A sound of thrumming from the floor above hinted that the next item on the programme would be musical. We mounted and found ourselves in presence of two geisha, Miss Wistaria and Miss Dolly, who had been summoned by my cicerone while I was interrogating the Shinzo. The status and performance of these geisha differ considerably from those of their more respectable sisters, and Europeans, by confusing the two, have no doubt helped to affix a stigma to the whole class. Miss Dolly was no more than a child, and Miss Wistaria looked about sixteen. Both songs and dances, without being vulgar, were decidedly lax; and, as the songs were topical, I followed them less easily than the dance, which might have been named after a primitive Japanese goddess, “The Female who Invites.” Yet I must confess that the indelicacy was not blatant, but redeemed by a coy conscientiousness as of one who, half laughing, half shrinking, complies with an inevitable command. After some forty minutes of minstrelsy (my companions joining in the songs), the entertainment concluded with a polite request to the “honourable stranger” to return, and, handing us their cards—dainty cardlets, one inch square, inscribed with tiny hieroglyphics—the performers returned to the tea-house whence they had been hired.
At this moment Young Bamboo, Golden Harp, and River of Song, whom I had completely forgotten, reappeared on the scene. They had changed their scarlet robes for looser ones of white satin, and awaited our pleasure. I explained to River of Song, whose intelligent expression had influenced my choice, that if she would tell me her story and describe her impressions of Yoshiwara life, her duties would be at an end and her fee doubled. Entering readily into the rôle of Scheherazadé, she began by declaring that, though eagerly awaiting the day of liberation, which was yet two years off, she was not so unhappy as many of her companions. At first, when the bell rang before the shrine at evening for a signal to enter the cage (mise, “the shop,” she called it), the ordeal was both long and painful. But time had assuaged this feeling, and she had made many friends. Moreover, the Spear-hand of Dragon Cape had taken a fancy to her and made her life easier. Then she recalled her childhood. Her real name was Miss Mushroom (Matsutaké), and her father had been a fisherman of Shinagawa. Ever since she could remember, it had been her habit to patter bare-footed along the beach and gather shellfish at low tide. But bad times drove her parents into Tōkyō, where an uncle had a small shop in the main street of Asakusa. On him they built their hopes, but his business failed, her mother died, and at last the father, hoping to make a fresh start by capitalising his daughter, sold her to the house of the Dragon Cape. At this point I asked if I could see the nenki-shomon, or certificate of sale, which would probably be in the possession of Spear-hand. The River of Song hesitated, not liking to ask, but I volunteered to accompany her, and we finished the story in the actual sanctum of Spear-hand, whom I had propitiated with coins and cigarettes.
The document (except in the matter of names) was thus worded:
Name of Girl—Ito Matsutaké.
Age—Eighteen years.
Dwelling-place—Asakusa, Daimachi 18.
Father’s name—Ito Nobuta.
You, Minami Kakichi, proprietor of the House of the Dragon Cape, agree to take into your employ for five years the above named at a price of:—
300 yen (about £30).
30 yen (about £3) you retain as mizukin (allowance for dress).
270 yen (about £27), the balance, I have received.
I guarantee that the girl will not cause you trouble while in your employ.
She is of the Monto sect, her temple being the Higashi Hongwanji in Asakusa.