ut didn't want to show it, I could nevertheless spot his mouth 
quivering in the corners. Or when he was lost in thought-mulling over some problem he'd 
encountered during the day, perhaps-he sometimes turned a sake cup around and around in 
his hand and put his mouth into a deep frown that made creases all the way down the sides 
of his chin. Whenever he was carried away in this state I considered myself free to stare at 
him unabashedly. Something about his frown, and its deep furrows, I came to find 
inexpressibly handsome. It seemed to show how thoroughly he thought about things, and 
how seriously he was taken in the world. One evening while Mameha was telling a long 
story, I gave myself over so completely to staring at the Chairman that when I finally came to 
myself again, I realized that anyone watching me would have wondered what I was doing. 
Luckily the Minister was too dazed with drink to have noticed; as for Nobu, he was chewing a 
bite of something and poking around on the plate with his chopsticks, paying no attention 
either to Mameha or to me. Pumpkin, though, seemed to have been watching me all along. 
When I looked at her, she wore a smile I wasn't sure how to interpret. 

One evening toward the end of February, Pumpkin came down with the flu and was unable 
to join us at the Ichiriki. The Chairman was late that night as well, so Mameha and I spent an 


hour entertaining Nobu and the Minister by ourselves. We finally decided to put on a dance, 
more for our own benefit than for theirs. Nobu wasn't much of a devotee, and the Minister 
had no interest at all. It wasn't our first choice as a way to pass the time, but we couldn't think 
of anything better. 

First Mameha performed a few brief pieces while I accompanied her on the shamisen. 
Afterward, we exchanged places. Just as I was taking up the starting pose for my first dance-
my torso bent so that my folding fan reached toward the ground, and my other arm stretched 
out to one side-the door slid open and the Chairman entered. We greeted him and waited 
while he took a seat at the table. I was delighted he'd arrived, because although I knew he'd 
seen me on the stage, he'd certainly never watched me dance in a setting as intimate as this 
one. At first I'd intended to perform a short piece called "Shimmering Autumn Leaves," but 
now I changed my mind and asked Mameha to play "Cruel Rain" instead. The story behind 
"Cruel Rain" is of a young woman who feels deeply moved when her lover takes off his 
kimono jacket to cover her during a rainstorm, because she knows 
him to be an enchanted spirit whose body will melt away if he becomes wet. My teachers had 
often complimented me on the way I expressed the woman's feelings of sorrow; during the 
section when I had to sink slowly to my knees, I rarely allowed my legs to tremble as most 
dancers did. Probably I've mentioned this already, but in dances of the Inoue School the 
facial expression is as important as the movement of the arms or legs. So although I'd like to 
have stolen glances at the Chairman as I was dancing, I had to keep my eyes positioned 
properly at all times, and was never able to do it. Instead, to help give feeling to my dance, I 
focused my mind on the saddest thing I could think of, which was to imagine that my danna 
was there in the room with me-not the Chairman, but rather Nobu. The moment I formulated 
this thought, everything around me seemed to droop heavily toward the earth. Outside in the 
garden, the eaves of the roof dripped rain like beads of weighted glass. Even the mats 
themselves seemed to press down upon the floor. I remember thinking that I was dancing to 
express not the pain of a young woman who has lost her supernatural lover, but the pain I 
myself would feel when my life was finally robbed of the one thing I cared most deeply about. 
I found myself thinking, too, of Satsu; I danced the bitterness of our eternal separation. By 
the end I felt almost overcome with grief; but I certainly wasn't prepared for what I saw when I 
turned to look at the Chairman. 

He was sitting at the near corner of the table so that, as it happened, no one but me could 
see him. I thought he wore an expression of astonishment at first, because his eyes were so 
wide. But just as his mouth sometimes twitched when he tried not to smile, now I could see it 
twitching under the strain of a different emotion. I couldn't be sure, but I had the impression 
his eyes were heavy with tears. He looked toward the door, pretending to scratch the side of 
his nose so he could wipe a finger in the corner, of his eye; and he smoothed his eyebrows 
as though they were the source of his trouble. I was so shocked to see the Chairman in pain 
that I felt almost disoriented for a moment. I made my way back to the table, and Mameha 
and Nobu began to talk. After a moment the Chairman interrupted. 

"Where is Pumpkin this evening?" 

