Memoirs of a Geisha Read Free Page B

as quickly. But by the time I was nine, the bones in her face had begun to protrude, and she never gained weight again afterward. I didn’t realize the water was draining out of her because of her illness. Just as seaweed is naturally soggy, you see, but turns brittle as it dries, my mother was giving up more and more of her essence.
    Then one afternoon I was sitting on the pitted floor of our dark front room, singing to a cricket I’d found that morning, when a voice called out at the door:
    â€œOi! Open up! It’s Dr. Miura!”
    Dr. Miura came to our fishing village once a week, and had made a point of walking up the hill to check on my mother ever since her illness had begun. My father was at home that day because a terrible storm was coming. He sat in his usual spot on the floor, with his two big spiderlike hands tangled up in a fishing net. But he took a moment to point his eyes at me and raise one of his fingers. This meant he wanted me to answer the door.
    Dr. Miura was a very important man—or so we believed in our village. He had studied in Tokyo and reportedly knew more Chinese characters than anyone. He was far too proud to notice a creature like me. When I opened the door for him, he slipped out of his shoes and stepped right past me into the house.
    â€œWhy, Sakamoto-san,” he said to my father, “I wish I had your life, out on the sea fishing all day. How glorious! And then on rough days you take a rest. I see your wife is still asleep,” he went on. “What a pity. I thought I might examine her.”
    â€œOh?” said my father.
    â€œI won’t be around next week, you know. Perhaps you might wake her for me?”
    My father took a while to untangle his hands from the net, but at last he stood.
    â€œChiyo-chan,” he said to me, “get the doctor a cup of tea.”
    My name back then was Chiyo. I wouldn’t be known by my geisha name, Sayuri, until years later.
    My father and the doctor went into the other room, where my mother lay sleeping. I tried to listen at the door, but I could hear only my mother groaning, and nothing of what they said. I occupied myself with making tea, and soon the doctor came back out rubbing his hands together and looking very stern. My father came to join him, and they sat together at the table in the center of the room.
    â€œThe time has come to say something to you, Sakamoto-san,” Dr. Miura began. “You need to have a talk with one of the women in the village. Mrs. Sugi, perhaps. Ask her to make a nice new robe for your wife.”
    â€œI haven’t the money, Doctor,” my father said.
    â€œWe’ve all grown poorer lately. I understand what you’re saying. But you owe it to your wife. She shouldn’t die in that tattered robe she’s wearing.”
    â€œSo she’s going to die soon?”
    â€œA few more weeks, perhaps. She’s in terrible pain. Death will release her.”
    After this, I couldn’t hear their voices any longer; for in my ears I heard a sound like a bird’s wings flapping in panic. Perhaps it was my heart, I don’t know. But if you’ve ever seen a bird trapped inside the great hall of a temple, looking for some way out, well, that was how my mind was reacting. It had never occurred to me that my mother wouldn’t simply go on being sick. I won’t say I’d never wondered what might happen if she should die; I did wonder about it, in the same way I wondered what might happen if our house were swallowed up in an earthquake. There could hardly be life after such an event.
    â€œI thought I would die first,” my father was saying.
    â€œYou’re an old man, Sakamoto-san. But your health is good. You might have four or five years. I’ll leave you some more of those pills for your wife. You can give them to her two at a time, if you need to.”
    They talked about the pills a bit longer, and then Dr. Miura left. My father went on