Moth of Gion was first published by The Menteur magazine in April 2014, the story was again published by Alfie Dog Fiction in November 2014, and finally by Kishboo magazine in January 2015. The story also received the runner-up award in the Kishboo 'Spring 2015' competition, as well as being shortlisted for the Five-Stop Story 'Summer 2013' competition.
Moth of Gion
Pain – by now it was routine. Every evening Mizuki’s ‘sister’, Azami, would kneel behind her, preparing her hair for the evening’s clients, pulling and pushing it into place – far more violently than necessary. They did not talk, they never talked. Mizuki would spend these forty minutes letting her eyes wander around the tiny room. They fell upon the postcard lying atop her vanity, the words of her true sister smudged by Mizuki’s own tears. Chiyo had written about the festival at Niigata, she had asked how Kyoto was and wished Mizuki all the happiness in the world.
Mizuki hadn’t replied yet. In one of her few moments alone she had hastily savoured each word – each one as if it were a small kiss from her sister. It hurt her to look at it and so she searched around for something else to take her mind away from the world. It was a fruitless effort. Resigned to her fate, she allowed her eyes to close and despite the force pushing her head to and fro, she was able to momentarily slip into a waking dream.
The Okasan awoke her from her reverie; she had entered the room, the usual austere look upon her face – to observe Mizuki. She nodded. Approval, the next stage could be set. Mizuki raised herself onto her feet to enter the next part of the production. The hadajuban and koshimaki applied directly to her naked skin – the Okasan turning away from the sight of her stomach. Then the juban and finally the kimono – her chrysalis had been adorned.
Mizuki moved coldly to the mirror – she didn’t show, not yet. She allowed herself a sigh of relief and a moment to observe the beautiful moth she had become in those few steps. It was the same every evening and it never ceased to amaze her. She permitted herself a smile. Among an otherwise flawless row, a single crooked tooth presented itself, making her look away. Imperfection, she hated it.
Worse still, her eyes had found themselves gazing at the woodblock print on the wall. The picture of lovers, a theme she was not prepared to confront. Holding back her tears, she smiled and bowed to both Azami and the Okasan, who returned it with another nod of approval.
Mizuki made her way to the front door, slipping into her geta for the walk to the clients’ building – the Honda Corporation – who had asked for her specifically. As she made her way outside, she felt the cool breeze on her linen-white face. The bright lights of modern Kyoto laid bare before her, attracting the fragile moth to her destiny. She was ready. Eyes turned to follow her graceful promenade to her destination; one of the few feelings she usually relished now had become accusatory – as if they knew her secret. The layers she would customarily curse for weighing her down had become her armour, her shield.
Mizuki’s feet now moved of their own accord, allowing her mind momentary respite; it had always been her sanctuary ever since she was a child.
'Katsuma, I…I have something to tell you.’ Her psyche was swimming with a thousand concurrent thoughts – she was getting hopelessly lost in the stream. ‘I’ll come home, Chiyo, I’m not giving up my dream, it’s just…changed. Mother and father will understand one day, they’ll have to.’
However much she tried, there was no way to stem the tide of misery flowing through her entire being.
Salvation. There, in front of the little moth, stood the restaurant Hyotei – its red lanterns billowing in the wind – making her shudder slightly. To her they appeared as the eyes of a demon.
“You’re the geiko from the Yukihana Okiya?” Mizuki nodded sullenly to the spindly woman before her, who had peered around the sliding door on hearing Mizuki’s geta hitting the hard pavement. The woman observed Mizuki through her circular spectacles – as if at a pig for slaughter. Mizuki was immediately reminded of a mole peering its head out from its burrow. “You’re late!”
Mizuki nodded again in agreement. “I know, I’m sorry.” The little moth bowed deeply in apologetic respect and quickly fluttered into the restaurant.
“That way!” The old woman gestured aggressively to a closed door. The boisterous sounds of drunken men filled the cramped space. It made Mizuki wince.
Placing both her hands on the door, Mizuki gently pushed it to one side and without observing her audience, immediately knelt on the floor and moved into a prostrate bow. As she feared, the room was filled solely with men, who all immediately cheered at her appearance.
