*Thanks for all the wonderful reviews guys! You guys give me something to do besides freeze in Chiberia.

As the months passed, and our food reserves dropped below an alarming amount, there was nothing I could do to assuage Auntie's constant cough. Even Mother, who was usually so hardened to life and its travails, looked on in frustration as Auntie coughed her way through another night. We gave her the best of our food, but soon our food stuffs become so intolerable, it may as well have not mattered. We existed on a thin watery gruel made from millet. On rare occasions we had a can of sardines from the stash that Mother hoarded.

Then Mother did the unthinkable. She sold three of our best Kimono in order to pay for a doctor to come and see Auntie. For Mother, this was something short of a miracle. From the beginning, Mother was determined to act as though we had a future after the war. She had been careful to preserve our best treasures in the country side. Moreover, she gave freely of whatever we had to friends and foes alike. Even Pumpkin, whom Hastumomo abandoned when she fled Gion, received the same amount of food as the rest of the household. Life in Gion would resume someday, and Mother wanted to be in the best position possible to preserve the honor and former splendor of the Nitta Okiya.

Thus, it was a sign of the utter seriousness of Auntie's situation when Mother sold the kimono. Indeed the time had come for the household to truly tighten its belt.

The doctor came on the coldest day of winter. I was bathing my battered hands in a bowl of water in the dining room. Auntie was steadily coughing on her futon near the fire brazier.

Mother bowed to the doctor and offered him tea. He graciously declined and immediately went to Auntie. I quickly dried my hands and bowed.

"Sayuri-san, bring the doctor a lamp" Mother commanded. I bought the lamp and set it beside the doctor. The glare of the lamp illuminated the sharp angles of Auntie's face. We had all lost significant weight, but Auntie resembled a walking skeleton. Her yellowed skin was stretched drum tight over her bones. I shivered with foreboding. This is what my mother looked like before she died.

"How long has she been coughing like this?" the doctor asked.

"Since we began working the factories" Mother replied. The doctor looked thoughtful.

"Many families like yours are in this position," he murmured as he prodded Aunties' neck and chin. "Barely enough food to fight off a cold. But still, she should not be coughing like this." He pressed on Aunties' chest and she gave a low groan.

"Cough" he told her. Auntie gave a sharp cough. The doctor pressed harder. "Cough" he told her again. Auntie coughed harder. Then she began to spit up thick phlegm, which was heavily tinged with blood.

The doctor withdrew his hands quickly. Reaching into his bag, he took a bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured it liberally over his hands, drenching the tatami mats beneath him.

"It's just as I thought" the doctor told Mother. "She has tuberculosis. She must have contracted in the factories. "

"No!" Mother gasped. "We didn't notice anyone that was sick. How could this be?" Tuberculosis was an illness commonly associated with the lower classes. Anyone who had was immediately shunned for fear of contagion.

"It happens," the doctor told her, "especially now with everyone crowded in the factory. With the war the government is too busy to run health checks on all the workers. "Mother looked aghast. Auntie lay on her futon, quietly coughing, too fatigued to react to her diagnosis, which was an almost certain death sentence.

"Most people with this disease do not openly admit they have it" the doctor told Mother.

"What should we do?" Mother asked, wringing her hands.

The doctor shrugged. "If you can afford it, there are some medicines to help with the symptoms, but with her age and because the disease has progressed this far…." He purposely left his thoughts unfinished.

"Will she be in much discomfort?" I hesitantly asked the doctor. Mother blanched. The doctor sighed. He looked around the room, probably gauging if we had the funds to pay him. The battered tatami and our grey clothing did not seem to reassure him.

"We have the money" Mother told him sharply. "We can pay it. Whatever it costs to keep her out of pain, we have the money." The doctor made a short bow as if to apologize.

"We may not look like it now" Mother told him, "but this Okiya was once among the most successful in Gion Kobu. Our geisha ranked the highest. Although we are no longer operating as such, we have a significant amount of money as well as valuable kimono. Rest assured that we can pay your fee."

"I will see to it then," the doctor said. He bowed and began gathering up things. "One more thing," he said, pausing as he clasped his bag. "I would move her out of this room and into a room by herself."

