away like a weed from the soil. The leaves 
curling from it seemed to be fading and drying in the autumn weather, and even taking on 
tints of yellow. 

"I can't do it, Hatsumomo-san!" I cried. 

"What a shame, little sweetheart," her friend said to me. "Because if you make Hatsumomo 
tell you again, you'll lose the chance to find your sister." 

"Oh, shut up, Korin. Chiyo knows she has to do what I tell her. Write something on the fabric, 
Miss Stupid. I don't care what it is." 

When the brush first touched the kimono, Korin was so excited she let out a squeal that woke 
one of the elderly maids, who leaned out into the corridor with a cloth around her head and 
her sleeping robe sagging all around her. Hatsumomo stamped her foot and made a sort of 
lunging motion, like a cat, which was enough to make the maid go back to her futon. Korin 
wasn't happy with the few uncertain strokes I'd made on the powdery green silk, so 
Hatsumomo instructed me where to mark the fabric and what sorts of marks to make. There 
wasn't any meaning to them; Hatsumomo was just trying in her own way to be artistic. 
Afterward she refolded the kimono in its wrapping of linen and tied the strings shut again. 
She and Korin went back to the front entryway to put their lacquered zori back on their feet. 
When they rolled open the door to the street, Hatsumomo told me to follow. "Hatsumomosan, if I leave the okiya without permission, Mother will be very angry, and-" 

"I'm giving you permission," Hatsumomo interrupted. "We have to return the kimono, don't 
we? I hope you're not planning to keep me waiting." 

So I could do nothing but step into my shoes and follow her up the alleyway to a street 
running beside the narrow Shiralcawa Stream. Back in those days, the streets and alleys in 
Gion were still paved beautifully with stone. We walked along in the moonlight for a block or 
so, beside the weeping cherry trees that drooped down over the black water, and finally 


across a wooden bridge arching over into a section of Gion I'd never seen before. The 
embankment of the stream was stone, most of it covered with patches of moss. Along its top, 
the backs of the teahouses and okiya connected to form a wall. Reed screens over the 
windows sliced the yellow light into tiny strips that made me think of what the cook had done 
to a pickled radish earlier that day. I could hear the laughter of a group of men and geisha. 
Something very funny must have been happening in one of the teahouses, because each 
wave of laughter was louder than the one before, until they finally died away and left only the 
twanging of a shamisen from another party. For the moment, I could imagine that Gion was 
probably a cheerful place for some people. I couldn't help wondering if Satsu might be at one 
of those parties, even though Awajiumi, at the Gion Registry Office, had told me she wasn't 
in Gion at all. 

Shortly, Hatsumomo and Korin came to a stop before a wooden door. 

"You're going to take this kimono up the stairs and give it to the maid there," Hatsumomo 
said to me. "Or if Miss Perfect herself answers the door, you may give it to her. Don't say 
anything; just hand it over. We'll be down here watching you." 

With this, she put the wrapped kimono into my arms, and Korin rolled open the door. 
Polished wooden steps led up into the darkness. I was trembling with fear so much, I could 
go no farther than halfway up them before I came to a stop. Then I heard Korin say into the 
stairwell in a loud whisper: 

"Go on, little girl! No one's going to eat you unless you come back down with the kimono still 
in your hands-and then we just might. Right, Hatsumomo-san?" 

Hatsumomo let -out a sigh at this, but said nothing. Korin was squinting up into the darkness, 
trying to see me; but Hatsumomo, who stood not much higher than Korin's shoulder, was 
chewing on one of her fingernails and paying no attention at all. Even then, amid all my fears, 
I couldn't help noticing how extraordinary Hatsumomo's beauty was. She may have been as 
cruel as a spider, but she was more lovely chewing on her fingernail than most geisha looked 
posing for a photograph. And the contrast with her friend Korin was like comparing a rock 
along the roadside with a jewel. Korin looked uncomfortable in her formal hairstyle with all its 
lovely ornaments, and her kimono seemed to be always in her way. Whereas Hatsumomo 
wore her kimono as if it were her skin. 

On the landing at the top of the stairs, I knelt in the black darkness and called out: 

"Excuse me, please!" 

I waited, but nothing happened. "Louder," said Korin. "They aren't expecting you." 

So I called again, "Excuse me!" 

"Just a moment!" I heard a muffled voice say; and soon the door rolled open. The girl 
kneeling on the other side was no older than Satsu, but thin and nervous as a bird. I handed 
her the kimono in its wrapping of linen paper. She was very surprised, and took it from me 
almost desperately. 