“I am Fujimori Mizuki of the Yukihana Okiya,” she said, “I am very pleased to meet all of you.”
Another sudden explosion of noise, until the largest of the gathered men – directly opposite Mizuki – raised his hand to usher in a moment of silence. “We are all pleased to make your acquaintance too, Miss. Fujimori. I am Goda Kentaro head of the Kyoto branch of the Honda Corporation.”
Mizuki let out an involuntary gasp. ‘The head? The Okasan said it was just a performance for shareholders…’
“Something the matter?” Kentaro inquired, a genuine hint of concern in his voice.
"No, I am sorry. Please continue with your conversation.”
Kentaro laughed raucously, causing his ensemble to follow suit. "Come here, join me, I promise I won’t bite.” Despite her apprehension, Mizuki giggled to please the client and after closing the door behind her, she shuffled to join Kentaro’s side.
To her horror, not a moment after she had become settled, the sliding door was quickly reopened. ‘Katsuma!’
The youthful man entered the room vivaciously, staggering slightly, wrestling with his trouser fly. “Sorry! I got distracted by–” Their eyes met across the room and the gentle moth instantly turned to Kentaro.
"Ah, scared by our guest, little flower? Fear not, that’s just Katsuma, he’s one of my assistants and a rude one at that. Katsuma there’s a lady present, have some shame, man!” Kentaro’s scolding caused the ensemble to snigger and Katsuma to fall to the floor to express his apologises. It was a few minutes before he dared to look up again.
As the evening progressed, Mizuki continued to pour her patrons their saké and laugh politely – as Kentaro regaled the collective with his mundane tales. Although she was under constant observation, she would let her eyes flutter as if truly flattered by the men’s compliments, but she would use these precious seconds to glance at Katsuma – just to see him smile. It was the one thing keeping her smiling herself.
“Games!” Kentaro suddenly declared as he leapt to his feet. “Janken! We shall play Janken. Katsuma, you shall play with our esteemed guest and I shall form a team with Ando here,” Kentaro exclaimed, indicating a man on his left like an excitable child.
Within moments an intricately painted folding screen had been brought in and now the two pairs stood either side of it, each couple unable to see the other. “Three, two, one and go!” Kentaro declared and in a flurry of movement the pairs jumped out from behind their particular sides, imitating an old lady and a warrior respectively.
“You win,” Kentaro announced, holding himself upright, his fists placed strikingly on his hips – still imitating a warrior. Mizuki, carried away with the sensation of pretending to be someone else, lost her footing and fell back into Katsuma’s arms.
“Katsuma – I’m sorry!”
Katsuma instantly turned in the opposite direction and placed Mizuki upright again. “No need to apologise. You’re an old lady, instability comes with age,” Kentaro quipped and the entire room burst into rapturous applause and laughter. Katsuma instantly returned to his place, leaving Mizuki to follow him back with her eyes. For the first time that evening, she had not even attempted to match the mood of the room.
A few more hours passed and the time to depart had come upon the party. Kentaro spent a full five minutes congratulating Mizuki on her talent and beauty. He almost cried with joy when she presented him with her obligatory business card – as if it were a well thought-out gift. As he said his goodbyes, Mizuki bowed politely and then turned swiftly to speak with Katsuma. He was already gone.
“Mr. Goda!” Mizuki called after Kentaro, making him spin around, his face alight with joy. “Where is Katsuma?”
Kentaro's face fell and another of the businessmen responded, “He left a couple of minutes ago, said he had an emergency.” Mizuki nodded and then turned away from the party. When she looked back up, everyone was gone. Left with no other option, Mizuki bid farewell to the owner and ambled back to the Okiya – her mind devoid of any thought.
***
“I received a call from Mr. Goda, he was very pleased with your work…” the Okasan spoke stiffly. She was shuffling through some business cards on the table – not making eye contact with Mizuki.
“I am glad,” Mizuki said, while slowly taking off her geta and placing them delicately on the stone floor.
"Well, have you made a decision?” the Okasan inquired, with an even icier tone than usual – giving Mizuki little more than a quick glance.
“Okasan…I–” She could feel the tears coming. Her next words felt as though they would be the final crack that would destroy the dam she had maintained for two years. “I can’t do this anymore!” Just as she had imagined, tears flowed unashamedly from her face.
