Memoirs of a Geisha | Page 3

I resembled my mother and had \
even inherited her unusual eyes;
my sister, Satsu, was as much like my father as anyone could be. Satsu w\
as six years older than me, and
of course, being older, she could do things I couldn't do. But Satsu had\
a remarkable quality of'doing
everything in a way that seemed like a complete accident. For example, i\
f you asked her to pour a bowl
of soup from a pot on the stove, she would get the job done, but in a wa\
y that looked like she'd spilled it
into the bowl just by luck. One time she even cut herself with a fish, a\
nd I don't mean with a knife she
was using to clean a fish. She was carrying a fish wrapped in paper up t\
he hill from the village when it
slid out and fell against her leg in such a way as to cut her with one o\
f its fins.
Our parents might have had other children besides Satsu and me, particul\
arly since my father hoped for
a boy to fish with him. But when I was seven my mother grew terribly ill\
with what was probably bone
cancer, though at the time I had no idea what was wrong. Her only escape\
from discomfort was to sleep,
which she began to do the way a cat does-which is to say, more or less c\
onstantly. As the months passed
she slept most of the time, and soon began to groan whenever she was awa\
ke. I knew something in her
was changing quickly, but because of so much water in her personality, t\
his didn't seem worrisome to
me. Sometimes she grew thin in a matter of months but grew strong again \
just as quickly. But by the
time I was nine, the bones in her face had begun to protrude, and she ne\
ver 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 g\
iving up more and more of her
essence.
Then one afternoon I was sitting on the pitted floor of our dark front r\
oom, singing to a cricket I'd found

that morning, when a voice called out at the door:
"Oi! 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 tha\
t day because a terrible storm
was coming. He sat in his usual spot on the floor, with his two big spid\
erlike 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 prou\
d 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.
"Why, 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 sti\
ll asleep," he went on. "What a
pity. I thought I might examine her."
"Oh?" said my father.
"I won't be around next week, you know. Perhaps you might wake her for m\
e?"
My father took a while to untangle his hands from the net, but at last h\
e stood.
"Chiyo-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, Sayu\
ri, until years later.
My father and the doctor went into the other room, where my mother lay s\
leeping. 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 cente\
r of the room.
"The time has come to say something to you, Sakamoto-san," Dr. Miura beg\
an. "You need to have a talk
with one of the women in the village. Mrs. Sugi, perhaps. Ask her to mak\
e a nice new robe for your
wife."
"I haven't the money, Doctor," my father said.
"We'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."
"So she's going to die soon?"

"A few more weeks, perhaps.