I'd seated myself as far 
away from the Chairman as I could, so that our eyes would never have to meet; and I did 
manage to make it through the evening without confronting him. But later, as we were all 
preparing for bed, I stepped into the hallway as he was coming back into the room. I ought to 
have moved out of his way, but I felt so ashamed, I gave a brief bow and hurried past him 
instead, making no effort to hide my unhappiness. 

It was an evening of torment, and I remember only one other thing about it. At some point 
after everyone else was asleep, I wandered away from the inn in a daze and ended up on 
the sea cliffs, staring out into the darkness with the sound of the roaring water below me. The 
thundering of the ocean was like a bitter lament. I seemed to see beneath everything a 
layering of cruelty I'd never known was there-as though the trees and the wind, and even the 
rocks where I stood, were all in alliance with my old girlhood enemy, Hatsumomo. The 
howling of the wind and the shaking of the trees seemed to mock me. Could it really be that 
the stream of my life had divided forever? I removed the Chairman's handkerchief from my 
sleeve, for I'd taken it to bed that evening to comfort myself one last time. I dried my face with 
it, and held it up into the wind. I was about to let it dance away into the darkness, when I 
thought of the tiny mortuary tablets that Mr. Tanaka had sent me so many years earlier. We 
must always keep something to remember those who have left us. The mortuary tablets back 
in the okiya were all that remained of my childhood. The Chairman's handkerchief would be 
what remained of the rest of my life. 

Back in Kyoto, I was carried along in a current of activity over the next few days. I had no 
choice but to put on my makeup as usual, and attend engagements at the teahouses just as 
though nothing had changed in the world. I kept reminding myself what Mameha had once 
told me, that there was nothing like work for getting over a disappointment; but my work 
didn't seem to help me in any way. Every time I went into the Ichiriki Teahouse, I was 
reminded that one day soon Nobu would summon me there to tell me the arrangements had 
been settled at last. Considering how busy he'd been over the past few months, I didn't 
expect to hear from him for some time-a week or two, perhaps. But on Wednesday morning, 
three days after our return from Amami, I received word that Iwamura Electric had 
telephoned the Ichiriki Teahouse to request my presence that evening. 

I dressed late in the afternoon in a yellow kimono of silk gauze with a green underrobe and a 
deep blue obi interwoven with gold threads. Auntie assured me I looked lovely, but when I 
saw myself in the mirror, I seemed like a woman defeated. I'd certainly experienced moments 
in the past when I felt displeased with the way I looked before setting out from the okiya; but 
most often I managed to find at least one feature I could make use of during the course of 
the evening. A certain persimmon-colored underrobe, for example, always brought out the 
blue in my eyes, rather than the gray, no matter how exhausted I felt. But this evening my 
face seemed utterly hollow beneath my cheekbones-although I'd put on Western-style 
makeup just as I usually did-and even my hairstyle seemed lopsided to me. I couldn't think of 
any way to improve my appearance, other than asking Mr. Bekku to retie my obi just a 
finger's-width higher, to take away some of my downcast look. 


My first engagement was a banquet given by an American colonel to honor the new governor 
of Kyoto Prefecture. It was held at the former estate of the Sumitomo family, which was now 
the headquarters of the American army's seventh division. I was amazed to see that so many 
of the beautiful stones in the garden were painted white, and signs in English-which of 
course I couldn't read-were tacked to the trees here and there. After the party was over, I 
made my way to the Ichiriki and was shown upstairs by a maid, to the same peculiar little 
room where Nobu had met with me on the night Gion was closing. This was the very spot 
where I'd learned about the haven he'd found to keep me safe from the war; it seemed 
entirely appropriate that we should meet in this same room to celebrate his becoming my 
danna-though it would be anything but a celebration for me. I knelt at one end of the table, so 
that Nobu would sit facing the alcove. I was careful to position myself so he could pour sake 
using his one arm, without the table in his way; he would certainly want to pour a cup for me 
after telling me the arrangements had been finalized. It would be a fine night for Nobu. I 
would do my best not to spoil it. 