"What is this madness?” the Okasan demanded, slamming her palm on the table.
Mizuki, feeling like a castle that had been liberated after years of siege, stared directly into the Okasan’s eyes. “I won’t give it up! I can’t. I won’t.”
The Okasan, as if completely unmoved by this unprecedented scene – returned Mizuki’s burning stare. “Then you give up this life, you go back to Niigata! You Northerners are fit for nothing. So many years of training wasted, what was it all for? What good are you? You’re a disgrace to your whole family, to every Fujimori! I should have picked a pretty Southern girl, not taken a chance on you!”
Every muscle in Mizuki’s body screamed at her to slap the Okasan – to make her feel a modicum of the pain she had to endure at the Okiya. She held back and searched the Okasan’s face for some ounce of sympathy or empathy, but it was like staring at a worn statue – devoid of any expression.
“I did everything for you,” the Okasan began, her voice freezing over again, “and you throw it all away for a…child.”
The moth would hear no more and so flew off into the night – searching for any light to guide her. Everyone she stumbled past was repulsed – she hadn’t considered her appearance. Like some ghoulish demon of Shinto mythology, there were black streaks running down her smudged white face, the two colours jarringly juxtaposed beside each other – like a whirlpool unable to mix. In her frenzy she had not donned her geta and so was barefoot on the hard pavement – tripping here and there – still blinded by her tears and wailing like a ghost unjustly murdered. She knew she would have to go back.
As Kyoto retired to slumber, the moth was huddled on a bench, beneath a single lantern hanging from a pub. She had blocked out all the advances of the drunken revellers and stayed frozen – staring at the floor for over an hour. Then, without a thought she rose up and wandered back to the Okiya – dazed and detached.
She slowly slid the door to one side and stepped in. The Okasan had not waited for her. On creeping into her room she found Azami already asleep and a letter atop her vanity.
‘Mizuki, I enclose ¥600,000, the last of your pay. I shall not send on your bonus from Mr. Goda when it arrives. I shall keep it as collateral. You shall not hear from me again, I do not expect to find you here in the morning.’
The Okasan had not even signed the paper – but it no longer bothered Mizuki. She merely placed the bills inside her kimono sleeve, wiped away her make-up – slowly and methodically – and then reached down for a pen and paper. The flow of her writing reflected her new found calm, as if, at last, she had sailed into the eye of the storm. Four simple words lay on the page before her – a reply to her beloved sister:
‘Chiyo, I’m coming home.’
Mizuki hadn’t replied yet. In one of her few moments alone she had hastily savoured each word – each one as if it were a small kiss from her sister. It hurt her to look at it and so she searched around for something else to take her mind away from the world. It was a fruitless effort. Resigned to her fate, she allowed her eyes to close and despite the force pushing her head to and fro, she was able to momentarily slip into a waking dream.
The Okasan awoke her from her reverie; she had entered the room, the usual austere look upon her face – to observe Mizuki. She nodded. Approval, the next stage could be set. Mizuki raised herself onto her feet to enter the next part of the production. The hadajuban and koshimaki applied directly to her naked skin – the Okasan turning away from the sight of her stomach. Then the juban and finally the kimono – her chrysalis had been adorned.
Mizuki moved coldly to the mirror – she didn’t show, not yet. She allowed herself a sigh of relief and a moment to observe the beautiful moth she had become in those few steps. It was the same every evening and it never ceased to amaze her. She permitted herself a smile. Among an otherwise flawless row, a single crooked tooth presented itself, making her look away. Imperfection, she hated it.
Worse still, her eyes had found themselves gazing at the woodblock print on the wall. The picture of lovers, a theme she was not prepared to confront. Holding back her tears, she smiled and bowed to both Azami and the Okasan, who returned it with another nod of approval.
Mizuki made her way to the front door, slipping into her geta for the walk to the clients’ building – the Honda Corporation – who had asked for her specifically. As she made her way outside, she felt the cool breeze on her linen-white face. The bright lights of modern Kyoto laid bare before her, attracting the fragile moth to her destiny. She was ready. Eyes turned to follow her graceful promenade to her destination; one of the few feelings she usually relished now had become accusatory – as if they knew her secret. The layers she would customarily curse for weighing her down had become her armour, her shield.
