Author's note:
As I wrote in my previous post, I recently visited Kyoto for the first time in nearly twenty-five years. It was in many ways just as I remembered it. What had changed more than anything else I suppose was me. This time I came as a sightseer with a digital camera. Years ago, I walked the streets as a young Zen acolyte and felt like part of the landscape. In Kyoto, unlike other metropolitan areas in Japan, Zen monks are a common sight. A young foreigner in a black robe seldom brought on a second glance.
Moreover, the influence of Buddhism in Kyoto is strong with many practicing monasteries in addition to the regular tourist spots. Both can be inspirational to a visitor. Kyoto is also the home of the Gion. The famous Geisha district from the Edo Period. I do not pretend to be an expert on Kyoto, or the Gion. The following is simply a story of experiences and impressions which I hope you will enjoy. I will add a follow-up story at a future date. Besides, it wouldn't be much fun if I didn't leave some of you hanging!
Moreover, the influence of Buddhism in Kyoto is strong with many practicing monasteries in addition to the regular tourist spots. Both can be inspirational to a visitor. Kyoto is also the home of the Gion. The famous Geisha district from the Edo Period. I do not pretend to be an expert on Kyoto, or the Gion. The following is simply a story of experiences and impressions which I hope you will enjoy. I will add a follow-up story at a future date. Besides, it wouldn't be much fun if I didn't leave some of you hanging!
Gassho
A Night Life
Chapter II sat in my car and watched as rivers of fog rolled down the distant mountains surrounding the city. Spring had finally arrived on the Kansai Plain. Still, a few patches of snow could be seen on the northern hills looming above the old tile roof houses. I was parked on a narrow street lined with small shops selling wares from shoes to groceries. A few blocks away was the outskirts of the Gion- the night district. I leaned back in the seat and watched the people passing by. As I looked down the street I saw her.
She was wearing a simple but elegant kimono and wooden sandals, and she looked as if she was headed to one of the Ochaya tea houses on the Gion. I watched as she delicately picked her way through a maze of shoppers and children on the street.
A light rain began to fall and form beads of water on the windshield. After a moment I started the car, drove a few blocks then stopped in front of a small cafe'. I could see her through the shop window. Her head ever so slightly tilted to one side as she traced the streams of rain on the glass. I got out, pulled up my collar up against the rain, and went inside.
I shook the rain off my jacket and sat down across from the woman I'd seen on the street. The waitress brought ice water and set it down on the low glass table between us. She was having coffee. I ordered one also. We sat in silence as condensation from the sides of the glass began to form little pools of water on the table. Finally I volunteered,
"How is business at the club?" Now her face softened and she replied,
"It's slow during the evenings, but it usually gets busy after midnight." I nodded in reply.
Her name was Ami and seeing her again reminded me of how her face always looked a bit sad when she spoke even though her voice was warm and friendly. I had always believed that it was a mask worn to distance herself from the insane world around her. She, like many of the women who worked in the clubs tried to distance themselves from the corruption of the night world. I wondered if her efforts hadn't drawn her even more tightly into the swirl of pimps and hustlers, con-men, and yakuza. She seemed so innocent so untouched and vulnerable, not the streetwise woman one would expect.
Her appearance reminded me of old 19th century lithographs of geisha. Although the photographers of that day often had the women assume comical possess, their sensuous beauty had shown through, nonetheless.
Geisha, so often misunderstood in the western world were actually master performers of traditional dance, music, and conversation. And while labeled as whores by the uninformed, their approach to sex was more monk-like than anything resembling a prostitute. Unfortunately, very few geisha remain in Japan. The training too long and arduous and the devotion to the art too complete to attract many modern women. Since this country had rebuilt and westernized, it was the women that worked in the night clubs on the neon strips who had replaced the geisha. Replace them not only in sheer numbers, but in the tastes of modern Japan. Nevertheless, these new-age geishas resembled their predecessors in one undying way. And it was in that men who went into the clubs looking for quick pleasure usually left out of money and alone. For then, as now, the high prices that these skilled and sensuous women commanded were not for intimacy, but for the illusion of it. And Ami had that illusion, with subtle and unspoken allure. I often saw it in the way she walked, or the penetrating yet soft gaze of her eyes when she looked at me. Tragically, the night world used her and others like her to turn a profit. Used them to empty the wallets of men who couldn't afford it but were willing to throw their money away just to catch a glimpse of intoxicating femininity.
I shook the rain off my jacket and sat down across from the woman I'd seen on the street. The waitress brought ice water and set it down on the low glass table between us. She was having coffee. I ordered one also. We sat in silence as condensation from the sides of the glass began to form little pools of water on the table. Finally I volunteered,
"How is business at the club?" Now her face softened and she replied,
"It's slow during the evenings, but it usually gets busy after midnight." I nodded in reply.
Her name was Ami and seeing her again reminded me of how her face always looked a bit sad when she spoke even though her voice was warm and friendly. I had always believed that it was a mask worn to distance herself from the insane world around her. She, like many of the women who worked in the clubs tried to distance themselves from the corruption of the night world. I wondered if her efforts hadn't drawn her even more tightly into the swirl of pimps and hustlers, con-men, and yakuza. She seemed so innocent so untouched and vulnerable, not the streetwise woman one would expect.
Her appearance reminded me of old 19th century lithographs of geisha. Although the photographers of that day often had the women assume comical possess, their sensuous beauty had shown through, nonetheless.
