 of tea and sugar, as well as 
chocolates, which were becoming scarce even in Gion. And of course, Mother had been 
quite wrong about the war ending within six months. We couldn't have believed it at the time, 
but we'd scarcely seen the beginning of the dark years just yet. 

During that fall when the General became my danna, Nobu ceased inviting me to parties 
where I'd so often entertained him. Soon I realized he'd stopped coming to the Ichiriki 
altogether. I couldn't think of any reason he should do this, unless it was to avoid me. With a 
sigh, the mistress of the Ichiriki agreed that I was probably right. At the New Year I wrote 
Nobu a card, as I did with all of my patrons, but he didn't respond. It's easy for me to look 
back now and tell you casually how many months passed; but at the time I lived in anguish. I 
felt I'd wronged a man who had treated me kindly-a man I'd come to think of as a friend. 


What was more, without Nobu's patronage, I was no longer invited to Iwamura Electric's 
parties, which meant I hardly stood any chance at all of seeing the Chairman. 

Of course, the Chairman still came regularly to the Ichiriki even though Nobu didn't. I saw him 
quietly upbraiding a junior associate in the hallway one evening, gesturing with a fountain 
pen for emphasis, and I didn't dare disturb him to say hello. Another night, a worried-looking 
young apprentice named Naotsu, with a terrible underbite, was walking him to the toilet when 
he caught sight of me. He left Naotsu standing there to come and speak with me. We 
exchanged the usual pleasantries. I thought I saw, in his faint smile, the kind of subdued 
pride men often seem to feel when gazing on their own children. Before he continued on his 
way, I said to him, "Chairman, if there's ever an evening when the presence of another 
geisha or two might be helpful. . ." 

This was very forward of me, but to my relief the Chairman didn't take offense. 

"That's a fine idea, Sayuri," he said. "I'll ask for you." 

But the weeks passed, and he didn't. 

One evening late in March I dropped in on a very lively party given by the Governor of Kyoto 
Prefecture at a teahouse called Shunju. The Chairman was there, on the losing end of a 
drinking game, looking exhausted in shirtsleeves and with his tie loosened. Actually the 
Governor had lost most of the rounds, as I learned, but held his sake better than the 
Chairman. 

"I'm so glad you're here, Sayuri," he said to me. "You've got to help me. I'm in trouble." 

To see the smooth skin of his face splotched red, and his arms protruding from rolled-up 
shirtsleeves, I thought at once of Yasuda-san on that night at the Tatematsu Teahouse. For 
the briefest moment I had a feeling that everything in the room had vanished but the 
Chairman and me, and that in his slightly drunken state I might lean in toward him until his 
arms went around me, and put my lips on his. I even had a flicker of embarrassment that I'd 
been so obvious in my thoughts that the Chairman must have understood them . . . but if so, 
he seemed to regard me just the same. To help him, all I could do was conspire with another 
geisha to slow the pace of the game. The Chairman seemed grateful for this, and when it 
was all over, he sat and talked with me a long while, drinking glasses of water to sober up. 
Finally he took a handkerchief from his pocket, identical to the one tucked inside my obi, and 
wiped his forehead with it, and then smoothed his coarse hair back along his head before 
saying to me: 

"When was the last time you spoke with your old friend Nobu?" 

"Not in quite some time, Chairman," I said. "To tell the truth, I have the impression Nobu-san 
may be angry with me." 

The Chairman was looking down into his handkerchief as he refolded it. "Friendship is a 
precious thing, Sayuri," he said. "One mustn't throw it away." 

I thought about this conversation often over the weeks that followed. Then one day late in 
April, I was putting on my makeup for a performance of Dances of the Old Capital, when a 
young apprentice I hardly knew came to speak with me. I put down my makeup brush, 
expecting her to ask a favor-because our okiya was still well supplied with things others in 
Gion had learned to do without. But instead she said: 


"I'm terribly sorry to trouble you, Sayuri-san, but my name is Takazuru. I wondered if you 
would mind helping me. I know you were once very good friends with Nobu-san . . ." 

After months and months of wondering about him, and feeling terribly ashamed for what I'd 
done, just to hear Nobu's name when I didn't expect it was like opening storm shutters and 
feeling the first draft of air. 

"We must all help each other whenever we can, Takazuru," I said. "And if it's a problem with 
Nobu-san, I'm especially interested. I hope he's well." 

"Yes, he is well, ma'am, or at least I think so. He comes to the Awazumi Teahouse, in East 
Gion. Do you know it?" 