Mizuki’s feet now moved of their own accord, allowing her mind momentary respite; it had always been her sanctuary ever since she was a child.
'Katsuma, I…I have something to tell you.’ Her psyche was swimming with a thousand concurrent thoughts – she was getting hopelessly lost in the stream. ‘I’ll come home, Chiyo, I’m not giving up my dream, it’s just…changed. Mother and father will understand one day, they’ll have to.’
However much she tried, there was no way to stem the tide of misery flowing through her entire being.
Salvation. There, in front of the little moth, stood the restaurant Hyotei – its red lanterns billowing in the wind – making her shudder slightly. To her they appeared as the eyes of a demon.
“You’re the geiko from the Yukihana Okiya?” Mizuki nodded sullenly to the spindly woman before her, who had peered around the sliding door on hearing Mizuki’s geta hitting the hard pavement. The woman observed Mizuki through her circular spectacles – as if at a pig for slaughter. Mizuki was immediately reminded of a mole peering its head out from its burrow. “You’re late!”
Mizuki nodded again in agreement. “I know, I’m sorry.” The little moth bowed deeply in apologetic respect and quickly fluttered into the restaurant.
“That way!” The old woman gestured aggressively to a closed door. The boisterous sounds of drunken men filled the cramped space. It made Mizuki wince.
Placing both her hands on the door, Mizuki gently pushed it to one side and without observing her audience, immediately knelt on the floor and moved into a prostrate bow. As she feared, the room was filled solely with men, who all immediately cheered at her appearance.
“I am Fujimori Mizuki of the Yukihana Okiya,” she said, “I am very pleased to meet all of you.”
Another sudden explosion of noise, until the largest of the gathered men – directly opposite Mizuki – raised his hand to usher in a moment of silence. “We are all pleased to make your acquaintance too, Miss. Fujimori. I am Goda Kentaro head of the Kyoto branch of the Honda Corporation.”
Mizuki let out an involuntary gasp. ‘The head? The Okasan said it was just a performance for shareholders…’
“Something the matter?” Kentaro inquired, a genuine hint of concern in his voice.
"No, I am sorry. Please continue with your conversation.”
Kentaro laughed raucously, causing his ensemble to follow suit. "Come here, join me, I promise I won’t bite.” Despite her apprehension, Mizuki giggled to please the client and after closing the door behind her, she shuffled to join Kentaro’s side.
To her horror, not a moment after she had become settled, the sliding door was quickly reopened. ‘Katsuma!’
The youthful man entered the room vivaciously, staggering slightly, wrestling with his trouser fly. “Sorry! I got distracted by–” Their eyes met across the room and the gentle moth instantly turned to Kentaro.
"Ah, scared by our guest, little flower? Fear not, that’s just Katsuma, he’s one of my assistants and a rude one at that. Katsuma there’s a lady present, have some shame, man!” Kentaro’s scolding caused the ensemble to snigger and Katsuma to fall to the floor to express his apologises. It was a few minutes before he dared to look up again.
As the evening progressed, Mizuki continued to pour her patrons their saké and laugh politely – as Kentaro regaled the collective with his mundane tales. Although she was under constant observation, she would let her eyes flutter as if truly flattered by the men’s compliments, but she would use these precious seconds to glance at Katsuma – just to see him smile. It was the one thing keeping her smiling herself.
“Games!” Kentaro suddenly declared as he leapt to his feet. “Janken! We shall play Janken. Katsuma, you shall play with our esteemed guest and I shall form a team with Ando here,” Kentaro exclaimed, indicating a man on his left like an excitable child.
Within moments an intricately painted folding screen had been brought in and now the two pairs stood either side of it, each couple unable to see the other. “Three, two, one and go!” Kentaro declared and in a flurry of movement the pairs jumped out from behind their particular sides, imitating an old lady and a warrior respectively.
“You win,” Kentaro announced, holding himself upright, his fists placed strikingly on his hips – still imitating a warrior. Mizuki, carried away with the sensation of pretending to be someone else, lost her footing and fell back into Katsuma’s arms.
