ive. She 
stood before me only a moment, and then drew back her hand and slapped me across the 
face. The last thing I saw before her hand struck me was a glimpse of her clenched teeth like 
two strings of pearls. 

I was so stunned, I can't recall what happened immediately afterward. But Auntie and 
Hatsumomo must have begun to argue, because the next thing I heard was Hatsumomo 
saying, "If this girl embarrasses me in public again, I'll be happy to slap the other side of her 
face!" 

"How did I embarrass you~?" I asked her. 

"You knew perfectly well what I meant when I wondered if you had hair, but you made me 
look like a fool. I owe you a favor, little Chiyo. I'll return it soon, I promise." 

Hatsumomo's anger seemed to close itself up, and she walked back out of the okiya, where 
Pumpkin was waiting on the street to bow to her. 

I reported this to Mameha the following afternoon, but she hardly paid any attention. 

"What's the problem?" she said. "Hatsumomo didn't leave a mark on your face, thank 
heavens. You didn't expect she'd be pleased at your comment, did you?" 

"I'm only concerned about what might happen the next time we run into her," I said. 

"I'll tell you what will happen. We'll turn around and leave. The host may be surprised to see 
us walk out of a party we've just walked into, but it's better than giving Hatsumomo another 
chance to humiliate you. Anyway, if we run into her, it will be a blessing." 

"Really, Mameha-san, I can't see how it could be a blessing." 

"If Hatsumomo forces us to leave a few teahouses, we'll drop in on more parties, that's all. 
You'll be known around Gion much faster that way." 

I felt reassured by Mameha's confidence. In fact, when we set out into Gion later, I expected 
that at the end of the night I would take off my,makeup and find my skin glowing with the 
satisfaction of a long evening. Our first stop was a party for a young film actor, who looked no 
older than eighteen but had not a single hair on his head, not even eyelashes or eyebrows. 
He went on to become very famous a few years later, but only because of the manner of his 
death. He killed himself with a sword after murdering a young waitress in Tokyo. In any case, 
I thought him very strange until I noticed that he kept glancing at me; I'd lived so much of my 
life in the isolation of the okiya that I must admit I relished the attention. We stayed more than 


an hour, and Ha-tsumomo never showed up. It seemed to me that my fantasies of success 
might indeed come to pass. 

Next we stopped at a party given by the chancellor of Kyoto University. Mameha at once 
began talking with a man she hadn't seen in some time, and left me on my own. The only 
space I could find at the table was beside an old man in a stained white shirt, who must have 
been very thirsty because he was drinking continually from a glass of beer, except when he 
moved it away from his mouth to burp. I knelt beside him and was about to introduce myself 
when I heard the door slide open. I expected to see a maid delivering another round of sake, 
but there in the hallway knelt Hatsumomo and Pumpkin. 

"Oh, good heavens!" I heard Mameha say to the man she was entertaining. "Is your 
wristwatch accurate?" 

"Very accurate," he said. "I set it every afternoon by the clock at the train station." 

"I'm afraid Sayuri and I have no choice but to be rude and excuse ourselves. We were 
expected elsewhere a half hour ago!" 

And with that, we stood and slipped out of the party the very moment after Hatsumomo and 
Pumpkin entered it. 

As we were leaving the teahouse, Mameha pulled me into an empty tatami room. In the hazy 
darkness I couldn't make out her features, but only the beautiful oval shape of her face with 
its elaborate crown of hair. If I couldn't see her, then she couldn't see me; I let my jaw sag 
with frustration and despair, for it seemed I would never escape Hatsumomo. 

"What did you say to that horrid woman earlier today?" Mameha said to me. 

"Nothing at all, ma'am!" 

"Then how did she find us here?" 

"I didn't know we would be here myself," I said. "I couldn't possibly have told her." 

"My maid knows about my engagements, but I can't imagine . . . Well, we'll go to a party 
hardly anyone knows about. Naga Teruomi was just appointed the new conductor of the 
Tokyo Philharmonic last week. He's come into town this afternoon to give everyone a chance 
to idolize him. I don't much want to go, but ... at least Hatsumomo won't be there." 

