The Blonde Geisha

“Ogi-san.”

I reminded my father the old woman must have listened to us making our plans and heard him mention the name of the nunnery.

He nodded. “The woman isn’t a bad sort, but she’s weak. The Prince’s men will stop at nothing to find us, including threatening her with the sword to loosen her tongue.”

I dared to ask, “What will happen if they catch us?”

He flinched as if he couldn’t bear to think about it. “I will die protecting you, my daughter.”

“They won’t catch us,” I said. “The boy will outrun them.”

“You have much faith in this boy,” Father said, then looking out the oilcloth curtain, he finished with, “Though I don’t believe his feet will save us, but his wit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look for yourself.”

I peeked through the oilcloth and let out a surprised sigh when I realized we had stopped under an arched bridge, the deep shadows and green twilight of the groves showering us in oncoming darkness.

“We’re under a bri—”

“Wait!” my father ordered. “Listen.”

Seconds later we heard the pounding of horses’ hooves galloping over the bridge, our pursuers rushing overhead. Their hoof-beats pounded and pounded upon the wooden bridge, sounding like a stampede.

I counted three, maybe four horses, their riders shouting and digging their heels into the flanks of their mounts. Now I understood the old Japanese proverb about why all bridges were curved: Because demons could only charge in a straight line.

Demons like the men following us.

I kept still as my father held me in his arms and the air filled with silence. I felt secure, holding on to him, certain he would get us to safety.

But the events of the last twenty-four hours weighed heavily upon me. The danger had passed, if only for a short time. I began to calm down, relax. I allowed my tired body to drift off, sleep for a minute, maybe two, but I couldn’t rest. Always in the back of my mind, I was asking, asking, why were those men following us? Why?

What wouldn’t my father tell me?

2

The soft hush of a breath lingering in the night air, the scent of forbidden love hanging still upon a wayward breeze, a stifling heat making lovers sweat under mosquito nets as they thrust and writhed in passion. All this cast a sensual spell over me as we returned to the city of Kioto.

Raindrops, big and plump, landing on gray-tiled roofs. Caterpillars humping along the road. A night filled with fear, but also with magic.

The magic of the fairy tale yet to come.

But first—

“We’re not out of danger yet, Kathlene.”

“I know, Father.”

“You’ve always trusted me, my daughter.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do you believe whatever I do, it’s because I love you?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I take you to a place that may be unseemly for a young girl?”

“Yes.” I held my hand to my chest as if to quiet my rapidly beating heart. I sensed something wonderful and strange was about to happen to me. A mystery, but what?

“I’ve been thinking, my daughter, and questioning. I wouldn’t see you hurt for anything in the world, yet I’m faced with the most difficult decision of my life.”

“What decision?”

“Where we can hide. No place is safe from the Prince’s devils. Unless—”

I took my father’s hand in mine. It was cold. “Yes, Father?”

“Unless we hide in a place where no one would think of looking for us, a place filled with the secrets of men’s desires, a place devoted to the seeking of pleasure, a place I never dreamed I would expose my daughter to seeing. Yet what choice do I have? If the Prince’s devils find us, they will invoke the most unspeakable sin upon—”

“No! They won’t find us. They won’t.”

He held me tighter, so tight I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t understand my father’s turmoil. What was he talking about? Where was hetaking me?

“Don’t judge me, Kathlene. Understand I’ve thought long and hard about what I’m about to do, and though I know you’ll be exposed to a certain kind of life that doesn’t please me, I have no other choice.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the Teahouse of MikaeriYanagi.”

“Mikaeri Yanagi,” I repeated. “What does that mean?”

“The Teahouse of the Look-Back Tree.”

The Look-Back Tree? I questioned. Look back at what?

“Simouyé will hide us,” he continued. “I’m certain of this.”

“Simouyé?” I asked, noting with interest my father didn’t follow the tradition of adding the honorific san to this strange name. A name that had no meaning to me but sounded very pleasing to my ears the way Father said it.

With a late-night summer rain come to visit us and the thumping of the jinrikisha clattering on the wet street, my father squeezed my hand. “Simouyé is a great friend, Kathlene, and a woman I can trust—” he looked down at me and I saw tenderness in his eyes “—with my greatest possession.”

“Father…” I started to ask, wondering who was this Simouyé. A teacher? A friend? Or something more? Something mysterious?

A geisha?

“Yes, Kathlene?” Father asked.