"How awful!"
"Yes, in our terms, and so sad. But remember, this is the Land of Tears. Now she is legend, honored by her peers and by those who turned their backs, because of her sacrifice."
"I don't understand."
"Nor do I, nor any of us. But they do.
Japanese do."
How strange, Tyrer thought again. Like this little house and this man and woman, chattering half in Japanese, half in pidgin, laughing one with another, one a madam the other a customer, both pretending they are something else. More and more sak`e.
Then she bowed and got up and left.
"Sak`e, Phillip?"' "Thanks. It's quite nice, isn't it?"' After a pause, Andr`e said, "You're the first person I've ever brought here."
"Oh? Why me?"' The Frenchman twisted the porcelain cup in his fingers, drained the last drop, poured some more, then began in French, his voice soft and filled with warmth, "Because you're the first person I've met in Yokohama with... because you speak French, you're cultured, your mind is like a sponge, you're young, not far off half my age, eh?
You're twenty-one, and not like the others, you're untainted and you'll be here for a few years." He smiled, spinning the web tighter, telling only part of the truth, molding it: "Truly you're the first person I've met who, alors, even though you're English and actually an enemy of France, you're the only one who somehow seems to merit the knowledge I've acquired." An embarrassed smile.
"Difficult to explain. Perhaps because I've always wanted to be teacher, perhaps because I've never had a son, never married, perhaps because soon I have to move back to Shanghai, perhaps because we've enemies enough and perhaps... perhaps you could be a firm friend."
"I would be honored to be your friend," Tyrer said at once, enmeshed and under his spell, "and I really do think, I really have always thought we should be allies, France and Britain, not enemies and--"' The shoji slid back. Raiko, on her knees beckoned Tyrer. His heart surged.
Andr`e Poncin smiled. "Just follow her, and remember what I told you."
As in a dream Phillip Tyrer got up unsteadily and padded after her, down a corridor, into a room, across it and along a veranda, into another empty room where she motioned him in, closed the shoji, and left him.
A shaded oil lamp. Charcoal brazier for warmth. Shadows and darkness and patches of light.
Futons--small square mattresses--laid out as a bed on the floor, a bed for two. Downy coverlets. Two yukatas, wide sleeved, patterned cotton gown for sleeping in. Through a small door a bathhouse, candle-lit, tall wooden tub filled with steaming water.
Sweet-smelling soap. Low, three-legged stool. Diminutive towels. Everything as Andr`e had foretold.
His heart was beating very fast now and he pushed his mind to remember Andr`e's instructions through the sak`e haze.
Methodically, he began to undress. Coat, waistcoat, cravat, shirt, woolen vest, each article meticulously folded and nervously placed in a pile. Awkwardly sitting, then pulling off his socks, reluctantly his trousers and standing up once more. Only his woolen long johns remained. Weaving a little, then an embarrassed shrug and he took them off and folded them, even more carefully. His skin prickled into goose bumps and he walked into the bathhouse.
There he scooped water from the barrel as he had been told and spilled it over his shoulders, the warmth pleasant. Another and then sound of the shoji opening and he glanced around. "Christ Almighty," he muttered.
The woman was beefy with huge forearms, her yukata brief, nothing under except a loincloth and she strode purposefully towards him with a flat smile, motioned him to squat on the stool.
In absolute embarrassment he obeyed. At once she noticed the healing scar on his arm and sucked in her breath, said something that he could not understand.
He forced a smile. "Tokaido."
"Wakarimasu." I understand. Then, before he could stop her she poured water over his head-- unexpectedly and not part of his forewarning--and began soaping and washing his long hair, then his body, her fingers hard, expert and insistent, but taking care not to hurt his arm. Arms legs back front, then offering him the cloth and pointing between his legs. Still in shock he cleansed those parts, meekly handed the cloth back. "Thank you," he muttered.
"Oh, sorry, domo."
More water took away the last of the soap and she pointed to the tub. "Dozo!" Please.
Andr`e had explained: "Phillip, just remember that unlike with us, you have to be washed and clean before you get into the bath, so others can use the same water--which is very sensible, don't forget wood is very expensive and it takes a long time to heat enough--so don't piss in it either, and don't think of her as a woman when you're in the bathhouse, just a helper. She cleans you outside, then inside, no?"' Tyrer eased himself into the tub. It was hot but not too hot and he closed his eyes not wanting to watch the woman making the bath tidy. Christ, he thought in misery, I'll never be able to perform with her. Andr`e's made a vast mistake.
"But... well, I, er, don't know how much I, er, pay, or do I give the girl the money first or what?"' "Mon Dieu, you should never actually give money to any girl, anywhere, that's the height of bad manners, though you can barter savagely with the mama-san, sometimes with the girl herself, but only after tea or sak`e. Before you leave you'd put it discreetly in a place she would see it. In the House of the Three Carp, you give no money, it's a special place--there are others like it--only for special customers, one of which I am. They'll send you a bill, two or three times a year. But listen, before we go there you have to swear by God that you'll pay the bill the moment it's presented, and that you will never, never introduce anyone else there or talk about it."
So he had sworn and promised, wanting to ask how much but not daring to. "The, er, bill, when does that come?"' "When it pleases the mama-san. I told you, Phillip, you can have pleasure the year round on credit, under the correct circumstances--of course I'm surety for you...."
The warmth of the bath water permeated him. He hardly heard her bustle out and then, later, bustle back again.
"Taira-san?"' "Hai?"' Yes?
She was holding up a towel. Curiously lethargic, he climbed out, his muscles drowsed by the water, and let her dry him. Once more the special places he did himself, finding it easier this time. A comb for his hair. Dry starched yukata and she motioned him towards the bed.
Again panic surged through him. Shakily he forced himself to lie down. She covered him, folded back the other coverlet and again left.
His heart was thundering but lying down felt marvelous, the mattress soft and clean and sweet-smelling, feeling cleaner than he had felt for years. Soon he was calmer and then the shoji opened and closed and he was filled with utter relief but no longer calm. The half-seen girl was tiny, willowy, pale yellow yokata, hair long and cascading. Now she was kneeling beside the bed. "Konbanwa, Taira-san.
Ikaga desu ka? Watashi wa Ako."
Good evening, Mr. Taira. Are you well? I am Ako.
"Konbanwa, Ako-san. Watashi wa Phillip Tyrer desu."
She frowned. "F... urri... f."
She tried to say Phillip several times but could not, then laughed gaily, said something he did not understand, ending with Taira-san.
He was sitting up now, watching her, heart pounding, helpless, not attracted by her, and now she was pointing to the other side of the bed. "Dozo?"' Please, may I?
"Dozo." In the candlelight he could not see her clearly, just enough to know that she was young, he estimated about his own age, that her face was smooth and white with powder, teeth white, red lips, hair shiny, nose almost roman, eyes narrow ellipses, her smile kind. She got into the bed and settled herself, turned and watched him.