“Katsuma – I’m sorry!”
Katsuma instantly turned in the opposite direction and placed Mizuki upright again. “No need to apologise. You’re an old lady, instability comes with age,” Kentaro quipped and the entire room burst into rapturous applause and laughter. Katsuma instantly returned to his place, leaving Mizuki to follow him back with her eyes. For the first time that evening, she had not even attempted to match the mood of the room.
A few more hours passed and the time to depart had come upon the party. Kentaro spent a full five minutes congratulating Mizuki on her talent and beauty. He almost cried with joy when she presented him with her obligatory business card – as if it were a well thought-out gift. As he said his goodbyes, Mizuki bowed politely and then turned swiftly to speak with Katsuma. He was already gone.
“Mr. Goda!” Mizuki called after Kentaro, making him spin around, his face alight with joy. “Where is Katsuma?”
Kentaro's face fell and another of the businessmen responded, “He left a couple of minutes ago, said he had an emergency.” Mizuki nodded and then turned away from the party. When she looked back up, everyone was gone. Left with no other option, Mizuki bid farewell to the owner and ambled back to the Okiya – her mind devoid of any thought.
***
“I received a call from Mr. Goda, he was very pleased with your work…” the Okasan spoke stiffly. She was shuffling through some business cards on the table – not making eye contact with Mizuki.
“I am glad,” Mizuki said, while slowly taking off her geta and placing them delicately on the stone floor.
"Well, have you made a decision?” the Okasan inquired, with an even icier tone than usual – giving Mizuki little more than a quick glance.
“Okasan…I–” She could feel the tears coming. Her next words felt as though they would be the final crack that would destroy the dam she had maintained for two years. “I can’t do this anymore!” Just as she had imagined, tears flowed unashamedly from her face.
"What is this madness?” the Okasan demanded, slamming her palm on the table.
Mizuki, feeling like a castle that had been liberated after years of siege, stared directly into the Okasan’s eyes. “I won’t give it up! I can’t. I won’t.”
The Okasan, as if completely unmoved by this unprecedented scene – returned Mizuki’s burning stare. “Then you give up this life, you go back to Niigata! You Northerners are fit for nothing. So many years of training wasted, what was it all for? What good are you? You’re a disgrace to your whole family, to every Fujimori! I should have picked a pretty Southern girl, not taken a chance on you!”
Every muscle in Mizuki’s body screamed at her to slap the Okasan – to make her feel a modicum of the pain she had to endure at the Okiya. She held back and searched the Okasan’s face for some ounce of sympathy or empathy, but it was like staring at a worn statue – devoid of any expression.
“I did everything for you,” the Okasan began, her voice freezing over again, “and you throw it all away for a…child.”
The moth would hear no more and so flew off into the night – searching for any light to guide her. Everyone she stumbled past was repulsed – she hadn’t considered her appearance. Like some ghoulish demon of Shinto mythology, there were black streaks running down her smudged white face, the two colours jarringly juxtaposed beside each other – like a whirlpool unable to mix. In her frenzy she had not donned her geta and so was barefoot on the hard pavement – tripping here and there – still blinded by her tears and wailing like a ghost unjustly murdered. She knew she would have to go back.
As Kyoto retired to slumber, the moth was huddled on a bench, beneath a single lantern hanging from a pub. She had blocked out all the advances of the drunken revellers and stayed frozen – staring at the floor for over an hour. Then, without a thought she rose up and wandered back to the Okiya – dazed and detached.
She slowly slid the door to one side and stepped in. The Okasan had not waited for her. On creeping into her room she found Azami already asleep and a letter atop her vanity.
‘Mizuki, I enclose ¥600,000, the last of your pay. I shall not send on your bonus from Mr. Goda when it arrives. I shall keep it as collateral. You shall not hear from me again, I do not expect to find you here in the morning.’
The Okasan had not even signed the paper – but it no longer bothered Mizuki. She merely placed the bills inside her kimono sleeve, wiped away her make-up – slowly and methodically – and then reached down for a pen and paper. The flow of her writing reflected her new found calm, as if, at last, she had sailed into the eye of the storm. Four simple words lay on the page before her – a reply to her beloved sister:
‘Chiyo, I’m coming home.’