. The 
maids held Pumpkin's arms while she slipped her feet into the tall wooden shoes we call 
okobo, which an apprentice geisha always wears. Then Mother went to stand behind 
Pumpkin and struck a pose as though she were about to spark a flint, even though, in reality, 
it was always Auntie or one of the maids who did the job. When at last the photograph was 
taken, Pumpkin stumbled a few steps from the door and turned to look back. The others 
were on their way out to join her, but I was the one she looked at, with an expression that 
seemed to say she was very sorry for the way things had turned out. 

By the end of that day, Pumpkin was officially known by her new geisha name of Hatsumiyo. 
The "Hatsu" came from Hatsumomo, and even though it ought to have helped Pumpkin to 


have a name derived from a geisha as well known as Hatsumomo, in the end it didn't work 
that way. Very few people ever knew her geisha name, you see; they just called her Pumpkin 
as we always had. 

I was very eager to tell Mameha about Pumpkin's debut. But she'd been much busier than 
usual lately, traveling frequently to Tokyo at the request of her danna, with the result that we 
hadn't set eyes on each other in nearly six months. Another few weeks passed before she 
finally had time to summon me to her apartment. When I stepped inside, the maid let out a 
gasp; and then a moment later Mameha came walking out of the back room and let out a 
gasp as well. I couldn't think what was the matter. And then when I got on my knees to bow 
to Mameha and tell her how honored I was to see her again, she paid me no attention at all. 

"My goodness, has it been so long, Tatsumi?" she said to her maid. "I hardly recognize her." 

"I'm glad to hear you say it, ma'am," Tatsumi replied. "I thought something had gone wrong 
with my eyes!" 

I certainly wondered at the time what they were talking about. But evidently in the six months 
since I'd last seen them, I'd changed more than I realized. Mameha told me to turn my head 
this way and that, and kept saying over and over, "My goodness, she's turned into quite a 
young woman!" At one point Tatsumi even made me stand and hold my arms out so she 
could measure my waist and hips with her hands, and then said to me, "Well, there's no 
doubt a kimono will fit your body just like a sock fits a foot." I'm sure she meant this as a 
compliment, for she had a kindly look on her face when she said it. 

Finally Mameha asked Tatsumi to take me into the back room and put me into a proper 
kimono. I'd arrived in the blue and white cotton robe I'd worn that morning to my lessons at 
the school, but Tatsumi changed me into a dark blue silk covered with a design of tiny 
carriage wheels in shades of brilliant yellow and red. It wasn't the most beautiful kimono you 
would ever see, but when I looked at myself in the full-length mirror as Tatsumi was tying a 
bright green obi into place around my waist, I found that except for my plain hairstyle, I might 
have been taken for a young apprentice geisha on her way to a party. I felt quite proud when 
I walked out of the room, and thought Mameha would gasp again, or something of-the sort. 
But she only rose to her feet, tucked a handkerchief into her sleeve, and went directly to the 
door, where she slipped her feet into a green pair of lacquered zori and looked back over her 
shoulder at me. 

"Well?" she said. "Aren't you coming?" 

I had no idea where we were going, but I was thrilled at the thought of being seen on the 
street with Mameha. The maid had put out a pair of lacquered zori for me, in a soft gray. I put 
them on and followed Mameha down the dark tunnel of the stairwell. As we stepped out onto 
the street, an elderly woman slowed to bow to Mameha and then, in almost the same 
movement, turned to bow to me. I scarcely knew what to think of this, for hardly anyone ever 
took notice of me on the street. The bright sunlight had blinded my eyes so much, I couldn't 
make out whether or not I knew her. But I bowed back, and in a moment she was gone. I 
thought probably she was one of my teachers, but then an instant later the same thing 
happened again-this time with a young geisha I'd often admired, but who had never so much 
as glanced in my direction before. 