"Oh, she's ill, Chairman," said Mameha. 

"What do you mean? Won't she be here at all?" 

"No, not at all," Mameha said. "And it's a good thing, considering she has the stomach flu." 

Mameha went back to talking. I saw the Chairman glance at his wristwatch and then, with his 
voice still unsteady, he said: 

"Mameha, you'll have to excuse me. I'm not feeling very well myself this evening." 


Nobu said something funny just as the Chairman was sliding the door shut, and everyone 
laughed. But I was thinking a thought that frightened me. In my dance, I'd tried to express the 
pain of absence. Certainly I had upset myself doing it, but I'd upset the Chairman too; and 
was it possible he'd been thinking of Pumpkin-who, after all, was absent? I couldn't imagine 
him on the brink of tears over Pumpkin's illness, or any such thing, but perhaps I'd stirred up 
some darker, more complicated feelings. All I knew was that when my dance ended, the 
Chairman asked about Pumpkin; and he left when he learned she was ill. I could hardly bring 
myself to believe it. If I'd made the discovery that the Chairman had developed feelings for 
Mameha, I wouldn't have been surprised. But Pumpkin? How could the Chairman long for 
someone so ... well, so lacking in refinement? 

You might think that any woman with common sense ought to have given up her hopes at 
this point. And I did for a time go to the fortune-teller every day, and read my almanac more 
carefully even than usual, searching for some sign whether I should submit to what seemed 
my inevitable destiny. Of course, we Japanese were living in a decade of crushed hopes. I 
wouldn't have found it surprising if mine had died off just like so many other people's. But on 
the other hand, many believed the country itself would one day rise again; and we all knew 
such a thing could never happen if we resigned ourselves to living forever in the rubble. 
Every time I happened to read an account in the newspaper of some little shop that had 
made, say, bicycle parts before the war, and was now back in business almost as though the 
war had never happened, I had to tell myself that if our entire nation could emerge from its 
own dark valley, there was certainly hope that I could emerge from mine. 

Beginning that March and running all through the spring, Mameha and I were busy with 
Dances of the Old Capital, which was being staged again for the first time since Gion had 
closed in the final years of the war. As it happened, the Chairman and Nobu grew busy as 
well during these months, and brought the Minister to Gion only twice. Then one day during 
the first week of June, I heard that my presence at the Ichiriki Teahouse had been requested 
early that evening by Iwa-mura Electric. I had an engagement booked weeks before that I 
couldn't easily miss; so by the time I finally slid open the door to join the party, I was half an 
hour late. To my surprise, instead of the usual group around the table, I found only Nobu and 
the Minister. 

I could see at once that Nobu was angry. Of course, I imagined he was angry at me for 
making him spend so much time alone with the Minister-though to tell the truth, the two of 
them weren't "spending time together" any more than a squirrel is spending time with the 
insects that live in the same tree. Nobu was drumming his fingers on the tabletop, wearing a 
very cross expression, while the Minister stood at the window gazing out at the garden. 

"All right, Minister!" Nobu said, when I'd settled myself at the table. "That's enough of 
watching the bushes grow. Are we supposed to sit here and wait for you all night?" 

The Minister was startled, and gave a little bow of apology before coming to take his place on 
a cushion I'd set out for him. Usually I had difficulty thinking of anything to say to him, but 
tonight my task was easier since I hadn't seen him in so long. 

"Minister," I said, "you don't like me anymore!" 

"Eh?" said the Minister, who managed to rearrange his features so they showed a look of 
surprise. 

"You haven't been to see me in more than a month! Is it because Nobu-san has been unkind, 
and hasn't brought you to Gion as often as he should have?" 


"Nobu-san isn't unkind," said the Minister. He blew several breaths up his nose before 
adding, "I've asked too much of him already." 

"Keeping you away for a month? He certainly is unkind. We have so much to catch up on." 

"Yes," Nobu interrupted, "mostly a lot of drinking." 

"My goodness, but Nobu-san is grouchy tonight. Has he been this way all evening? And 
where are the Chairman, and Mameha and Pumpkin? Won't they be joining us?" 

"The Chairman isn't available this evening," Nobu said. "I don't know where the others are. 
They're your problem, not mine." 

In a moment, the door slid back, and two maids entered carrying dinner trays for the men. I 
did my best to keep them company 