ringly 
beautiful, with the soft light of dawn and the slow rhythm of the shamisen music like a 
heartbeat in the background. The courtier performed a lovely dance of thanks to his mistress 
for their night together, and then moved toward the light of rising sun to capture its warmth 
for her. This was the moment when Mameha began to dance her lament of terrible sadness, 
hidden to one side of the stage out of view of the husband and mistress. Whether it was the 
beauty of Mameha's dance or of the story, I cannot say; but I found myself feeling such 
sorrow as I watched her, I felt as if I myself had been the victim of that terrible betrayal. At 
the end of the dance, sunlight filled the stage. Mameha crossed to a grove of trees to dance 
her simple death scene. I cannot tell you what happened after that. I was too overcome to 
watch any further; and in any case, I had to return backstage to prepare for my own 
entrance. 

While I waited in the wings, I had the peculiar feeling that the weight of the entire building 
was pressing down on me-because of course, sadness has always seemed to me an oddly 
heavy thing. A good dancer often wears her white, buttoned socks a size too small, so she 
can sense the seams in the wooden stage with her feet. But as I stood there trying to find the 
strength within myself to perform, I had the impression of so much weight upon me that I felt 
not only the seams in the stage, but even the fibers in the socks themselves. At last I heard 
the music of the drums and shamisen, and the whisking noise of the clothing as the other 
dancers moved quickly past me onto the stage; but it's very hard for me to remember 
anything afterward. I'm sure I raised my arms with my folding fan closed and my knees bent-
for this was the position in which I made my entrance. I heard no suggestion afterward that 
I'd missed-my cue, but all I remember clearly is watching my own arms with amazement at 
the sureness and evenness with which they moved. I'd practiced this dance any number of 
times; I suppose that must have been enough. Because although my mind had shut down 
completely, I performed my role without any difficulty or nervousness. 

At every performance for the rest of that month, I prepared for my entrance in the same way, 
by concentrating on "The Courtier Returns to His Wife," until I could feel the sadness laying 
itself over me. We human beings have a remarkable way of growing accustomed to things; 
but when I pictured Mameha dancing her slow lament, hidden from the eyes of her husband 


and his mistress, I could no more have stopped myself from feeling that sadness than you 
could stop yourself from smelling an apple that has been cut open on the table before you. 

One day in the final week of performances, Mameha and I stayed late in the dressing room, 
talking with another geisha. When we left the theater we expected to find no one outside-and 
indeed the crowd had gone. But as we reached the street, a driver in uniform stepped out of 
a car and opened the rear door. Mameha and I were on the point of walking right past when 
Nobu emerged. 

"Why, Nobu-san," Mameha said, "I was beginning to worry that you no longer cared for 
Sayuri's company! Every day this past month, we've hoped to hear something from you . . ." 

"Who are you to complain about being kept waiting? I've been outside this theater nearly an 
hour." 

"Have you just come from seeing the dances again?" Mameha said. "Sayuri is quite a star." 

"I haven't just come from anything," Nobu said. "I've come from the dances a full hour ago. 
Enough time has passed for me to make a phone call and send my driver downtown to pick 
something up for me." 

Nobu banged on the window of the car with his one hand, and startled the poor driver so 
badly his cap fell off. The driver rolled down the window and gave Nobu a tiny shopping bag 
in the Western style, made of what looked like silver foil. Nobu turned to me, and I gave him 
a deep bow and told him how happy I was to see him. 

"You're a very talented dancer, Sayuri. I don't give gifts for no reason," he said, though I don't 
think this was in any way true. "Probably that's why Mameha and others in Gion don't like me 
as much as other men." 

"Nobu-san!" said Mameha. "Who has ever suggested such a thing?" 

"I know perfectly well what you geisha like. So long as a man gives you presents you'll put up 
with any sort of nonsense." 

Nobu held out the small package in his hand for me to take. 

"Why, Nobu-san," I said, "what nonsense is it that you are asking me to put up with?" I meant 
this as a joke, of course; but Nobu didn't see it that way. 

"Haven't I just said I'm not like other men?" he growled. "Why don't you geisha ever believe 
anything told to you? If you want this package, you'd better take it before I change my mind." 

I thanked Nobu and accepted the package, and he banged on the window of the car once 
again. The driver jumped out to hold the door for him. 