We crossed Shijo Avenue and turned down a narrow alley that smelled of sake and roasted 
yams. A sprinkle of laughter fell down onto us from the second-story windows brightly lit 
overhead. Inside the teahouse, a young maid showed us to a room on the second floor, 
where we found the conductor sitting with his thin hair oiled back and his fingers stroking a 
sake cup in anger. The other men in the room were in the midst of a drinking game with two 
geisha, but the conductor refused to join. He talked with Mameha for a while, and soon 
asked her to put on a dance. I don't think he cared about the dance, really; it was just a way 
to end the drinking games and encourage his guests to begin paying attention to him again. 
Just as the maid brought a shamisen to hand to one of the geisha-even before Mameha had 
taken up her pose-the door slid open and . . . I'm sure you know what I'm going to say. They 
were like dogs that wouldn't stop following us. It was Hatsumomo and Pumpkin once again. 

You should have seen the way Mameha and Hatsumomo smiled at each other. You'd almost 
have thought they were sharing a private joke-whereas in fact, I'm sure Hatsumomo was 
relishing her victory in finding us, and as for Mameha . . . well, I think her smile was just a 


way of hiding her anger. During her dance, I could see her jaw jutting out and her nostrils 
flared. She didn't even come back to the table afterward, but just said to the conductor: 

"Thank you so much for permitting us to drop in! I'm afraid it's so late . . . Sayuri and I must 
excuse ourselves now . . ." 

I can't tell you how pleased Hatsumomo looked as we closed the door behind us. 

I followed Mameha down the stairs. On the bottom step she came to a halt and waited. At 
last a young maid rushed into the formal entrance hall to see us out-the very same maid 
who'd shown us up the stairs earlier. 

"What a difficult life you must have as a maid!" Mameha said to her. "Probably you want so 
many things and have so little money to spend. But tell me, what will you do with the funds 
you've just earned?" 

"I haven't earned any funds, ma'am," she said. But to see her swallowing so nervously, I 
could tell she was lying. 

"How much money did Hatsumomo promise you?" 

The maid's gaze fell at once to the floor. It wasn't until this moment that I understood what 
Mameha was thinking. As we learned some time afterward, Hatsumomo had indeed bribed 
at least one of the maids in every first-class teahouse in Gion. They were asked to call Yokothe girl who answered the telephone in our okiya-whenever Mameha and I arrived at a party. 
Of course, we didn't know about Yoko's involvement at the time; but Mameha was quite right 
in assuming that the maid in this teahouse had passed a message to Hatsumomo somehow 
or other. 

The maid couldn't bring herself to look at Mameha. Even when Mameha lifted her chin, the 
girl still pointed her eyes downward just as if they weighed as much as two lead balls. When 
we left the teahouse, we could hear Hatsumomo's voice coming from the window above-for it 
was such a narrow alleyway that everything echoed. 

"Yes, what was her name?" Hatsumomo was saying. 

"Sayuko," said one of the men. 

"Not Sayuko. Sayuri," said another. 

"I think that's the one," Hatsumomo said. "But really, it's too embarrassing for her ... I mustn't 
tell you! She seems like a nice girl . . ." 

"I didn't get much of an impression," one man said. "But she's very pretty." 

"Such unusual eyes!" said one of the geisha. 

"You know what I heard a man say about her eyes the other day?" Hatsumomo said. "He told 
me they were the color of smashed worms." 

"Smashed worms . . . I've certainly never heard a color described that way before." 

"Well, I'll tell you what I was going to say about her," Hatsumomo went on, "but you must 
promise not to repeat it. She has some sort of disease, and her bosoms look just like an old 
lady's-all droopy and wrinkled-really, it's dreadful! I saw her in a bathhouse once . . ." 


Mameha and I had stopped to listen, but when we heard this, she gave me a little push and 
we walked out of the alley together. Mameha stood for a while looking up and down the 
street and then said: 

"I'm trying to think where we can go, but... I can't think of a single place. If that woman has 
found us here, I suppose she can find us anywhere in Gion. You may as well go back to your 
okiya, Sayuri, until we come up with a new plan." 

One afternoon during World War II, some years after these events I'm telling you about now, 
an officer took his pistol out of its holster during a party beneath the boughs of a maple tree 
and laid it on the straw mat to impress me. I remember being struck by its beauty. The metal 
had a dull gray sheen; its curves were perfect and smooth. The oiled wood handle was richly 
grained. But when I thought of its real purpose as I listened to his stories, it ceased to be 
beautiful at all and became something monstrous instead. 

This is exactly what happened to Hatsumomo in my eyes after she brought my debut to a 
standstill. That isn't to say I'd never considered her monstrous before. But I'd always envied 
her loveliness, and now I no longer did. While I ought to have been attending banquets every 
night, and ten or fift