 
the Ichiriki Teahouse, with the train of my kimono pooled around my feet. 

After the ceremony we all went to a restaurant known as Kitcho for dinner. This was a 
solemn event too, and I spoke little and ate even less. Sitting there at dinner, Dr. Crab had 
probably already begun thinking about the moment that would come later, and yet I've never 
seen a man who looked more bored. I kept my eyes lowered throughout the meal in the 
interests of acting innocent, but every time I stole a glance in his direction, I found him 
peering down through his glasses like a man at a business meeting. 

When dinner was over, Mr. Bekku escorted me by rickshaw to a beautiful inn on the grounds 
of the Nanzen-ji Temple. He'd already visited there earlier in the day to arrange my clothing 
in an adjoining room. He helped me out of my kimono and changed me into a more casual 
one, with an obi that required no padding for the knot-since padding would be awkward for 
the Doctor. He tied the knot in such a way that it would come undone quite easily. After I was 
fully dressed, I felt so nervous that Mr. Bekku had to help me back into my room and arrange 
me near the door to await the Doctor's arrival. When he left me there, I felt a horrible sense 
of dread, as if I'd been about to have an operation to remove my kidneys, or my liver, or 
some such thing. 

Soon Dr. Crab arrived and asked that I order him sake while he bathed in the bath attached 
to the room. I think he may have expected me to help undress him, because he gave me a 
strange look. But my hands were so cold and awkward, I don't think I could have done it. He 
emerged a few minutes later wearing a sleeping robe and slid open the doors to the garden, 
where we sat on a little wooden balcony, sipping sake and listening to the sound of the 
crickets and the little stream below us. I spilled sake on my kimono, but the Doctor didn't 
notice. To tell the truth, he didn't seem to notice much of anything, except a fish that 
splashed in the pond nearby, which he pointed out to me as if I might never have seen such 
a thing. While we were there, a maid came and laid out both our futons, side by side. 

Finally the Doctor left me on the balcony and went inside. I shifted in such a way as to watch 
him from the corner of my eye. He unpacked two white towels from his suitcase and set them 
down on the table, arranging them this way and that until they were just so. He did the same 
with the pillows on one of the futons, and then came and stood at the door until I rose from 
my knees and followed him. 

While I was still standing, he removed my obi and told me to make myself comfortable on 
one of the futons. Everything seemed so strange and frightening to me, I couldn't have been 
comfortable no matter what I'd done. But I lay down on my back and used a pillow stuffed 


with beans to prop up my neck. The Doctor opened my robe and took a long while to loosen 
each of the garments beneath it step by step, rubbing his hands over my legs, which I think 
was supposed to help me relax. This went on for a long time, but at last he fetched the two 
white towels he'd unpacked earlier. He told me to raise my hips and then spread them out 
beneath me. 

"These will absorb the blood," he told me. 

Of course, a mizuage often involves a certain amount of blood, but no one had explained to 
me exactly why. I'm sure I should have kept quiet or even thanked the Doctor for being so 
considerate as to put down towels, but instead I blurted out, "What blood?" My voice 
squeaked a little as I said it, because my throat was so dry. Dr. Crab began explaining how 
the "hymen"-though I didn't know what that could possibly be-frequently bled when torn . . . 
and this, that, and the other ... I think I became so anxious hearing it all that I rose up a little 
from the futon, because the Doctor put his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me back 
down. 

I'm sure this sort of talk would be enough to quash some men's appetite for what they were 
about to do; but the Doctor wasn't that sort of man. When he'd finished his explanation, he 
said to me, "This is the second time I will have the opportunity of collecting a specimen of 
your blood. May I show you?" 

I'd noticed that he'd arrived with not only his leather overnight bag, but also a small wooden 
case. The Doctor fetched a key ring from the pocket of his trousers in the closet and 
unlocked the case. He brought it over and swung it open down the middle to make a kind of 
freestanding display. On both sides were shelves with tiny glass vials, all plugged with corks 
and held in place by straps. Along the bottom shelf were a few instruments, such as scissors 
and tweezers; but the rest of the case was crowded with these glass vials, perhaps as many 
as forty or fifty of them. Except for a few empty ones on the top shelf, they all held something 
inside, but I had no idea what. Only when the Doctor brought the lamp from the table was I 
able to see white labels along the tops of each vial, marked with the names of various 
geisha. I saw Mameha's name there, as well as the great Mamekichi's. I saw quite a number 
of other familiar names as well, including Hatsu-momo's friend Korin. 

