A/N: Hey, everyone! I hope you enjoy this story! I've been wanting to contribute to the MOAG community for a while now. All constructive criticism or plot ideas are welcome. Additionally, I've also created an RP forum for this story. Please drop by and take a look if you're interested! You can find the link on my profile.
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me. Setting and original plot of Memoirs of a Geisha are Arthur Golden's. Heck, nothing but the OC's are really mine.
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September 21, 1940 / 9:04 P.M.
Time passes. She dances and grows into a woman. She paints her face and hides beneath a mask so that none may ever know her true thoughts.
It is what makes her unattainable, desirable to the point men go mad with longing. They bay at the moon though they will never be able to capture it.
Like tonight at Ichiriki Teahouse. Sayuri could see it in their eyes whenever they turned to her, their pupils dilated, their breaths stinking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. She would simply smile and take it no matter what they did in the end. The night would be forgotten and slide back into an eternity of the same words, the same mistakes over and over again until the end of time.
Her hand rests on the neck of a half-empty sake bottle as she gazes at the Chairman.
"Sayuri, where have you gone?" Nobu growls, snapping her back to reality. Smoke wafts from his nostrils as he looks at her expectantly, tapping a glowing ember into a small ashtray. She hopes he did not notice her subject of interest.
"To the moon. It is quite lovely tonight, wouldn't Nobu-san agree?" she replies, voice demure.
"Hm. It is."
But Nobu was not a man for idle chit-chat. The topic would change. She could feel it coming like a storm on the horizon.
"On a night like this, don't you simply think of Kaguya-hime?" she murmurs. She raises her face slightly, staring at the bright, full circle of white. "She must miss the Earth. A place without feeling, a place without hope…" But she turned to look at him again, a lighter tone entering her voice. "But that is just a dream floating away on a small cloud."
The man harrumphed, replying, "You purposely goad me even when you understand that I am not a man who indulges himself in fantasy."
"Nobu-san cares about sumo, war, and business. That much I know."
His brow rises in surprise, the good side of his face brightening slightly. "You still remember that?"
She tips her face down slightly in affirmation and a small crinkle at the corner of his mouth belies his pleasure. The rest of the party seems to dim away as they kneel in a short silence. She gives him time to think, to piece together whatever he wants to say. If he changes his mind, she will speak.
Instead, he pulls a small painted box from his pocket, placing it on the tabletop and sliding it to her.
"Here, this is yours."
Sayuri cups it carefully in her lap, unhooking the latch and tipping it open with a small push. Therein lies a small seashell hair ornament; its color twinkles like a rainbow as she turns it in the light. Of what type, she is not familiar, despite living by the sea for most of her early life.
"Thank you, Nobu-san." Sayuri accepts the gift humbly. "I am grateful for your generosity."
"Nonsense." He waves her off, his one hand slicing the air in one swift motion. "I've never understood this concept of being thankful. I'm giving you this because of the company you provide me. There is nothing more to it."
And seemingly by accident, she offers him a slight upturn of her mouth, just barely enough that no one else would notice except for him.
September 26, 1940 / 1:33 P.M.
The life of a geisha is far too busy for Sayuri to become listless.
A small voice whispers in the back of her mind: she had not been able to bid the Chairman goodbye before he and Nobu left that night. In fact, she had not been able to exchange a single word with him throughout the party.
"Hyu-kyo!" The taiko strikes, filling the air with a deep rumble.
Her fan twirls high in rhythm to the strumming of the shamisen. She turns slowly, dropping her head back and snapping open the other fan. The maiko at the other end of the room watch in awe as she closes her eyes, becoming one with the dance. At the end, there is only clapping and wide stares.
"That is enough practice for today. Go back to your okiya and rest," Baicho calls to her. The head proprietress of the dance hall looks pleased with her progress. Her mastery of the sparrow dance has been coming along nicely this past month, and she is almost fully prepared to perform for the Autumn Festival.
Sayuri is just happy that she can return home for a few hours to herself. After gathering her things, the crowd at the door parts and she leaves.
The afternoon sky is alight with strong, white clouds. It grants her a sense of comfort that the elements would be kind today. She looks around, peering at dealers weaving through the throng of shoppers, offering wares. Children play barefoot outside their parents' establishments. Businessmen wearing foreign suits shove their way past everyone, hurrying to their next meeting.
Lastly, her gaze drifts to the soldiers. An entire battalion has stationed themselves outside a minor ochaya, their heads swiveling as fast as their necks could take them. They were likely folk from the countryside or even from the shores like her. People who were rough and unused to the monotonous pace of city life. For as long as she had been a maiko, and even now when she was a geisha, military men have always been desirable in Kyoto. Courtesans and geisha alike had always flocked to the ones with rank, especially if money came with the deal.
As she strolls deeper into Gion, she cannot help but feel the turbulence threatening to spill into her life. Hatsumomo was one thing, but possible war was another.
For a woman as shrouded in mystery and seclusion as she, even Sayuri was not blind to all the signs. Late at night, when Oka-san thought everyone was asleep, the old woman would play the radio and listen to the national news.
On more than one occasion, Sayuri had caught a few pieces here and there.
What was frightening was that no one was doing anything about it. There was little to no awareness of the danger.
She shakes the thought away. The willow world is all she has to know. Geisha involving themselves in worldly affairs was often frowned upon.
Sayuri opens the door to the okiya, shouting, "Tadaima!" She was home. The getta are pushed off as she steps onto the wooden porch that lifts the rest of the structure up off the dirt road.
Immediately, Auntie waddles into the room, greeting her hurriedly before shoving a letter into her hands. It was from Mameha.
"She is coming back to Gion. The Baron's business party is over," she coughs.
"Thank you, Oba-san. I will read it."
In her room, she sighs softly, rolling her neck and bringing the note to her attention.
Almost immediately, she realizes something is amiss—Mameha's handwriting is shakier than usual. How odd. Her eyes search the smooth envelope, and she turns it over.
By her thumb lies a small dot of red, seemingly engraved into the paper.