eight people. Or rather nine, now that I had arrived.
After I took in the peculiar arrangement of all the little buildings, I noticed the elegance of the main house. In Yoroido, the wood structures were more gray than brown, and rutted by the salty air. But here the wood floors and beams gleamed with the yellow light of electric lamps. Opening off the front hallway were sliding doors with paper screens, as well as a staircase that seemed to climb straight up. One of these doors stood open, so that I was able to see a wood cabinet with a Buddhist altar. These elegant rooms turned out to be for the use of the family—and also Hatsumomo, even though, as I would come to understand, she wasn’t a family member at all. When family members wanted to go to the courtyard, they didn’t walk down the dirt corridor as the servants did, but had their own ramp of polished wood running along the side of the house. There were even separate toilets—an upper one for family and a lower one for servants.
I had yet to discover most of these things, though I would learn them within a day or two. But I stood there in the corridor a
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