 think I 
must have fainted." 

"It's a wonder you didn't void your bladder when you lost consciousness," said the Doctor. 

All this time I'd been lying on my stomach, holding my face up off the examination table for 
fear of smudging my makeup, and talking while the Doctor looked at the back of my head. 
But when Dr. Crab made this last comment, I looked over my shoulder at Mameha as best I 
could. Happily, she was thinking faster than I was, because she said: 

"What Sayuri means is that she lost her balance when she tried to stand once again from a 
squatting position." 

"I see," the Doctor said. "The cut was made by a very sharp object. Perhaps you fell on 
broken glass or a strip of metal." 

"Yes, it certainly felt very sharp," I said. "As sharp as a knife!" 

Dr. Crab said nothing more, but washed the cut as though he wanted to see how much he 
could make it hurt, and then afterward used more of the smelly liquid to remove the blood 
that had dried all down my leg. Finally he told me the cut would need nothing more than 
cream and a bandage, and gave me instructions on caring for it over the next few days. With 
this, he rolled my robe down and put away his glasses as though he might break them if he 
handled them too roughly. 

"I'm very sorry you've ruined such a fine kimono," he said. "But I'm certainly happy at the 
chance to have met you. Mameha-san knows I'm always interested in new faces." 

"Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine, Doctor," I said. 

"Perhaps I'll see you one evening quite soon at the Ichiriki Teahouse." 

"To tell the truth, Doctor," Mameha said, "Sayuri is a bit of a ... special property, as I'm sure 
you can imagine. She already has more admirers than she can handle, so I've been keeping 
her away from the Ichiriki as much as I can. Perhaps we might visit you at the Shirae 
Teahouse instead?" 

"Yes, I would prefer that myself," Dr. Crab said. And then he went through the whole ritual of 
changing his glasses again so that he could look through a little book he took from his 
pocket. "I'll be there ... let me see . . . two evenings from now. I do hope to see you." 

Mameha assured him we would stop by, and then we left. 

In the rickshaw on our way back to Gion, Mameha told me I'd done very well. 

"But, Mameha-san, I didn't do anything!" 


"Oh? Then how do you account for what we saw on the Doctor's forehead?" 

"I didn't see anything but the wooden table right in front of my face." 

"Let's just say that while the Doctor was cleaning the blood from your leg, his forehead was 
beaded with sweat as if we'd been in the heat of summer. But it wasn't even warm in the 
room, was it?" 

"I don't think so." 

"Well, then!" Mameha said. 

I really wasn't sure what she was talking about-or exactly what her purpose had been in 
taking me to meet the Doctor, for that matter. But I couldn't very well ask, because she'd 
already made it clear she wouldn't tell me her plan. Then just as the rickshaw driver was 
pulling us across the Shijo Avenue Bridge into Gion once again, Mameha interrupted herself 
in the middle of a story. 

"You know, your eyes really are extraordinarily lovely in that kimono, Sayuri. The scarlets 
and yellows . . . they make your eyes shine almost silver! Oh, heavens, I can't believe I 
haven't thought of this idea sooner. Driver!" she called out. "We've gone too far. Stop here, 
please." 

"You told me Gion Tominaga-cho, ma'am. I can't drop the poles in the middle of a bridge." 

"You may either let us out here or finish crossing the bridge and then take us back over it 
again. Frankly, I don't see much point in that." 

The driver set down his poles where we were, and Mameha and I stepped out. A number of 
bicyclists rang their bells in anger as they passed, but Mameha didn't seem in the least 
concerned. I suppose she was so certain of her place in the world, she couldn't imagine 
anyone being troubled by a little matter like her blocking traffic. She took her time, holding up 
one coin after another from her silk change purse until she'd paid the exact fare, and then led 
me back across the bridge in the direction we'd come. 

"We're going to Uchida Kosaburo's studio," she announced. "He s a marvelous artist, and 
he's going to take a liking to your eyes, I'm sure of it. Sometimes he gets a little . . . 
distracted, you might say. And his studio is a mess. It may take him a while to notice your 
eyes, but just keep them pointed where he can see them." 

I followed Mameha through side streets until we came to a little alley. At the end stood a 
bright red Shinto gate, miniature in size, pressed tightly between two houses. Beyond the 
gate, we passed between several small pavilions to a flight of stone steps leading up through 
trees in their 
brilliant fall coloring. The air wafting from the dank little tunnel of the steps felt as cool as 
water, so that it seemed to me I was entering a different world altogether. I heard a swishing 
sound that reminded me of the tide washing the beach, but it turned out to be a man with his 
back to us, sweeping water from the top step with a broom whose bristles were the color of 
chocolate. 

