The sky was a brilliant blue that day.
Not a cloud in sight, the sun shone sleepily down from the sky accompanied by a gentle summer breeze. Below the children of the village came out to play, their joyous laughter filling the air. It was a perfect, hazy summer's day.
'No! Come back!' A young boy cried as his spinning top spun away from him. It swirled in a blurred motion as it crept away from him further and further before coming to an abrupt halt against a sandaled foot. It fell lifeless to the ground with a tiny clank. The child had been chasing the short distance after it but it stopped now, as his honey coloured eyes stared in a daze at the unknown shoe. The foot that occupied it wriggled its toes and the boy giggled, looking up in wonder to see the face. It was a man, who had a small pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose through which he examined the child, his glasses looking expensive as did his finely woven clothing. He carried with him a cane, perhaps more for decoration than necessity. With a small exhale the man stooped down and retrieved the spinning top, the smile fading from the child's face as the toy was pulled from his grasp.
'Is this yours, little boy?' The man asked in a deep and refined voice. 'What a fine piece of craftsmanship.' He exclaimed, scrutinising the delicate red and black triangle motif of the toy with interest. It was true; the toy was a souvenir, a gift from the boy's father, a treasure stolen from a faraway land.
The boy opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed his plump little lips again. He was not supposed to speak to strangers. Taking a step back the boy looked away, down the dirt pathway outside his home, seeing the other children playing amongst themselves. He should join them, he knew, but the lure of his prized possession rooted him in place.
The man chuckled, the tune catching the boy's attention once more as did his words. 'I should give this back to you, then.'
The boy's face lit up with delight at the prospect of his toy returned. His stubby fingers reached out for the spinning top as it was passed back to him, but as they grasped the solidity of the wood everything changed. The innocence of his youth was blacked out by the rough Hessian sack, smothered in an instant like a candle. His cry of surprise was drowned out by the other children, his existence from the village extinguished in a moment.
The sky was a brilliant blue that day.
Angry footsteps stormed across the tatami flooring like rolling thunder and were followed by a booming voice that grew louder and more irritated with each step.
'Aoba!' It bellowed, making no attempt to hide its frustration. It did not go unnoticed as the boy whose name was being shouted across the house scrambled out of his futon, the pleasant dream he had been drifting through now a distant memory. Aoba's futon had other ideas, however, and clung to him, entangling him in its embrace like a reluctant lover in the early morning that refusing to let him go. When he was finally freed it was too late. The door to his room slid open with a resounding thud and there was Toue, master of the house, his cane jutting accusingly into the room. In a desperate last bid for forgiveness Aoba dropped to his knees, his forehead pressed firmly to the ground, the perfect symbol of subservience. The room filled with the sickly scent of mint.
'Aoba!' Toue growled like a baited animal before the kill. 'How many times must we go through this before you learn your lesson?'
'I sincerely apologise, Toue-sama!' Aoba's voice hit the tatami and bounced back to him in a heated breath, propelled by the force of his conviction. He spoke the words so often he wondered as the seconds ticked silently by between them if they still held any sense of meaning. The room fell heavy with an ominous silence, pierced only by the sound of the hustle and bustle of the late afternoon trade as it wandered through the window, carried along by the wind. Aoba listened to the sound of other lives playing out around him, oblivious to his own existence, unaware that he held his breath in anticipation of the punishment to come. He could only wonder what method of correction Toue would try, the cold water and reduction of clientèle proving ineffective in mending Aoba's ways. With fewer customers Aoba's debt only increased, another year added to his already lengthy term of service. With eight long years stretched out before him Aoba's youthful ignorance reasoned another year made little difference. His freedom was like a memory, once remembered but now forgotten, remaining forever just out of reach.
Toue sighed, lowering his cane. The tip kissed the ground with a small noise and Aoba released the breath he was holding. 'Aoba-kun,' Toue's voice softened and Aoba shuddered with fear. 'You have missed breakfast and will therefore not eat this evening. You have one hour before you are in the window, so please prepare yourself thoroughly.' Toue paused before adding, 'And Aoba-kun, make yourself useful to me this evening.' With that the door slid shut and Aoba sat back on his heels with another shaky breath. The window.
Renamed 'the cage' by those subjected to its confines, the window was a vermilion latticed prison at the front of the Moon Flower's establishment. Tantalising potential customers with a glimpse of the house's finest merchandise, it presented the rare blossoms within like flowers in a vase as they bloomed beneath the milky caress of the moon. The cage was particularly lucrative during the warmer months of the year when passing trade was abundant. However, in the cold months of Autumn and Winter trade dwindled as crops began to fail, leaving the farmer no money to pay the landowner and the landowner no money to pay the whore.