We bowed until the car had turned the corner and then Mameha led me back into the garden 
of the Kaburenjo Theater, where we took a seat on a stone bench overlooking the carp pond 
and peered into the bag Nobu had given me. It contained only a tiny box, wrapped in gold-
colored paper embossed with the name of a famous jewelry store and tied with a red ribbon. 
I opened it to find a simple jewel, a ruby as big as a peach pit. It was like a giant drop of 
blood sparkling in the sunlight over the pond. When I turned it in my fingers, the glimmer 
jumped from one face to another. I could feel each of the jumps in my chest. 


"I can see how thrilled you are," Mameha said, "and I'm very happy for you. But don't enjoy it 
too much. You'll have other jewels in your life, Sayuri-plenty of them, I should think. But you'll 
never have this opportunity again. Take this ruby back to your okiya, and give it to Mother." 

To see this beautiful jewel, and the light that seeped out of it painting my hand pink, and to 
think of Mother with her sickly yellow eyes and their meat-colored rims . . . well, it seemed to 
me that giving this jewel to her would be like dressing up a badger in silk. But of course, I had 
to obey Mameha. 

"When you give it to her," she went on, "you must be especially sweet and say, 'Mother, I 
really have no need for a jewel like this and would be honored if you'd accept it. I've caused 
you so much trouble over the years.' But don't say more, or she'll think you're being 
sarcastic." 

When I sat in my room later, grinding an ink stick to write a note of thanks to Nobu, my mood 
grew darker and darker. If Mameha herself had asked me for the ruby, I could have given it 
to her cheerfully . . . but to give it to- Mother! I'd grown fond of Nobu, and was sorry that his 
expensive gift would go to such a woman. I knew perfectly well that if the ruby had been from 
the Chairman, I couldn't have given it up at all. In any case, I finished the note and went to 
Mother's room to speak with her. She was sitting in the dim light, petting her dog and 
smoking. 

"What do you want?" she said to me. "I'm about to send for a pot of tea." 

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mother. This afternoon when Mameha and I left the theater, 
President Nobu Toshikazu was waiting for me-" 

"Waiting for Mameha-san, you mean." 

"I don't know, Mother. But he gave me a gift. It's a lovely thing, but I have no use for it." 

I wanted to say that I would be honored if she would take it, but Mother wasn't listening to 
me. She put her pipe down onto the table and took the box from my hand before I could even 
offer it to her. I tried again to explain things, but Mother just turned over the box to dump the 
ruby into her oily fingers. 

"What is this?" she asked. 

"It's the gift President Nobu gave me. Nobu Toshikazu, of Iwa-mura Electric, I mean." 

"Don't you think I know who Nobu Toshikazu is?" 

She got up from the table to walk over to the window, where she slid back the paper screen 
and held the ruby into the stream of late-afternoon sunlight. She was doing what I had done 
on the street, turning the gem around and watching the sparkle move from face to face. 
Finally she closed the screen again and came back. 

"You must have misunderstood. Did he ask you to give it to Mameha?" 

"Well, Mameha was with me at the time." 

I could see that Mother's mind was like an intersection with too much traffic in it. She put the 
ruby onto the table and began to puff on her pipe. I saw every cloud of smoke as a little 
confused thought released into the air. Finally she said to me, "So, Nobu Toshikazu has an 
interest in you, does he?" 


"I've been honored by his attention for some time now." 

At this, she put the pipe down onto the table, as if to say that the conversation was about to 
grow much more serious. "I haven't watched you as closely as I should have," she said. "If 
you've had any boyfriends, now is the time to tell me." 

"I've never had a single boyfriend, Mother." 

I don't know whether she believed what I'd said or not, but she dismissed me just the same. I 
hadn't yet offered her the ruby to keep, as Mameha had instructed me to do. I was trying to 
think of how to raise the subject. But when I glanced at the table where the gem lay on its 
side, she must have thought I wanted to ask for it back. I had no time to say anything further 
before she reached out and swallowed it up in her hand. 

Finally it happened, one afternoon only a few days later. Mameha came to the okiya and took 
me into the reception room to tell me that the bidding for my mizuage had begun. She'd 
received a message from the mistress of the Ichiriki that very morning. 

"I couldn't be more disappointed at the timing," Mameha said, "because I have to leave for 
Tokyo this afternoon. But 