A/N: Hey, everyone! I've been gone for a while, but I plan on picking this story back up. Thanks to the two kind reviewers who dropped by! Constructive criticism is always welcome and I hope you enjoy!
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September 26, 1940 / 6:47 P.M.
The letter remains untouched on the edge of her vanity. It would be a lie if Sayuri said she was unafraid of what she would find inside. Her mind was a whirlwind of panicked thoughts and poorly laid plans for the entire afternoon all the way through dinner. She had been so far away that Mother had to rap her chopsticks on the edge of her bowl to bring her back. Even then she could barely pick at her food with the stomachache that made itself present in her poor body. When she was finally back in her room, there had been little to do but keep herself calm.
Sayuri decided to clean up her jewelry box (even though everything was already in order). It had done nothing to stop the trembling in her fingers; indeed, her whole body seemed to be moving with them of its own accord.
That incorrigible—
Insufferable—
If he had dared lay a hand on her…
A short, bitter laugh burst from her hollow chest.
What was she thinking? There was nothing Sayuri would have been able to do for her older sister. A stray tear slipped quietly down her smooth cheek, descending on a harsh, pale face. It was blank to the world, blank to her own eyes as she stared in the mirror. Why, she could not read what she was thinking herself.
Such was the life of a geisha. Even the loveliest, most prized porcelain doll had cracks and not all of them were from age. She honestly should have expected such treatment from the Baron sooner.
Sayuri had not been coddled like a child since she last saw her mother. From the moment she stepped out the door of that little seaside hut with Ichiro Tanaka, she had been an adult. She had to get this over with. Ripping the letter open, she scanned its contents, brushing the tear aside. In an instant, liquid ice melted quickly into syrupy relief deep in the bowl of her gut. It had not been as bad as she had imagined. Mameha had been subtle in case this fell into the wrong hands. If it had been anyone else reading this, they would not have picked up on the imagery or the metaphors.
She saw the image seep into her thoughts, the torn kimono, the raised fist, a slow trickle of blood dripping from a bitten tongue…
And the note. The formal paper and scented ink. Sayuri ran her thumb over the droplet of blood on the envelope. If she hadn't paid more attention, there was no doubt she would have missed it. The dull ache in her stomach returned. Mameha would not have said anything if she perceived others thought nothing was amiss. She was far too clever to waste time like that if the result did not bring exactly what she wanted.
It had been a warning of the state Sayuri might find her in the next time they met.
On the bright side (if it could be said there was one in a situation like this), her older sister would be returning tomorrow. She wanted to meet at Ichiraku as usual, 10 A.M. sharp.
The time the fewest guests would be present.
Pushing that firmly to the back of her mind, Sayuri shut the letter in her letterbox and stored it neatly at the bottom of her writing desk. It would be social suicide to act like something was amiss. The Baron could not know that Mameha had told her or else both would have hell to pay.
It would only be all too easy to crush the careers of two women, no matter how beautiful or famous they were. A few well-placed rumors and viola—a pair of likely additions to Kyoto's red light district.
And the Baron was not known to be a particularly kind or forgiving man.
September 27, 1940 / 9:50 A.M.
The bustling autumnal hues were fading to the grays and whites of winter, Sayuri noted with a slight sadness, watching the passing scenery with a pensive gaze. Another year will pass in Gion, but nothing will be any different, at least, not for her. The rest of the world will advance—her eyes shifted to the marching soldiers at the side of the street—war may break out, but Gion will remain trapped in the antiquity and tradition women like her were born to serve under.
Was that a relief or a curse? She never could decide.
The rickshaw driver pulled her over the bridge, delivering her to her destination at a quickening pace. He was undoubtedly eager for more work that morning.
"We've arrived, Sayuri-san!" he said, grinning back at her amiably. She paid him and stepped off lightly, mindful of the watching stares pinned upon her waxed head.
The proprietress greeted her at the front, fully aware that she would be visiting today. Motioning to the back of the room, she led the young geisha over to Mameha's table.
"Good morning, Onee-san," she greeted quietly, arranging her kimono as she knelt. She scrutinized the older performer before her carefully but without a hint of incriminating emotion. Mameha looked completely normal under a hurried, passing gaze. Her makeup was immaculate, back arrow-straight, clothes pristine and pressed. Sayuri was not fooled.
Mameha nodded, pouring her a cup of tea.
"How have you been feeling? In your letter, the illness sounded so severe." A blank look of worry, the slight tapping of manicured fingers. Mameha knew exactly what she was referring to.
"None of the symptoms are noticeable, luckily. I should have a full recovery within the week," Mameha said.
She lifted her head, and Sayuri could have flinched for the look in her eyes. Never before had she seen orbs so glazed and lifeless, so…accepting of what had transgressed. Whatever that was.
"Yes, Onee-sama. I am glad to hear that," she replied.
There was something more to this. It was obvious from her posture, from the way she sat, her hands in front of her belly.
"Are there any other aspects of this ailment that need to be checked out?" she asked cautiously. Mameha's hands tightened on each other.
"No."
"I see."
Neither of them were stupid. Mameha certainly knew that, but if she was not willing to tell at the moment, Sayuri would not push it.
"Forget my troubles for the time being. I have reason to believe that I have secured you a danna, Imouto."
For a moment, Sayuri's mind went silent. From sudden news of her sister's abuse by the Baron…to a danna? She thought Mameha was poking fun at her.
The burning of the chrysanthemum tea on her painted lips told her this was no joke.
"His name is General Tattori. He expressed a clear interest in you from the first day I was present at the party. We spoke more and he told me to consider his attentions as an offer."
"That sounds…wonderful," she ventured faintly.
"With the war and all, I'm sure this will be the right thing for you." And with a voice like a judge's gavel, the decision was finalized.
Sayuri sighed. "When will the ceremony be?"
"Likely early November. We have yet to finalize the date." Seeing the look on her face, she continued. "You have to accept this, Sayuri. It's for the best. Perhaps after the end of the war, we may be able to work something else out. With a General of his standing, you will have little to worry about when the hardest times hit."
She nodded. "Of course, I understand." But how long will the war last? A year? Five? Ten? She may not have a chance to be with…
"I will give you some time to become acquainted with the idea. Remember, it will be no different from your regular duties except you will be entertaining him only. On occasion, you may be decorating or arranging certain aspects of his parties, but it will be nothing compared to what you are already doing now."
For a moment, it was as if the old Mameha was back in all her glory. The lecturing older sister and the nervous, inexperienced younger planning their next step in the shadows of Ichiraku, completely within the control of their destinies. It was just like when they were still battling Hatsumomo in the earlier days of Sayuri's apprenticeship.
Sayuri nodded. "I know. Thank you for this opportunity."
For the first time that morning, Mameha smiled. "There is nothing to be grateful for. I am your older sister."
And they both sipped their tea lightly, silence falling over them. The charged air seemed to settle now that these issues were pertinently addressed. The meeting was over, and there was much to think about. Sayuri rose first, bowing slightly.
"Let me walk you out," Mameha said, "Where are you going after this?"
"Back to the Okiya. I have to prepare for the Chairman's party tonight."
"As do I. Nobu requested my presence."
"Then we part ways here." Sayuri squeezed her hand softly, waving her off when Mameha walked off in the direction of her apartment. For a second, grey connected with warm brown and the sorrow lifted.
Stay strong.