"Why, Uchida-san!" Mameha said. "Don't you have a maid to tidy up for you?" 

The man at the top stood in full sunlight, so that when he turned to peer down at us, I doubt 
he saw anything more than a few shapes under the trees. I could see him well, however, and 


he was quite a peculiar-looking man. In one corner of his mouth was a giant mole like a piece 
of food, and his eyebrows were so bushy they looked like caterpillars that had crawled down 
out of his hair and gone to sleep there. Everything about him was in disarray, not only his 
gray hair, but his kimono, which looked as if he'd slept in it the night before. 

"Who is that?" he said. 

"Uchida-san! After all these years you still don't recognize my voice?" 

"If you're trying to make me angry, whoever you are, you're off to a good start. I'm in no mood 
for interruptions! I'll throw this broom at you, if you don't tell me who you are." 

Uchida-san looked so angry I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd bit off the mole from the 
corner of his mouth and spat it at us. But Mameha just continued right up the stairs, and I 
followed her- though I was careful to stay behind so she would be the one struck by the 
broom. 

"Is this how you greet visitors, Uchida-san?" Mameha said as she stepped up into the light. 

Uchida squinted at her. "So it's you. Why can't you just say who you are like everyone else? 
Here, take this broom and sweep the steps. No one's coming into my house until I've lit 
incense. Another of my mice has died, and the place smells like a coffin." 

Mameha seemed amused at this and waited until Uchida had left before leaning the broom 
against a tree. 

"Have you ever had a boil?" she whispered to me. "When Uchida's work goes badly, he gets 
into this terrible mood. You have to make him blow up, just like lancing a boil, so that he'll 
settle down again. If you don't give him something to get angry about, he'll start drinking and 
only get worse." 

"Does he keep pet mice?" I whispered. "He said another of his mice had died." 

"Heavens, no. He leaves his ink sticks out, and the mice come and eat them and then die 
from poisoning. I gave him a box to put his inks in, but he won't use it." 

Just then Uchida's door rolled partway open-for he'd given it a shove and gone right back 
inside. Mameha and I slipped out of our shoes. The interior was a single large room in the 
style of a farmhouse. I could see incense burning in a far corner, but it hadn't done any good 
yet, because the smell of dead mouse struck me with as much force as if someone had stuck 
clay up my nose. The room was even messier than Hatsumomo's at its worst. Everywhere 
were long brushes, some broken or gnawed, and big wooden boards with half-finished 
drawings in black-and-white. In the midst of it all was an unmade futon with ink stains on the 
sheets. I imagined that Uchida would have ink stains all over himself as well, and when I 
turned to find out, he said to me: 

"What are you looking at?" 

"Uchida-san, may I present my younger sister, Sayuri," Mameha said. "She's come with me 
all the way from Gion for the honor of meeting you." 

All the way from Gion wasn't really very far; but in any case, I knelt on the mats and went 
through the ritual of bowing and begging Uchida's favor, although I wasn't convinced he'd 
heard a word of what Mameha had told him. 


"I was having a fine day until lunchtime," he said, "and then look what happened!" Uchida 
crossed the room and held up a board. Fastened onto it with pins was a sketch of a woman 
from the back, looking to one side and holding an umbrella-except that a cat had evidently 
stepped in ink and walked across it, leaving perfectly formed paw prints. The cat himself was 
curled up asleep at the moment in a pile of dirty clothes. 

"I brought him in-here for the mice and look!" he went on. "I've a mind to throw him out." 

"Oh, but the paw prints are lovely," said Mameha. "I think they improve the picture. What do 
you think, Sayuri?" 

I wasn't inclined to say anything, because Uchida was looking very upset at Mameha's 
comment. But in a moment I understood that she was trying to "lance the boil," as she'd put 
it. So I put on my most enthusiastic voice and said: 

"I'm surprised at how attractive the paw prints are! I think the cat may be something of an 
artist." 

"I know why you don't like him," said Mameha. "You're jealous of his talent." 

"Jealous, am I?" Uchida said. "That cat's no artist. He's a demon if he's anything!" 

"Forgive me, Uchida-san," Mameha replied. "It's just as you say. But tell me, are you 
planning to throw the picture away? Because