e okiya over in the Hanami-cho section," Auntie told me. "But don't 
take pity on her and bring her back here for a visit. Mother won't want to see her. I think it's 
foolish for you to speak with her anyway." 


"I have to admit," I said, "I've never felt right about what happened between Pumpkin and me 
. . ." 

"Nothing happened between you. Pumpkin fell short and you succeeded. Anyway, she's 
doing very well these days. I hear the Americans can't get enough of her. She's crude, you 
know, in just the right sort of way for them." 

That very afternoon I crossed Shijo Avenue to the Hanami-cho section of Gion, and found 
the sad little okiya Auntie had told me about. If you remember Hatsumomo's friend Korin, and 
how her okiya had burned during the darkest years of the war . . . well, that fire had damaged 
the okiya next door as well, and this was where Pumpkin was now living. Its exterior walls 
were charred all along one side, and a part of the tiled roof that had burned away was 
crudely patched with wooden boards. I suppose in sections of Tokyo or Osaka, it might have 
been the most intact building in the neighborhood; but it stood out in the middle of Kyoto. 

A young maid showed me into a reception room that smelled of wet ash, and came back 
later to serve me a cup of weak tea. I waited a long while before Pumpkin at last came and 
slid open the door. I could scarcely see her in the dark hallway outside, but just knowing she 
was there made me feel such warmth, I rose from the table to go and embrace her. She took 
a few steps into the room and then knelt and gave a bow as formal as if I'd been Mother. I 
was startled by this, and stopped where I stood. 

"Really, Pumpkin . . . it's only me!" I said. 

She wouldn't even look at me, but kept her eyes to the mats like a maid awaiting orders. I felt 
very disappointed and went back to my place at the table. 

When we'd last seen each other in the final years of the war, Pumpkin's face had still been 
round and full just as in childhood, but with a more sorrowful look. She had changed a great 
deal in the years since. I didn't know it at the time, but after the closing of the lens factory 
where she'd worked, Pumpkin spent more than two years in Osaka as a prostitute. Her 
mouth "seemed to have shrunken in size-perhaps because she held it taut, I don't know. And 
though she had the same broad face, her heavy cheeks had thinned, leaving her with a 
gaunt elegance that was astonishing to me. I don't mean to suggest Pumpkin had become a 
beauty to rival Hatsumomo or anything of the sort, but her face had a certain womanliness 
that had never been there before. 

"I'm sure the years have been difficult, Pumpkin," I said to her, "but you look quite lovely." 

Pumpkin didn't reply to this. She just inclined her head faintly to indicate she'd heard me. I 
congratulated her on her popularity and tried asking about her life since the war, but she 
remained so expressionless that I began to feel sorry I'd come. 

Finally after an awkward silence, she spoke. 

"Have you come here just to chat, Sayuri? Because I don't have anything to say that will 
interest you." 

"The truth is," I said, "I saw Nobu Toshikazu recently, and . . . actually, Pumpkin, he'll be 
bringing a certain man to Gion from time to time. I thought perhaps you'd be kind enough to 
help us entertain him." 

"But of course, you've changed your mind now that you've seen me." 


"Why, no," I said. "I don't know why you say that. Nobu Toshikazu and the Chairman-
Iwamura Ken, I mean . . . Chairman Iwamura- would appreciate your company greatly. It's as 
simple as that." 

For a moment Pumpkin just knelt in silence, peering down at the mats. "I've stopped 
believing that anything in life is 'as simple as that,' " she said at last. "I know you think I'm 
stupid-" 

"Pumpkin!" 

"-but I think you probably have some other reason you're not going to tell me about." 

Pumpkin gave a little bow, which I thought very enigmatic. Either it was an apology for what 
she'd just said, or perhaps she was about to excuse herself. 

"I suppose I do have another reason," I said. "To tell the truth, I'd hoped that after all these 
years, perhaps you and I might be friends, as we once were. We've survived so many things 
together . . . including Hatsumomo! It seems only natural to me that we should see each 
other again." 

Pumpkin said nothing. 

"Chairman Iwamura and Nobu will be entertaining the Minister again next Saturday at the 
Ichiriki Teahouse," I told her. "If you'll join us, I'd be very pleased to see you there." 

I'd brought her a packet of tea as a gift, and now I untied it from its silk cloth and placed it on 
the table. As I rose to my feet, I tried to think of something kind to tell her before leaving, but 
she looked so puzzled, I thought it best just to go. 