"Who's there, Asami-san?" called a voice from inside the apartment. I could see a single 
paper lantern on an antique stand burning beside a freshly made futon. The futon was for the 
geisha Mameha; I could tell because of the crisp sheets and the elegant silk cover, as well as 
the takamakura-"tall pillow"-just like the kind Hatsumomo used. It wasn't really a pillow at all, 


but a wooden stand with a padded cradle for the neck; this was the only way a geisha could 
sleep without ruining her elaborate hairstyle. 

The maid didn't answer, but opened the wrapping around the kimono as quietly as she could, 
and tipped it this way and that to catch the reflection of the light. When she caught sight of 
the ink marring it, she gasped and covered her mouth. Tears spilled out almost instantly onto 
her cheeks, and then a voice called: 

"Asami-san! Who's there?" 

"Oh, no one, miss!" cried the maid. I felt terribly sorry for her as she dried her eyes quickly 
against one sleeve. While she was reaching up to slide the door closed, I caught a glimpse of 
her mistress. I could see at once why Hatsumomo called Mameha "Miss Perfect." Her face 
was a perfect oval, just like a doll's, and as smooth and delicate-looking as a piece of china, 
even without her makeup. She walked toward the doorway, trying to peer into the stairwell, 
but I saw no more of her before the maid quickly rolled the door shut. 

The next morning after lessons, I came back to the okiya to find that Mother, Granny, and 
Auntie were closed up together in the formal reception room on the first floor. I felt certain 
they were talking about the kimono; and sure enough, the moment Hatsumomo came in from 
the street, one of the maids went to tell Mother, who stepped out into the entrance hall and 
stopped Hatsumomo on her way up the stairs. 

"We had a little visit from Mameha and her maid this morning," she said. 

"Oh, Mother, I know just what you're going to say. I feel terrible about the kimono. I tried to 
stop Chiyo before she put ink on it, but it was too late. She must have thought it was mine! I 
don't know why she's hated me so from the moment she came here ... To think she would 
ruin such a lovely kimono just in the hopes of hurting me!" 

By now, Auntie had limped out into the hall. She cried, "Matte mashita!" I understood her 
words perfectly well; they meant "We've waited for you!" But I had no idea what she meant 
by them. Actually, it was quite a clever thing to say, because this is what the audience 
sometimes shouts when a great star makes his entrance in a Kabuki play. 

"Auntie, are you suggesting that I had something to do with ruining that kimono?" 
Hatsumomo said. "Why would I do such a thing?" 

"Everyone knows how you hate Mameha," Auntie told her. "You hate anyone more 
successful than you." 

"Does that suggest I ought to be extremely fond of you, Auntie, since you're such a failure?" 

"There'll be none of that," said Mother. "Now you listen to me, Hatsumomo. You don't really 
think anyone is empty-headed enough to believe your little story. I won't have this sort of 
behavior in the okiya, even from you. I have great respect for Mameha. I don't want to hear of 
anything like this happening again. As for the kimono, someone has to pay for it. I don't know 
what happened last night, but there's no dispute about who was holding the brush. The maid 
saw the girl doing it. The girl will pay," said Mother, and put her pipe back into her mouth. 

Now Granny came out from the reception room and called a maid to fetch the bamboo pole. 

"Chiyo has enough debts," said Auntie. "I don't see why she should pay Hatsumomo's as 
well." 


"We've talked about this enough," Granny said. "The girl should be beaten and made to 
repay the cost of the kimono, and that's that. Where's the bamboo pole?" 

"I'll beat her myself," Auntie said. "I won't have your joints flaring up again, Granny. Come 
along, Chiyo." 

Auntie waited until the maid brought the pole and then led me down to the courtyard. She 
was so angry her nostrils were bigger than usual, and her eyes were bunched up like fists. I'd 
been careful since coming to the okiya not to do anything that would lead to a beating. I felt 
hot suddenly, and the stepping-stones at my feet grew blurry. But instead of beating me, 
Auntie leaned the pole against the storehouse and then limped over to say quietly to me: 

"What have you done to Hatsumomo? She's bent on destroying you. There must be a 
reason, and I want to know what it is." 

"I promise you, Auntie, she's treated me this way since I arrived. I don't know what I ever did 
to her." 

"Granny may call Hatsumomo a fool, but believe me, Hatsumomo is no fool. If she wants to 
ruin your career badly enough, she'll do it. Whatever you've done to make her angry, you 
must stop doing it.