Part 4
The train journey to Kyoto was long and arduous, Omi wore a pretty sun dress with large pale flowers and worried at a notebook, writing a few words and then chewing his pencil. Aya looked as if the world around him could very easily have ended and he would not have stirred from his book, "men are from Mars, women are from Venus." Across from them Ken and Yohji were engaged in a game of I spy out of the cabin window.
"The blossoms fall with steady surety making one yearn for the coming of spring." Omi read out, they all looked at him.
"Why are you writing haiku?" Aya asked, pulling at the edge of his skirt suit so that it covered more of his thighs.
"You have to, so I wondered if I could, but I'm no good at it, am I?" If Omi's hair wasn't pulled up in ribbons that made him look much younger Yohji would have ruffled his hair. He looked so forlorn.
"Try the autumn leaves fall surely and make me yearn for the coming of spring." Aya answered making a haiku that managed exactly seventeen syllables. "Or we could do it as a waka, "when the autumn leaves fall on the grass I find myself yearning for the blossoms of spring that make me remember days of gold light." He looked kind of smug.
Ken counted it off on his fingers. "It used to take me hours at school to do that, running over it again and again until it was exactly thirty one syllables."
"The neophyte tries to master the art of waka, little does he know that it takes patience, metre and a quick tongue, he says." Aya answered with a smile, answering him with another waka.
"He says was added on there to make it fit wasn't it?" Yohji asked, "because it doesn't fit with the meaning." He looked at a cow that they passed in the field, "don't worry, Ken, I was always better at limericks myself. But they all seemed to start there was a young girl with no luck."
"Enough." Aya snapped, "Omi's here. Your haiku was very good, Omi, it just takes practise. You just had too many syllables, you don't need to learn them you know. A Maiko isn't supposed to talk at conversation."
"I know," Omi said, "but I'm supposed to be your apprentice, when did you get so good at them?"
"My father," Aya answered sadly, "we used to have competitions as to who would have the best haiku or waka, you never had time to work one out and the other would count the syllables. It was fun, I miss it." He fell silent and the others didn't interrupt the silence, Aya never spoke of his family. "When you get the hang of it, we can do it in the Okiya, okay, Omi, until you become good at it."
"Thanks, Aya," Omi said diving forward to glomp him. "You're the best."
"I know." Aya answered loosely, "but it's not polite to gloat."
"There was a young lady called Aya." Yohji said in a sing song voice, "who was a very good liar, for the smiles from her fan hid the fact she was a man, men learned when they tried to buy her."
Ken sniggered under his hand.
"There was a young man called Balinese," Aya retorted with a smile, "who asked all the young ladies please, if they're eighteen, he said, I'll take them to bed, with never a thought for disease."
Ken burst out laughing, and Yohji frowned for a moment. Even Omi was laughing.
"Red hair falling on white linen reminds me of quickened breath and smiles." Yohji answered with a haiku.
"And the smell of cigarettes I associate with rapid pleasure." Ken was biting his fist to stop laughing as Yohji, determined to win, was outmanned by Aya at every poetical turn.
"White skin and violet eyes are a fair judgment of when a heart is as cold as ice and the words sharp. There indeed a barren landscape."
"Waka," Aya said with a raised eyebrow. "Golden skin and golden touch, the soft waves of the ocean upon sandy shores, as inconstant as the tide and just as faithless."
"Give up, Yotan," Omi said looking between them, "Aya's winning hands down. He's good enough to be published."
"If we continue, we are going to be doing sonnets." Aya answered, "though the practise is nice. Murasakiiro will be a sensation if this continues."
"Will you write one for me?" Omi asked.
"Innocence is the way that light falls upon jaded blue eyes in spring." Aya answered without a thought.
Omi quickly scribbled it down, and then looked at it chewing on his pencil. "Thank you, Ayan," he said, "I just wanted one to make it look like I could write them, but you wrote it about me, didn't you?" Aya said nothing, just arranged the line of his skirt again and lifted his book.
Ken went to say something but Aya cut him off. "Gentle and simple, honest and proud, I am honoured to call him friend."
"Thank you," Ken said blinking, "but I wasn't going to ask that. When are we due in Gion?"
Aya looked at the expensive silver watch that Manx had given him "an hour or so, as long as the train isn't held up by anything. Why?"
"Bored." Ken said, "though watching you run rings around Yohji is always fun." A man appeared at the door, "show time." Ken murmured. The sarariman opened the door, "Is it all right if I sit here?" he asked politely. He was a large man in his mid forties with hair that was badger striped grey and he wore a pin stripe blue suit that made him look fatter than he was. He had a fake alligator skin briefcase but his shoes were expensive. He smelled of almonds.
