 your help it has healed completely." 

"I hope the injury-hasn't left too much of a scar," he said. 

"Oh, no, just a tiny bump, really." 

I might have ended the conversation right there by pouring him more sake, perhaps, or 
changing the subject; but I happened to notice that he was stroking one of his thumbs with 
the fingers of his other hand. The Doctor was the sort of man who never wasted a single 
movement. If he was stroking his thumb in this way while thinking about my leg ... well, I 
decided it would be foolish for me to change the subject. 

"It isn't much of a scar," I went on. "Sometimes when I'm in the bath, I rub my finger across it, 
and . . . it's just a tiny ridge, really. About like this." 

I rubbed one of my knuckles with my index finger and held it out for the Doctor to do the 
same. He brought his hand up; but then he hesitated. I saw his eyes jump toward mine. In a 
moment he drew his hand back and felt his own knuckle instead. 

"A cut of that sort should have healed smoothly," he told me. 

"Perhaps it isn't as big as I've said. After all, my leg is very . . . well, sensitive, you see. Even 
just a drop of rain falling onto it is enough to make me shudder!" 

I'm not going to pretend any of this made sense. A bump wouldn't seem bigger just because 
my leg was sensitive; and anyway, when was the last time I'd felt a drop of rain on my bare 
leg? But now that I understood why Dr. Crab was really interested in me, I suppose I was 
half-disgusted and half-fascinated as I tried to imagine what was going on in his mind. In any 
case, the Doctor cleared his throat and leaned toward me. 

"And . . . have you been practicing?" 

"Practicing?" 

"You sustained the injury when you lost your balance while you were . . . well, you see what I 
mean. You don't want that to happen again. So I expect you've been practicing. But how 
does one practice such a thing?" 

After this, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was clear to me he expected to hear an 
answer longer than simply a word or two. 

"Well, you'll think me very silly, but every night ..." I began; and then I had to think for a 
moment. The silence dragged on, but the Doctor never opened his eyes. He seemed to me 
like a baby bird just waiting for the mother's beak. "Every night," I went on, "just before I step 
into the bath, I practice balancing in a variety of positions. Sometimes I have to shiver from 
the cold air against my bare skin; but I spend five or ten minutes that way." 

The Doctor cleared his throat, which I took as a good sign. 


"First I try balancing on one foot, and then the other. But the trouble is . . ." 

Up until this point, the Baron, on the opposite side of the platform from me, had been talking 
with his other guests; but now he ended his story. The next words I spoke were as clear as if 
I'd stood at a podium and announced them. 

"... when I don't have any clothing on-" 

I clapped a hand over my mouth, but before I could think of what to do, the Baron spoke up. 
"My goodness!" he said. "Whatever you two are talking about over there, it certainly sounds 
more interesting than what we've been saying!" 

The men laughed when they heard this. Afterward the Doctor was kind enough to offer an 
explanation. 

"Sayuri-san came to me late last year with a leg injury," he said. "She sustained it when she 
fell. As a result, I suggested she work at improving her balance." 

"She's been working at it very hard," Mameha added. "Those robes are more awkward than 
they look." 

"Let's have her take them off, then!" said one of the men- though of course, it was only a 
joke, and everyone laughed. 

"Yes, I agree!" the Baron said. "I never understand why women bother wearing kimono in the 
first place. Nothing is as beautiful as a woman without an item of clothing on her body." 

"That isn't true when the kimono has been made by my good friend Arashino," Nobu said. 

"Not even Arashino's kimono are as lovely as what they cover up," the Baron said, and tried 
to put his sake cup onto the platform, though it ended up spilling. He wasn't drunk, exactly-
though he was certainly much further along in his drinking than I'd ever imagined him. "Don't 
misunderstand me," he went on. "I think Arashino's robes are lovely. Otherwise he wouldn't 
be sitting here beside me, now would he? But if you ask me whether I'd rather look at a 
kimono or a naked woman . . . well!" 

"No one's asking," said Nobu. "I myself am interested to hear what sort of work Arashino has 
been up to lately." 

But Arashino didn't have a chance to answer; because the Baron, who was taking a last slurp 
of sake, nearly choked in his hurry to interrupt. 

"Mmm . . . just a minute," he said. "Isn't it true that every man on this earth likes to see a 
naked woman? I mean, is that what you're saying, Nobu, that the naked female form doesn't 
interest you?" 

