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Heart, Sword, and Song: Chapter 4 - Pretty Lady

by JaneDrew

It wasn't that the gaijin were somehow worse than the men she normally had to deal with.

Well, it wasn't only that they were worse.

Komagata Yumi stirred the ice in her drink before and considered what her world had become. Nowadays, walking the streets in the entertainment distract of 1Shnyoshinara was no longer the pleasant stroll that it had been. Now, rather than attracting quietly admiring glances, even a high-ranking oiran had to deal with harrassment, with men who had no concept of rank or honor, men who thought that it was appropriate to shout rude suggestions across the narrow streets.

Pretty lady in your pretty garden,

Can't you stay?

Men who stank of tar, who had clearly not bathed in weeks if not months, men who thought that any Japanese woman within the entertainment district, or even walking alone down the streets of the city, was automatically for sale, something they could bargain for with shouts and half-drunken leers accompanied with rude gestures that required no translation.

Pretty lady, we got leave

And we got paid today

And it wasn't just the gaijin! Even men who should have known better, who had known better in the past, who had understood that an oiran was someone who had worked and trained and who was deserving of respect and consideration... even they now felt that they could treat her as if she was nothing more than... as if she....

Pretty lady, with the flower

Give a lonely sailor half an hour

Pretty lady, can you understand a word I say?

Don't go away

She had put so much effort into reaching the top rank, had trained, and learned, and suffered, and for what? So that the Meiji regime, the regime that had finally clawed its way into power on promises of equality and freedom, after years of bloodshed and warfare that had indelibly stained this country, could declare that the women in her profession weren't even worthy of being considered human?

The Mary Ruth case had been like a slap in the face, Yumi thought to herself, her delicate features twisting in distaste. The Meiji government was pathetically desperate to show its enlightenment, its modernity to the rest of the world—to prove that it was strong enough to survive. As far as she was concerned, all it had demonstrated was its own weakness in the face of European pressure. Only a weak government would seek to hide behind those who could not protect themselves. Only a weak government with no sense of honor would deliberately try to destroy the honor of others in order to save face.

It was no wonder that both Japanese and gaijin men had lost so much respect for the women in the entertainment quarter, even those who held the high rank of oiran. Even their compliments nowadays seemed tainted by the government's declaration, by the dismantling of centuries of social traditions and hierarchy.

Pretty lady, you're the cleanest thing I've seen all year

Pretty lady, you make me pretty glad I'm here

Looking down at her now-empty glass, she considered whether or not to pour herself another. The alcohol was sharp, burning its way down her throat, a reminder that she was alive and capable of feeling, before settling into a pleasant kind of numbness that enabled her to face the pain and lies that had become her daily routine. On the other hand, her own stubborn pride, the strength she had used to fuel her rise to her current position, would not allow her to seek an easy way out. Once she had a goal, once she had a purpose, she clung to it; her convictions were not easily swayed, and her devotion not easily won, but once given, it was not lightly taken away. For years, her purpose had been her profession, and she had taken pleasure in being the best, in skillfully moving through the brilliantly-lit evening world of the entertainment quarter.

Now the lights seemed tawdry, the clothing and make-up and hairdos heavy and constricting and suffocating.

She wasn't sure what she wanted; but she was becoming increasingly certain that it was not what she had.

It was not that her own life was... bad. She was attractive; she was talented; she was so sought-after that even high-ranking government officials might not be granted her company. Nowadays, she really had no inclination to grant her company to any of them anyway.

Flush with the excitement of their recent rise to power, almost giddy with having overthrown a regime which had endured for so long, the members of the Meiji govermnent she had encountered often seemed to expect that she and the other women in the entertainment quarter would be so overwhelmed that they would flutter their eyelashes, pour sake, and be ready to spread their legs at the slightest suggestion.

Pretty lady, how about it?

Don't you know how long I've been without it?

It was revolting. It was insulting. It made her want to scream and throw the sake bottles and cups across the room, and only years of practice allowed her to keep her face composed and her emotions hidden.

She wondered if one day one of the idiots would push her too far, and what exactly she would do then.

Sighing, Yumi stood up. It was almost time for her to get ready; she was expecting a new customer this evening, and wanted to make sure that she was looking her best.

'I wonder what this one will be like?' she thought, carrying her glass over to where it could be rinsed out and returned to its shelf. 'He was able to obtain an introduction and an appointment with such ease... he must be very powerful. Is he one of the Ishin Shishi? It wasn't a government official who made the appointment, I'm sure, but perhaps he doesn't want anybody to know that he is... consorting with women in the pleasure quarter? Although none of them seem to look down on one another for 'consorting'....'

She hoped that he would not be boring. Or at least that he would be polite. That he would have an understanding of what an oiran was and was not supposed to be.

Pretty lady, beg your pardon

Won't you walk me through your pretty garden?

Up in her room, she looked over her collection of kimonos with a practiced eye. Something suited to the season, something that would bring out the color of her dark eyes, and hair ornaments that would compliment both her complexion and the fabric of the kimono and obi. Something that would make it clear that she was a woman of status, and should be treated accordingly. And all the while, she pondered her new client, a man she had never met.

'Shishio Makoto... not a name that I've heard before. I wonder what brings him to this town?

I wonder what brings him here to me?'

Taking one last glance in her mirror before she rose and prepared to descend the stairs, to meet the man with whom she was to be spending the evening, Yumi smiled slightly. Whoever he was, he would find nothing to complain about in her appearance.

She found that she was more nervous than she had been in years, and she didn't know why. The thrill of the unknown? The faint sense in the back of her mind that this could be important, could herald the change she had been looking for? She found that she was feeling something perilously close to hope that she might finally find a direction, or at least something that would not make her feel like her life was slowly smothering her in intricately-embroidered silk and well-spoken lies between people who used their words to hide their lack of respect.

Whatever it was, whatever it might bring, she would welcome it.

And Komagata Yumi smiled once again, a small secretive expression that was gone almost as soon as it arrived, and headed out of her room to meet whatever it was that her future and the fates had in store for her.

Pretty lady, look, I'm on my knees

Pretty please...