With the dim lighting and the reddish cast from the tea-colored walls, the atmosphere was 
really quite pleasant. I'd forgotten the very particular scent of the room-a combination of dust 
and the oil used for polishing wood-but now that I smelled it again, I found myself 
remembering details about that evening with Nobu years earlier that I couldn't possibly have 
called to mind otherwise. He'd had holes in both of his socks, I remembered; through one a 
slender big toe had protruded, with the nail neatly groomed. Could it really be that only five 
and a half years had passed since that evening? It seemed an entire generation had come 
and gone; so many of the people I'd once known were dead. Was this the life I'd come back 
to Gion to lead? It was just as Mameha had once told me: we don't become geisha because 
we want our lives to be happy; we become geisha because we have no choice. If my mother 
had lived, I might be a wife and mother at the seashore myself, thinking of Kyoto as a 
faraway place where the fish were shipped-and would my life really be any worse? Nobu had 
once said to me, "I'm a very easy man to understand, Sayuri. I don't like things held up 
before me that I cannot have." Perhaps I was just the same; all my life in Gion, I'd imagined 
the Chairman before me, and now I could not have him. 

After ten or fifteen minutes of waiting for Nobu, I began to wonder if he was really coming. I 
knew I shouldn't do it, but I laid my head down on the table to rest, for I'd slept poorly these 
past nights. I didn't fall asleep, but I did drift for a time in my general sense of misery. And 
then I seemed to have a most peculiar dream. I thought I heard the tapping sound of drums 
in the distance, and a hiss like water from a faucet, and then I felt the Chairman's hand 
touching my shoulder. I knew it was the Chairman's hand because when I lifted my head 
from the table to see who had touched me, he was there. The tapping had been his 
footsteps; the hissing was the door in its track. And now he .stood above me with a maid 
waiting behind him. I bowed and apologized for falling asleep. I felt so confused that for a 
moment I wondered if I was really awake; but it wasn't a dream. The Chairman was seating 
himself on the very cushion where I'd expected Nobu to sit, and yet Nobu was nowhere to be 
seen. While the maid placed sake on the table, an awful thought began to take hold in my 
mind. Had the Chairman come to tell me Nobu had been in an accident, or that some other 
horrible thing had happened to him? Otherwise, why hadn't Nobu himself comer1 I was about 
to ask the Chairman, when the mistress of the teahouse peered into the room. 

"Why, Chairman," she said, "we haven't seen you in weeks!" 

The mistress was always pleasant in front of guests, but I could tell from the strain in her 
voice that she had something else on her mind. Probably she was wondering about Nobu, 
just as I was. While I poured sake for the Chairman, the mistress came and knelt at the table. 
She stopped his hand before he took a sip from his cup, and leaned toward him to breathe in 
the scent of the vapors. 


"Really, Chairman, I'll never understand why you prefer this sake to others," she said. "We 
opened some this afternoon, the best we've had in years. I'm sure Nobu-san will appreciate it 
when he arrives." 

"I'm sure he would," the Chairman said. "Nobu appreciates fine things. But he won't be 
coming tonight." 

I was alarmed to hear this; but I kept my eyes to the table. I could see that the mistress was 
surprised too, because of how quickly she changed the subject. 

"Oh, well," she said, "anyway, don't you think our Sayuri looks charming this evening!" 

"Now, Mistress, when has Sayuri not looked charming?" said the Chairman. "Which reminds 
me ... let me show you something I've brought." 

The Chairman put onto the table a little bundle wrapped in blue silk; I hadn't noticed it in his 
hand when he'd entered the room. He untied it and took out a short, fat scroll, which he 
began to unroll. It was cracked with age and showed-in miniature-brilliantly colored scenes of 
the Imperial court. If you've ever seen this sort of scroll, you'll know that you can unroll it all 
the way across a room and survey the entire grounds of the Imperial compound, from the 
gates at one end to the palace at the other. The Chairman sat with it before him, unrolling it 
from one spindle to the other-past scenes of drinking parties, and aristocrats playing kickball 
with their kimonos cinched up between their legs-until he came to a young woman in her 
lovely twelve-layered robes, kneeling on the wood floor outside the Emperor's chambers. 

"Now what do you think of that!" he said. 

"It's quite a scroll," the mistress said. "Where did the Chairman find it?" 

"Oh, I bought it years ago. But look at this woman right here. She's the reason I bought it. 
Don't you notice anything about her?" 

The mistress peered at it; afterward the Chairman turned it for me to see. The image of the 
young woman, though no bigger than a large coin, was painted in 