We made our way up the street with nearly everyone we passed saying something to 
Mameha, or at the very least bowing to her, and then afterward giving me a little nod or bow 
as well. Several times 
stopped to bow back, with the result that I fell a step or two behind Mameha. She could see 
the difficulty I was having, and took me to a quiet alleyway to show me the proper way of 


walking. My trouble, she explained, was that I hadn't learned to move the upper half of my 
body independently of the lower half. When I needed to bow to someone, I stopped my feet. 
"Slowing the feet is a way of showing respect," she said. "The more you slow up, the greater 
the respect. You might stop altogether to bow to one of your teachers, but for anyone else, 
don't slow more than you need to, for heaven's sake, or you'll never get anywhere. Go along 
at a constant pace when you can, taking little steps to keep the bottom of your kimono 
fluttering. When a woman walks, she should give the impression of waves rippling over a 
sandbar." 

I practiced walking up and down the alley as Mameha had described, looking straight toward 
my feet to see if my kimono fluttered as it should. When Mameha was satisfied, we set out 
again. 

Most of our greetings, I found, fell into one of two simple patterns. Young geisha, as we 
passed them, usually slowed or even stopped completely and gave Mameha a deep bow, to 
which Mameha responded with a kind word or two and a little nod; then the young geisha 
would give me something of a puzzled look and an uncertain bow, which I would return much 
more deeply-for I was junior to every woman we encountered. When we passed a middle-
aged or elderly woman, however, Mameha nearly always bowed first; then the woman 
returned a respectful bow, but not as deep as Mameha's, and afterward looked me up and 
down before giving me a little nod. I always responded to these nods with the deepest bows I 
could manage while keeping my feet in motion. 

I told Mameha that afternoon about Pumpkin's debut; and for months afterward I hoped she 
would say the time had come for my apprenticeship to begin as well. Instead, spring passed 
and summer too, without her saying anything of the sort. In contrast with the exciting life 
Pumpkin was now leading, I had only my lessons and my chores, as well as the fifteen or 
twenty minutes Mameha spent with me during the afternoons several times a week. 
Sometimes I sat in her apartment while she taught me about something I needed to know; 
but most often she dressed me in one of her kimono and walked me around Gion while 
running errands or calling on her fortune-teller or wig maker. Even when it rained and she 
had no errands to run, we walked under lacquered umbrellas, making our way from store to 
store to check ,when the new shipment of perfume would arrive from Italy, or whether a 
certain kimono repair was finished though it wasn't scheduled to be completed for another 
week. 

At first I thought perhaps Mameha took me with her so that she could teach me things like 
proper posture-for she was constantly rapping me on the back with her closed folding fan to 
make me stand straighter-and about how to behave toward people. Mameha seemed to 
know everyone, and always made a point of smiling or saying something kind, even to the 
most junior maids, because she understood well that she owed her exalted position to the 
people who thought highly of her. But then one day as we were walking out of a bookstore, I 
suddenly realized what she was really doing. She had no particular interest in going to the 
bookstore, or the wig maker, or the stationer. The errands weren't especially important; and 
besides, she could have sent one of her maids instead of going herself. She ran these 
errands only so that people in Gion would see us strolling the streets together. She was 
delaying my debut to give everyone time to take notice of me. 

One sunny October afternoon we set out from Mameha's apartment and headed downstream 
along the banks of the Shirakawa, watching the leaves of the cherry trees flutter down onto 
the water. A great many other people were out strolling for just the same reason, and as you 
would expect, all of them greeted Mameha. In nearly every case, at the same time they 
greeted Mameha, they greeted me. 

"You're getting to be rather well known, don't you think?" she said to me. 


"I think most people would greet even a sheep, if it were walking alongside Mameha-san." 

"Especially a sheep," she said. "That would be so unusual. But really, I hear a great many 
people asking about the girl with the lovely gray eyes. They haven't learned your name, but it 
makes no difference. You won't be called Chiyo much longer anyway." 

"Does Mameha-san mean to say-" 

"I mean to say that I've been speaking with Waza-san"-this was the name of her fortune-
teller-"and he has suggested the third day in November as a suitable time for your debut." 

Mameha stopped to watch me as I stood there still as a tree and with my eyes the size of rice 
crackers. I didn't cry out or clap my hands, but I was so delighted I couldn't speak. Finally I 
bowed to Mameha and thanked her. 

"You're going to make a fine geisha," she said, "but you'll make an even better one if you put 
some thought into the sorts of statements you make with your eyes." 

"I've never been aware of making any statement with them at all," I said. 

"They're the most expressive part of a woman's body, especially in your case. Stand here a 
moment, and I'll show you