"Oh, yes, I know it," I said. "But I had no idea Nobu-san visited there." 

"Yes, ma'am, quite often," Takazuru told me. "But . . . may I ask, Sayuri-san? You've known 
him a long while, and . . . well, Nobu-san is a kind man, isn't he?" 

"Takazuru-san, why do you ask me? If you've been spending time with him, surely you know 
whether or not he is kind!" 

"I'm sure I must sound foolish. But I'm so confused! He asks for me every time he comes to 
Gion, and my older sister tells me he's as good a patron as any girl could hope for. But now 
she's angry with me because I've cried in front of him several times. I know I shouldn't do it, 
but I can't even promise I won't do it again!" 

"He is being cruel to you, is he?" 

By way of answering, poor Takazuru clenched her trembling lips together, and in a moment 
tears began to pool at the edges of her lids, so much that her little round eyes seemed to 
gaze up at me from two puddles. 

"Sometimes Nobu-san doesn't know how harsh he sounds," I told her. "But he must like you, 
Takazuru-san. Otherwise, why would he ask for you?" 

"I think he asks for me only because I'm someone to be mean to," she said. "One time he did 
say my hair smelled clean, but then he told me what a nice change that was." 

"It's strange that you see him so often," I said. "I've been hoping for months to run into him." 

"Oh, please don't, Sayuri-san! He already says how nothing about me is as good as you. If 
he sees you again, he'll only think the worse of me. I know I shouldn't bother you with my 
problems, ma'am, but ... I thought you might know something I could do to please him. He 
likes stimulating conversation, but I never know what to say. Everyone tells me I'm not a very 
bright girl." 

People in Kyoto are trained to say things like this; but it struck me that this poor girl might be 
telling the truth. It wouldn't have surprised me if Nobu regarded her as nothing more than the 
tree where the tiger might sharpen its claws. I couldn't think of anything helpful, so in the end 
I suggested she read a book about some historical event Nobu might find interesting, and tell 
the story to him bit by bit when they met. I myself had done this sort of thing from time to 
time-for there were men who liked nothing more than to sit back with their eyes watery and 
half-closed, and listen to the sound of a woman's voice. I wasn't sure it would work with 
Nobu, but Takazuru seemed very grateful for the idea. 


Now that I knew where to find Nobu, I was determined to go and see him. I felt terribly sorry 
I'd made him angry with me; and of course, I might never see the Chairman again without 
him. I certainly didn't want to cause Nobu pain, but I thought perhaps by meeting with him I 
could find some way of resuming our friendship. The trouble was, I couldn't drop in uninvited 
at the Awazumi, for I had no formal relationship with the teahouse. So in the end I made up 
my mind to stroll past during the evening whenever I could, in the hopes of bumping into 
Nobu on his way there. I knew his habits well enough to make a fair guess about the time he 
might arrive. 

For eight or nine weeks I kept up this plan. Then at last one evening I spotted him emerging 
from the back of a limousine in the dark alleyway ahead of me. I knew it was him, because 
the empty sleeve of his jacket, pinned at the shoulder, gave him an unmistakable silhouette. 
The driver was handing him his briefcase as I neared. I stopped in the light of a lantern there 
in the alley, and let out a little gasp that would sound like delight. Nobu looked in my direction 
just as I'd hoped. 

"Well, well," he said. "One forgets how lovely a geisha can look." He spoke in such a casual 
tone, I had to wonder whether he knew it 

was me. 

"Why, sir, you sound like my old friend Nobu-san," I said. "But you can't be him, for I have the 
impression he has disappeared completely from Gion!" 

The driver closed the door, and we stood in silence until the car pulled away. 

"I'm so relieved," I said, "to see Nobu-san again at last! And what luck for me that he should 
be standing in the shadows rather than in the light." 

"Sometimes I don't have the least idea what you're talking about, Sayuri. You must have 
learned this from Mameha. Or maybe they teach it to all geisha." 

"With Nobu-san standing in the shadows, I'm unable to see the angry expression on his 
face." 

"I see," he said. "So you think I'm angry with you?" "What else am I to think, when an old 
friend disappears for so many months? I suppose you're going to tell me that you've been too 
busy to come to the Ichiriki." 

"Why do you say it as if it couldn't possibly be true?" "Because I happen to know that you've 
been coming to Gion often. But don't bother to ask me how I know. I won't tell you unless you 
agree to come on a stroll with me." 

"All r