"Certainly." Aya said softening his voice slightly, "the more the merrier." He raised his book again, "if you gentlemen don't mind of course."
"It's not a problem, Murasakiiro-sama." Ken said, clearing a pile of papers between him and Yohji, Yohji scooted over on the bench.
"That's an unusual name," the man said. Aya managed a pleasant blush at the compliment, just a pink flush around his neck and ears. "And almost as lovely as yourself, miss," he crossed his legs and arranged his briefcase on his lap. "Do you mind if I ask where the name comes from?" Aya raised his eyes and looked at him. "Such lovely eyes," the man said, "I see why you're named for them." Yohji growled.
"Is there a problem, Ta-kun?" Aya asked Yohji firmly.
"No, Murasakiiro-sama." Yohji answered, although he didn't like the idea of Aya being approached by any man.
"Is this your first time in Kyoto?" The man asked.
Aya managed a pretty smile to match the flush, "a sister of mine is unable to work and so I am going to cover for her, perhaps you could see me in Kyoto?" Aya made a distinct point of crossing his legs, "Ask of me, I am sure someone will guide you to the tea-house where I am working."
The man did a few moments of thinking and realised that Aya was a geisha, if only for the mission, "certainly, Murasakiiro-sama, it would be an honour, if you don't mind me asking, what is your art, your gei?"
Aya closed the book on his lap, "Haiku," he answered breathily, "I am a master of haiku, my voice lacks the sweetness for song and my fingers the quickness for kouta, although I dance fairly my talent is for haiku," the man nodded, "if you don't mind me asking, may I have your name?"
"Seichiiro Furusawa." The man stammered, twisting the wedding ring on his finger as if deciding whether or not to take it off.
Aya made a distinct point of repeating the name as if he was doing his best to remember it. "Furusawa-san, do I make you uncomfortable? Surrounded by my entourage as you are, and I am hardly attired to meet with guests." His laugh had been practised over the past few weeks with Manx until he had a perfect courtesan's laugh, a sound that exuded sex with just a toss of his red hair. "You must pay attention, Aoi-kun," he looked at Omi, "to remember how not to treat your guests."
"No, Murasakiiro-sama." The man was shaking now, "It is an honour to speak with you." He said, "you have no need to speak to me, I am just a sarariman on my way home, I'm sorry to have disturbed you."
"Nonsense," Aya said leaning forward, "it is always an honour to speak with someone new, in fact my Kaasan says a stranger is just a friend we haven't met yet, surely you agree with this." Furusawa nodded dumbly as Ken did his best not to snicker. "I am making you uncomfortable," Aya said, "what is it that you do, Furusawa-san?"
"I work in accounts," Furusawa said, and instead of adding on that Aya cocked his head as if he was interested, "I manage payroll for a part of the local government here in Kyoto."
"What an important job," Aya said, "so many people rely on you, you must get a sense of reward for doing it." He said.
"Not really," Furusawa said.
"No, you must be, working for the government, if you don't do your job them nothing happens, you make sure that the people get paid so they do their jobs. If you didn't do your job properly then I'm sure that all of Kyoto would just grind to a halt." Furusawa began to primp, just a little bit, puffing out his chest as Aya turned all of his training towards him. "I would take a lot of pride in my job if I did something as important as you, myself I only offer a sanctuary against the world, a place where men come to be entertained, by one such as myself, a humble artist." He lowered his eyes as if showing a perfect show of humility.
"Next stop Kyoto station," the tannoy hollered out, "next stop Kyoto station, all change at Kyoto station."
Yohji and Ken stood up and started to get down their bags, including Aya's heavy chest from the overhead luggage store. "Next time," Yohji muttered, "we drive, no matter what Manx says."
"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Furusawa-san." Aya said with a low bow, showing the nape of his neck to the blushing sarariman. "I am staying at the Ichirogo Okiya, if you wish to request me." He said and then picking up a small clutch purse made his way out of the small train's cabin.
"Do you think he will, Murasakiiro-sama?" Omi asked from his side.
"Probably not," Ken answered, "Murasakiiro-sama is highly prized. He may request her but she may not have the time." It was a polite way of saying that even an untried geisha from the Kritiker stables, who had spent a whole week learning with the geisha of Tokyo, was well above the prices that he could afford.
Thank you all so much for your reviews, and please appreciate my terrible haiku, i spent ages counting them out on my fingers and drawing little iamb diagrams so that it worked.
Next stop the Ichirogo Okiya, mwa ha ha