There was nothing for Aoba to do but tighten his jaw, grabbing his wooden wash basket and hurrying to the bathhouse. All around him a flurry of kimonos whirled around in a spectrum of colours like petals blown into life by a mischievous wind as the other boys readied themselves for the long night ahead, their lips flapping and tongues sharp as they spoke of the trials of the night before. Clutching the round, wooden basket that housed his cloth Aoba lowered his head, weaving in and out of the half-naked limbs that littered the hallway until he found sanctuary in the quiet enclosure of the bathhouse. The water was still warm and with it rinsing the sleep from his wary body, Aoba climbed into the tub, the sound of the water echoing off the stone walls. Reclining into the tepid, liquid embrace Aoba closed his eyes, luxuriating in a rare moment all of his own. In here the world could not find him, he was alone in the sacred sanctity of his own mind. It was the only time he had to himself, to think his own thoughts and speak his own words, casting off the candied promises whispered in the darkness of the night from a one-night lover.
Aoba's routine was simple. He washed away the frenzied touch of the men of yesterday, cleaning his pale white skin anew for the man of today, before finally relinquishing his time alone and retreating back to his room. His success at the Moon Flower had quickly earned him his own private room, though it was still small. The little window he had in the room overlooked the busy street below where the tradesmen called out their wares, the scent of freshly cooked fish and other treats wafting through the air reminding Aoba of his empty stomach. It grumbled noisily at him, complaining incoherently of its misery. With only thirty minutes left to get dressed and ready, however, Aoba could not waste a precious moment more. Slipping onto the red cushion before his lacquer dressing table, Aoba hastily applied the thick white paint to his face. His skin was already as white as snow yet the paste helped even out his tone, and made the striking crimson of his painted lips even more inviting. With that done, Aoba then accentuated his wide, golden eyes with charcoal, elongating their sensuous shape. But Aoba's most attractive feature, his unique selling point, was undoubtedly his unusual hair colour. The striking shade ensured he received the most attention, and Aoba owed much of his success not to his charms but to the colour of his hair. Sweeping the azure locks from his shoulders he deftly coaxed his silken tresses into the shimada mage style, slicking the front with wax until it lay smooth atop his head. Picking out a large, curved mother of pearl comb he wedged it into place, the crowning piece of his attire, and accentuated its luxurious beauty with two long ivory pins either side.
The final touch was his kimono. The crimson fabric was heavy, the golden silk brocade held together by an aubergine obi, the folds of fabric cascading from his waist to just above the ground.
No sooner had he finished dressing for the night did he hear a familiar, softly spoken voice outside his room. Smiling, he permitted entry and turned from the mirror to greet his adoptive brother. It was commonplace to adopt a 'brother' inside the houses; the older brother acted as a guide to the younger, a helping hand in an otherwise brutal and cut-throat society of boys all competing for the same affections.
'Sei.' Aoba said fondly as the frail figure of his older brother appeared kneeling. He shuffled into the room, bringing a small tray containing a bowl of rice and a cup of lightly steaming tea with him.
'I thought you may be hungry.' Sei said with a knowing smile as he entered the room. The two seated themselves down on the cushions, the tray between them. Ravenous, Aoba took up the chopsticks and began carefully scooping the rice into his mouth, mumbling his gratitude as he went. 'Aoba, you must work hard at this. Toue-sama is not a bad Master, he takes great care of us all.'
Aoba swallowed the mouthful of rice in his mouth with a dubious look upon his face. He was used to Sei's conversations about Toue. The age gap between him and Sei was only a year, yet Sei had been working under Toue for almost the full eight years of his contract. Though he was due to depart in the next few years there was an unmistakeable glimmer of sadness in his dark, black eyes. Aoba could not understand Sei's appreciation for the man, and placing the chopsticks down over the emptied bowl, he sighed heavily beneath the weight of his resolve. He would do it for Sei. Not for Toue.
'For you, Sei. If it eases the pain from your face then I will work harder for you, as my brother.'
'Thank you, Aoba.' Collecting the tray Sei stood again with a smile playing at his lips, 'If anyone asks...'
'...I haven't seen you today.' Aoba finished and the two shared a knowing smile.
'You are working in the window tonight.' Sei said conversationally.
'Ah, yes. I overslept...' Aoba looked a little sheepish, but Sei's benevolent expression did not alter.
'I know. Word travels fast, Aoba. You should know that by now.' Moving with a grace that Aoba could only aspire to possess, Sei approached the door. His ebony hair contrasted with the paleness of his skin, his sorrowful eyes seeming to pierce Aoba's soul as they gazed at him. 'Take care of yourself, it will be cold tonight.'