Hiten looked around. There was no one to talk to but the homeless old woman that crouched by the entrance of the alleyway, silently nibbling on a cold, hard ball of rice. The old woman had been there since he had started to work at the geisha house, and according to other villagers, she had been there for quite a long time, and she was deaf. He tried to speak to her on a few occasions only to be let hung dry by her lack of response.
He could hear them. The ugly, haughty voices that laughed and hee-hawed as the women played their instruments and sang bawdy songs rose louder and louder as the empty bottles of drink piled higher and higher on the table, some strewn across the floor.
"Oh, no, you naughty sir!" a girl giggled, followed by a playful smack of the hand and even more laughter. Laughter was all he heard; day in, day out, all the goddamn time. And he was sick of it, sick of the drunken laughter, sick of the laughter that pealed to rope in the money of the drunken fools. There they went all night, exchanging insincere laughter that burst forth.
Hiten sighed in unison with the old woman.
"There is much merrymaking tonight." She said.
He raised an eyebrow and looked at the hermit strangely. His thoughts were interrupted as the doors slammed open quite hard, hitting him in the side of the shoulder. If it were broad daylight, he would have knocked the life out of anyone who dared to smack him. But this was night, this was his job, and the man who smacked him with the door happened to be the local government official. The tipsy man, his cheeks red with satisfaction and happiness, staggered up to Hiten and looked at the tall, well-tanned man right in the eye.
"You've done well, young man." He laughed and handed him a small pouch. It felt heavy in his hands, and something metal inside it clinked as he squeezed it slightly. "This is my treat to you for tonight for being such an amazing guard!"
'Damn right.' Hiten thought. 'If it weren't for me guarding your ass the peasants would probably have a field day.'
"Who is this old hag?" one of the other men quipped.
"She's just an old, deaf hermit." Hiten said snappishly as to draw attention away from her. She continued chewing on the rice ball, chewing and swallowing. "Pay no attention to her."
"Well, tonight I would like to…show the hag a token of my appreciation." The official tossed a few coins towards her direction, and some of them landed in the dirty old puddles that the rain had made the night before. The money glistened even under the murky water. "Here you go, hag! For your next meal!"
The men stumbled around; tipping all the girls that surrounded them. Hiten tried to draw his anger back tightly. Here were many people starving like this hermit, and here they were, leaders of this country, throwing money around like crazed lunatics! Was this where their tax money went to? Flowing into the pockets of geisha houses and fancy imports and to the brothels?
He patiently waited until the women shooed the men away, but remained watching some shady characters from the corner of his eye. They were making deals with the other women, and he knew what they were up to. They were bartering for the sex workers located behind the geisha house. Behind the magnificent home of the artisans were the prostitutes and lowlifes that society labelled them to be. He could hear every word that the man and the pimp of the brothel were exchanging.
"So I will pay you about this much." A man said, holding out a small package. "It has ten…no, twenty…fifteen…goddamn, I don't know how much is in there, but I know this will be enough."
"Sir, this is not enough for a night with one of our girls."
"Don't try to trick me, woman!" the man shouted. "I…am drunk. But I…I know how much I bring to pay you for the selection of whores you have in your bawdyhouse, and this is always the same price."
The woman was defeated. She raised her head to the side and slipped the pouch into her sleeve.
"Very well." She quipped. "Who would you like to see tonight, sir?"
"You know who." He chuckled. "The regular. You know, the fiery vixen."
"The redhead, sir? We have a few redheads, but I need to have a name."
The man laughed again. Perhaps this was why Hiten grew to hate laughter so much. Those fucking sleazy scum of the world, laughing about exchanging women for the night….it made his blood boil.
"What matters a name when her assets blind my sight?" He brought forth his hands to his chest level and squeezed- yes- as if he were squeezing bosoms of a flowering young virgin. Again, Hiten felt his blood boiling. But he stood aloof; or at least pretended to.
"Well then, sir, I will show you inside. You may see the girl's face and perhaps then you will remember which one."
Hiten watched as the pimp and her customer walked away to the back alley. The pimp looked no more than thirty, but everyone knew her bawdyhouse was one of the best in Kyoto. It was in the heart of the blooming city, bustling with merchants and foreigners and important people. Word of mouth had it that before the previous pimp died of a heart illness, she was the greatest asset of the whorehouse. Now she took her predecessor's place as pimp, and business flourished.
Hiten gripped the handle of his sword tightly. He wanted nothing better to do than to dice the piece of scum right then and there. He had mentioned redhead. There were many girls that used the hair dye to keep their clientele wanting to come back, but there was only one natural redhead in that whorehouse, and it was the one girl he wished to protect.
Ayame.
Was she the dirty scum's fiery vixen?