Chapter thirty-one 

In the five or so years since I'd last seen the Chairman, I'd read from time to time in the 
newspapers about the difficulties he'd suffered- not only his disagreements with the military 
government in the final years of the war, but his struggle since then to keep the Occupation 
authorities from seizing his company. It wouldn't have surprised me if all these hardships had 
aged him a good deal. One photograph of him in the Yomiuri newspaper showed a strained 
look around his eyes from worry, like the neighbor of Mr. Arashino's who used to squint up at 
the sky so often, watching for bombers. In any case, as the weekend neared I had to remind 
myself that Nobu hadn't quite made up his mind that he would bring the Chairman. I could do 
nothing but hope. On Saturday morning I awakened early and slid back the paper screen 
over my window to find a cold rain falling against the glass. In the little alleyway below, a 
young maid was just climbing to her feet again after slipping on the icy cobblestones. It was a 
drab, miserable day, and I was afraid even to read my almanac. By noon the temperature 
had dropped still further, and I could see my breath as I ate lunch in the reception room, with 
the sound of icy rain tapping against the window. Any number of parties that evening were 
canceled because the streets were too hazardous, and at nightfall Auntie telephoned the 
Ichiriki to be sure Iwamura Electric's party was still on. The mistress told us the telephone 
lines to Osaka were down, and she couldn't be sure. So I bathed and dressed, and walked 
over to the Ichiriki on the arm of Mr. Bekku, who wore a pair of rubber overshoes he'd 
borrowed from his younger brother, a dresser in the Pontocho district. 

The Ichiriki was in chaos when I arrived. A water pipe had burst in the servants' quarters, and 
the maids were so busy, I couldn't get the attention of a single one. I showed myself down 
the hallway to the room where I'd entertained Nobu and the Minister the week before. I didn't 
really expect anyone to be there, considering that both Nobu and the Chairman would 


probably be traveling all the way from Osaka-and even Mameha had been out of town and 
might very well have had trouble returning. Before sliding open the door, I knelt a moment 
with my eyes closed and one hand on my stomach to calm my nerves. All at once it occurred 
to me that the hallway was much too quiet. I couldn't hear even a murmur from within the 
room. With a terrible feeling of disappointment I realized the room must be empty. I was 
about to stand and leave when I decided to slide open the door just in case; and when I did, 
there at the table, holding a magazine with both hands, sat the Chairman, looking at me over 
the top of his reading glasses. I was so startled to see him, I couldn't even speak. Finally I 
managed to say: 

"My goodness, Chairman! Who has left you here all by yourself? The mistress will be very 
upset." 

"She's the one who left me," he said, and slapped the magazine shut. "I've been wondering 
what happened to her." 

"You don't even have a thing to drink. Let me bring you some sake." 

"That's just what the mistress said. At this rate you'll never come back, and I'll have to go on 
reading this magazine all night. I'd much rather have your company." And here he removed 
his reading glasses, and while stowing them in his pocket, took a long look at me through 
narrowed eyes. 

The spacious room with its pale yellow walls of silk began to seem very small to me as I rose 
to join the Chairman, for I don't think any room would have been enough to contain all that I 
was feeling. To see him again after so long awakened something desperate inside me. I was 
surprised to find myself feeling sad, rather than joyful, as I would have imagined. At times I'd 
worried that the Chairman might have fallen headlong into old age during the war just as 
Auntie had done. 

Even from across the room, I'd noticed that the corners of his eyes were creased more 
sharply than I remembered them. The skin around his mouth, too, had begun to sag, though 
it seemed to me to give his strong jaw a kind of dignity. I stole a glimpse of him as I knelt at 
the table, and found that he was still watching me without expression. I was about to start a 
conversation, but the Chairman spoke first. 

"You are still a lovely woman, Sayuri." 

"Why, Chairman," I said, "I'll never believe another word you say. I had to spend a half hour 
at my makeup stand this evening to hide the sunken look of my cheeks." 

"I'm sure you've suffered worse hardships during the past several years than losing a bit of 
weight. I know I certainly have." 

"Chairman, if you don't mind my saying it ... I've heard a little bit from Nobu-san about the 
difficulties your company is facing-" 

"Yes, well, we needn't talk about that. Sometimes we get through adversity only by imagining 
what the world might be like if our dreams