"This one," the Doctor said as he removed one of the vials, "belongs to you." 

He'd written my name wrong, with a different character for the "ri" of Sayuri. But inside the 
vial was a shriveled-looking thing I thought resembled a pickled plum, though it was brownish 
rather than purple. The Doctor removed the cork and used tweezers to take it out. 

"This is a cotton swab that was drenched in your blood," he said, "from the time you cut your 
leg, you'll recall. I don't normally save the blood of my patients, but I was . . . very taken with 
you. After collecting this sample, I made up my mind that I would be your mizuage patron. I 
think you'll agree it will make an unusual specimen, to possess not just a sample of your 
blood collected at mizuage, but also a sample taken from a laceration on your leg quite a 
number of months earlier." 

I hid my disgust while the Doctor went on to show me several other vials, including 
Mameha's. Hers contained not a cotton swab, but a small wadding of white fabric that was 
stained the color of rust and had grown quite stiff. Dr. Crab seemed to find all these samples 
fascinating, but for my part . . . well, I pointed my face in their direction in order to be polite, 
but when the Doctor wasn't watching, I looked elsewhere. 

Finally he closed his case and set it aside before taking off his glasses, folding them and 
putting them on the table nearby. I was afraid the moment had come, and indeed, Dr. Crab 


moved my legs apart and arranged himself on his knees between them. I think my heart was 
beating at about the same speed as a mouse's. When the Doctor untied the sash of his 
sleeping robe, I closed my eyes and brought a hand up to cover my mouth, but I thought 
better of it at the last moment in case I should make a bad impression, and let my hand settle 
near my head instead. 

The Doctor's hands burrowed around for a while, making me very uncomfortable in much the 
same way as the young silver-haired doctor had a few weeks earlier. Then he lowered 
himself until his body was poised just above mine. I put all the force of my mind to work in 
making a sort of mental barrier between the Doctor and me, but it wasn't enough to keep me 
from feeling the Doctor's "eel," as Mameha might have called it, bump against the inside of 
my thigh. The lamp was still lit, and I searched the shadows on the ceiling for something to 
distract me, because now I felt the Doctor pushing so hard that my head shifted on the pillow. 
I couldn't think what to do with my hands, so I grabbed the pillow with them and squeezed my 
eyes tighter. Soon there was a great deal of activity going on above me, and I could feel all 
sorts of movement inside me as well. There must have been a very great deal of blood, 
because the air had an unpleasant metallic smell. I kept reminding myself how much the 
Doctor had paid for this privilege; and I remember hoping at one point that he was enjoying 
himself more than I was. I felt no more pleasure there than if someone had rubbed a file over 
and over against the inside of my thigh until I bled. 

Finally the homeless eel marked its territory, I suppose, and the Doctor lay heavily upon me, 
moist with sweat. I didn't at all like being so close to him, so I pretended to have trouble 
breathing in the hopes he would take his weight off me. For a long while he didn't move, but 
then all at once he got to his knees and was very businesslike again. I didn't watch him, but 
from the corner of my eye I couldn't help seeing that he wiped himself off using one of the 
towels beneath me. He tied the sash of his robe, and then put on his glasses, not noticing a 
little smear of blood at the edge of one lens, and began to wipe between my legs using 
towels and cotton swabs and the like, just as though we were back in one of the treatment 
rooms at the hospital. The worst of my discomfort had passed by this time, and I have to 
admit I was almost fascinated lying there, even with my legs spread apart so revealingly, as I 
watched him open the wooden case and take out the scissors. He cut away a piece of the 
bloody towel beneath me and stuffed it, along with a cotton ball he'd used, into the glass vial 
with my misspelled name on it. Then he gave a formal bow and said, "Thank you very much." 
I couldn't very well bow back while lying down, but it made no difference, because the Doctor 
stood at once and went off to the bath again. 

I hadn't realized it, but I'd been breathing very quickly from nervousness. Now that it was 
over and I was able to catch my breath, I probably looked as though I 