"That isn't what I'm saying," Nobu said. "What I'm saying is, I think it's time for us to hear from 
Arashino exactly what sort of work he's been up to lately." 

"Oh, yes, I'm certainly interested too," the Baron said. "But you know, I do find it fascinating 
that no matter how different we men may seem, underneath it all we're exactly the same. 
You can't pretend you're above it, Nobu-san. We know the truth, don't we? There isn't a man 
here who wouldn't pay quite a bit of money just for the chance to watch Sayuri take a bath. 
Eh? That's a particular fantasy of mine, I'll admit. Now come on! Don't pretend you don't feel 
the same way I do." 


"Poor Sayuri is only an apprentice," said Mameha. "Perhaps we ought to spare her this 
conversation." 

"Certainly not!" the Baron answered. "The sooner she sees the world as it really is, the 
better. Plenty of men act as if they don't chase women just for the chance to get underneath 
all those robes, but you listen to me, Sayuri; there's only one kind of man! And while we're on 
this subject, here's something for you to keep in mind: Every man seated here has at some 
point this afternoon thought of how much he would enjoy seeing you naked. What do you 
think of that?" 

I was sitting with my hands in my lap, gazing down at the wooden platform and trying to 
seem demure. I had to respond in some way to what the Baron had said, particularly since 
everyone else was completely silent; but before I could think of what to say, Nobu did 
something very kind. He put his sake cup down onto the platform and stood up to excuse 
himself. 

"I'm sorry, Baron, but I don't know the way to the toilet," he said. Of course, this was my cue 
to escort him. 

I didn't know the way to the toilet any better than Nobu; but I wasn't going to miss the 
opportunity to remove myself from the gathering. As I rose to my feet, a maid offered to show 
me the way, and led me around the pond, with Nobu following along behind. 

In the house, we walked down a long hallway of blond wood with windows on one side. On 
the other side, brilliantly lit in the sunshine, stood display cases with glass tops. I was about 
to lead Nobu down to the end, but he stopped at a case containing a collection of antique 
swords. He seemed to be looking at the display, but mostly he drummed the fingers of his 
one hand on the glass and blew air out his nose again and again, for he was still very angry. 
I felt troubled by what had happened as well. But I was also grateful to him for rescuing me, 
and I wasn't sure how to express this. At the next case-a display of tiny netsuke figures 
carved in ivory-I asked him if he liked antiques. 

"Antiques like the Baron, you mean? Certainly not." 

The Baron wasn't a particularly old man-much younger than Nobu, in fact. But I knew what 
he meant; he thought of the Baron as a relic of the feudal age. 

"I'm so sorry," I said, "I was thinking of the antiques here in the case." 

"When I look at the swords over there, they make me think of the Baron. When I look at the 
netsuke here, they make me think of the Baron. He's been a supporter of our company, and I 
owe him a great debt. But I don't like to waste my time thinking about him when I don't have 
to. Does that answer your question?" 

I bowed to him in reply, and he strode off down the hallway to the toilet, so quickly that I 
couldn't reach the door first to open it for him. 

Later, when we returned to the water's edge, I was pleased to see that the party was 
beginning to break up. Only a few of the men would remain for dinner. Mameha and I 
ushered the others up the path to the main gate, where their drivers were waiting for them on 
the side street. We bowed farewell to the last man, and I turned to find one of the Baron's 
servants ready to show us into the house. 


Mameha and I spent the next hour in the servants' quarters, eating a lovely dinner that 
included tai no usugiri-paper-thin slices of sea bream, fanned out on a leaf-shaped ceramic 
plate and served with ponzu sauce. I would certainly have enjoyed myself if Mameha hadn't 
been so moody. She ate only a few bites of her sea bream and sat staring out the window at 
the dusk. Something about her expression made me think she would have liked to go back 
down to the pond and sit, biting her lip, perhaps, and peering in anger at the darkening sky. 

We rejoined the Baron and his guests already partway through their dinner, in what the 
Baron called the "small banquet room." Actually, the small banquet room could have 
accommodated probably twenty or twenty-five people; and now that the party had shrunk in 
size, only Mr. Arashino, Nobu, and Dr. Crab remained. When we entered, they were eating in 
complete silence. The Baron was so drunk his eyes seemed to slosh around in their sockets. 

Just as Mameha was beginning a conversation, Dr. Crab stroked a napkin down his 
mustache twice and 