The men (and occasionally, women) who frequent the red-light district call it the Akasen, without any pretense or frills. The Akasen caters to diverse and eclectic tastes: bright neon signs brazenly tout sexual services couched in suggestive euphemisms directly across from a battered-looking ochaya. The traditional okiya, where the few geisha of Konoha live, are fenced off from the rest of the more modern Pink Salons and clubs and host and hostess clubs that have popped up in recent years. It's mostly the aging geisha and the upstart madams that embarrassingly insist on calling the Akasen the Konoha hanamachi, even if there is too few geisha to justify the name. For the madams, it's a matter of business, of selling their goods for a higher price; for the geisha, it is a matter of pride and hurt dignity. How else can they nurse their wounds as they watch helplessly, powerlessly as they watch former customers walk away on the arms of call girls clad in short, short skirts that leave nothing to the imagination?
The geisha that remain, though, have adapted to the times remarkably well with their usual aplomb. The former number one of the Konoha hamamachi, Katsuchiyo, still as slender and silver-tongued as she was at her debut seven years ago, now teaches kunoichi (and the odd male) all that she knows of the geisha arts. The proud, disdainful girl from back then would have turned away all of her current visitors before they reached the front entrance. But times have changed, and if the ryō the ninja give her for the lessons can tide her and the other girls of the okiya for another month and shut Hanako okā-sama's mouth for once, well, what else can she do, as a has-been without a patron?
Katsuchiyo, though, is an exceptional case, spared because of her renowned beauty and grace. Other geisha, including her own protegé, her imouto, are less fortunate, reduced to mere prostitution to survive. It's degrading to resort to this last step, and all of the years of hard work and effort put into honing one's skills, be it plucking the cat-gut strings of the shamisen with raw, cut fingers or arranging the flowers just so, for the viewing pleasure of a particular customer, hang heavy on their shoulders. But although they cannot afford the luxury to wax and pin their hair in elaborate styles, and even though their customers now require a very different set of skills, many of the geisha wear little reminders of their glory days: a gold hairpin from a former admirer, a treasured kimono from a chest of old memories. A memento from the onēsan that taught them their skills.
Mebuki's reminder of a better past is in her daughter's name. Katsuchiyo refuses to give up her professional name solely out of pride, but Mebuki takes up her old name (a rustic-sounding one, she knows, one redolent of the fields heavy with golden grain where she spent her early childhood, but it's the only thing she has to remember the parents that sold her to the okiya) and gifts her geisha past to her newborn child.
"Sakura is such a common name," sniffs Hanako okā-sama, before Katsuchiyo-onēsan shuts the old woman up with a glare. Katsuchiyo gives the bundle of joy in her former protegé's arms a cautious once-over.
"She looks more like a squirming bean than a flower, but it's a suitable name for the child, imoutō," she says finally. There hasn't been any children born in the okiya in years, with the steady decline of customers, and it's the first time the young women have seen such a young child. Mebuki smiles a little tearfully at her mentor, and Katsuchiyo crumbles in front of her crying face, as always. "Stop that nonsense. If you keep on wailing like that, I won't have any more linen to spare," she says gruffly, but gives Mebuki her handkerchief anyway.
Sakura has Mebuki's heart-shaped face and a tuft of soft candy-floss hair that peeps from under the thin blanket that covers her head. Little Sakura's pink hair is closer to the strawberry-blond shade of Mebuki's father than to Mebuki's own sandy-blonde hair; the father, of course, is unknown. Hanako okā-sama, who has a penchant for putting her foot in her mouth at inopportune moments, remarks about the profits that Sakura will bring the okiya with her unusual coloring but shuts up when Katsuchiyo fixes her with another deadly glare. "Stuff it, you old hag," she threatens, before turning to the pale woman lying on the floor with the child cradled in her arms. "Rest, imoutō. I'll take care of the expenses for this month—I have a few more lessons scheduled today. Hanako bā-chan will be here if you or Sakura need anything." She jerks her thumb toward the old woman, who mutters something under her breath about uppity worthless chits, before rising to her feet. The old woman departs shortly afterwards, casting malevolent looks at the young mother and her child before tottering out of the tatami room.
Notes (courtesy of Wikipedia):
Akasen—literally means "red-line." Until 1958, it was used to refer to a red-light district.
hanamachi—"flower town." District where geisha entertained.
ochaya—teahouse where geisha entertained
okiya—boarding house for geisha
okā-san—literally "Mother." Term for the owner of the okiya, who handles all of the geisha's expenses. Training is expensive, and the geisha is expected to repay her okāsan through the earnings she makes.
onēsan—every geisha apprentice (maiko) has an older geisha or a maiko that trains her in everything she needs to know to become a full-fledged geisha (serving tea, making conversation, etc).
Katsuchiyo—"victorious eternity"
Mebuki—"shoot"
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