"Why on earth would we do that for?" Mother asked.

The doctor looked surprised. "I suggested you move her in order to lessen the chance of contamination."

"But we have all slept in one room for several months now!" Mother protested. The doctor looked perplexed, at last.

"It can still happen. She can still infect others with the disease. I highly recommend that you move her to another room." Mother looked unconvinced. "For your health and the health of your household, you had better move her," he warned.

Mother sold another one of the Okiya's treasured kimono in order to pay for Auntie's medicines. Life continued on before, only now Auntie was confined to her bed. Mother ordered that the littlest maid Estuko should stay home from the factory and attend to Auntie.

Despite the doctor's warning, our sleeping arrangement did not change. Mother reasoned that had Auntie infected anyone, we would have known by now. Besides, we had no money to heat another room. Although Mother could appear heartless, it was clear that she was prepared to sacrifice her own health and ours to ensure that Auntie slept in relative comfort.

We continued to work hard each day and come home, eat our meager meal, and fall asleep to the sound of Auntie's coughing. I had yet to hear from Nobu-san. I reasoned though, that any letter he might have written to me would have been sent to Arashino's. However, the more recent bombing of Osaka weighed heavily on my mind. I wish I knew Nobu's fate.

One day, while walking home from the factory, a new wave of snow began to fall. I hoisted my grey shawl over my head. My mind immediately went to the time that I walked by myself among the trees on Nobu's country estate. For a moment, I imagined that he was there, safe among the trees. But that thought was fleeting.

If I knew anything about Nobu-san, he was in the midst of things, in Osaka, fighting with the government and the Americans simultaneously. Nobu-san would never seek shelter from a fight.

Suddenly, an air raid siren began to sound. People began pushing and shoving in front of me to find cover. I turned around, frantically looking for Mother. She had been walking with Pumpkin and another geisha named Mineko. In the frantic crowd, I lost sight of them.

A food vendor stand that was five feet to my left suddenly burst into flames. The heat of the blast made my hair stand on end. Immediately I smelled singed hair and burning flesh. The man who had been managing the stand was screaming in pain. His right arm had caught on fire. I wanted to help him but someone from the crowd shoved me forward. I landed face down on the cobbled street. From my position, I saw that someone had come forward to help him, and was dragging him in the direction of the nearest air raid shelter.

In the chaos, several people stepped on my hand. I knew I had to get to my feet quickly and run. If I didn't, I would run the risk of being crushed to death. I got to my feet but there was no room to run. I crouched near the wall of a building, very close to where the food vender had been. I reasoned that it was unlikely that the same space would get hit twice. I prayed that my reasoning would be my luck.

The street was utter chaos. The timing of the raid was the same time the factories let out for the day and people did their shopping. Women had dropped their packages and were shouting in vain for their children. In the distance, I heard a car honk as it tried to part the crowds. I kept my spot by the wall and continued to pray. There was no way that I could make it the shelter with this crowd.

In the distance more bombs sounded. Now screaming began to merge with the sounds of burning and crashing. I continued to pray that it would end soon.

The car continued to honk as it pushed past the throngs of clamoring people. I watched in silent fascination. It had been months since I had seen any automobiles in the streets of Gion. The government had severely rationed gasoline so that travel by car was nearly impossible. No one traveled by car unless they were in the military.

Then I saw him. I saw Nobu.

My heart felt like it had stopped. I wanted to shake my head and rub my eyes. Surely my mind was playing tricks on me! But there he was, stationed between two men in the backseat of the car. The automobile had to be a military car.

"Nobu-san!" I screamed. I jumped up and waved my hands. "Nobu-san!" In the din of the crowd, my voice was barely audible. Then as the car began to gather up speed as the crowd slowly dispersed, I used all of my strength to shout his name.

"Nobu-san!" For a fraction of a second his face turned towards me. His eyes met mine and widened in recognition. His mouth opened as if he were going to shout. Then the car turned and accelerated suddenly and he was gone.

Around me, the crowd had dispersed to a great degree. The sounds of bombs being dropped could still be heard, but from a greater distance away. However my mind was oblivious to all danger, near and far. All I could think of was that Nobu-san was alive and he was in Kyoto.