Geisha, so often misunderstood in the western world were actually master performers of traditional dance, music, and conversation. And while labeled as whores by the uninformed, their approach to sex was more monk-like than anything resembling a prostitute. Unfortunately, very few geisha remain in Japan. The training too long and arduous and the devotion to the art too complete to attract many modern women. Since this country had rebuilt and westernized, it was the women that worked in the night clubs on the neon strips who had replaced the geisha. Replace them not only in sheer numbers, but in the tastes of modern Japan. Nevertheless, these new-age geishas resembled their predecessors in one undying way. And it was in that men who went into the clubs looking for quick pleasure usually left out of money and alone. For then, as now, the high prices that these skilled and sensuous women commanded were not for intimacy, but for the illusion of it. And Ami had that illusion, with subtle and unspoken allure. I often saw it in the way she walked, or the penetrating yet soft gaze of her eyes when she looked at me. Tragically, the night world used her and others like her to turn a profit. Used them to empty the wallets of men who couldn't afford it but were willing to throw their money away just to catch a glimpse of intoxicating femininity.
But Ami was not a geisha, nor had she ever been, though she was often mistaken for a veteran of the life. She had grown up around the Kyoto nightlife, and I suppose it was natural for her to have bought her own club when she learned the business. Far from being seedy, it was an upscale club for high-end clients. The ladies who worked there were sophisticated and drinks were expensive. Yet I sensed a dark undercurrent of organized crime behind the neon lights. There was just too much money changing hands for one small night club to escape attention. Whether it was protection money, or free entertainment, I was sure that an ante had to be paid. Ami denied it, of course, and she would say,
"You are a foreigner. You don't know how these things work." What I did know was that from the moment I walked in her place, I was way over my head.
Ami's voice brought me back from my reminiscing when she asked why I hadn't come by to see her lately. I started to ramble on about how busy I'd been, but I stopped in mid-sentence when I saw her turn her head away and stare out at the wet street. We chatted for a few minutes more then she said,
"I'll be late for work," as she ran a finger along the seam of her kimono.
She wore a simple yet stunningly beautiful garment. Golden threads woven through a background of rich, yet subtle blue. The cloth virtually flowed around her accentuating the curves of her body and holding my eyes transfixed upon her.
"I'll drive you," I said.
"No, it's close, I'll walk." I didn't insist. I didn't feel that she was angry or irritated. I had gotten used to her lack of conversation when we were in public. I knew it was just her getting ready for work persona. She would transform into a flower of conversation with her patrons at the club, although she seemed to cherish the quiet moments in her private life.
After a moment she stood up and started for the door, then stopped, and put a hand on my shoulder.
"Won't you stop by the club tonight for me? I don't like the men that come by these days." I nodded a yes. Then she smiled and hurried off; her lacquered geta sandals clattering lightly on the floor as she left. I watched as her small figure merged with the rush hour crowds scurrying to stay out of the rain. Her color and style a contrast to the dark suits and black umbrellas on a street that paid no attention. I wanted to see her again, but I knew I couldn't just walk into her club and expect to have private time with her, especially on a busy Saturday night. I wanted to get out of the rain and away from the city and its people to someplace above the clouds.
"You are a foreigner. You don't know how these things work." What I did know was that from the moment I walked in her place, I was way over my head.
Ami's voice brought me back from my reminiscing when she asked why I hadn't come by to see her lately. I started to ramble on about how busy I'd been, but I stopped in mid-sentence when I saw her turn her head away and stare out at the wet street. We chatted for a few minutes more then she said,
"I'll be late for work," as she ran a finger along the seam of her kimono.
She wore a simple yet stunningly beautiful garment. Golden threads woven through a background of rich, yet subtle blue. The cloth virtually flowed around her accentuating the curves of her body and holding my eyes transfixed upon her.
"I'll drive you," I said.
"No, it's close, I'll walk." I didn't insist. I didn't feel that she was angry or irritated. I had gotten used to her lack of conversation when we were in public. I knew it was just her getting ready for work persona. She would transform into a flower of conversation with her patrons at the club, although she seemed to cherish the quiet moments in her private life.
After a moment she stood up and started for the door, then stopped, and put a hand on my shoulder.
"Won't you stop by the club tonight for me? I don't like the men that come by these days." I nodded a yes. Then she smiled and hurried off; her lacquered geta sandals clattering lightly on the floor as she left. I watched as her small figure merged with the rush hour crowds scurrying to stay out of the rain. Her color and style a contrast to the dark suits and black umbrellas on a street that paid no attention. I wanted to see her again, but I knew I couldn't just walk into her club and expect to have private time with her, especially on a busy Saturday night. I wanted to get out of the rain and away from the city and its people to someplace above the clouds.
I left the cafe', got in the car and waited through the rush hour traffic before finally driving out of the city and into the foothills. By the time I got to the mountains the rain had stopped leaving a thick blanket of fog over the dark pine forests. When I arrived at the pass it was starting to get dark, and the lights of Kyoto could be seen through the slowly lifting clouds. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, got out in the chilly air, and walked to the edge of the railing to look down upon the shimmering lights of the city. Memories of Ami came drifting up like a mist from the valley below.
We first met on a narrow backstreet in Kyoto. It was warm summer day and as I passed by a flower kiosk, I saw her kneeling beside a row of gardenias in bloom. I stopped and stood beside her, pretending to look at the flowers.
"Their bloom is even more brilliant at night," she continued. I could add nothing. I knew she was the most sensual woman I had ever met. She stood to face me and a flower petal fell from her lap and fluttered to the ground. Later, I thought of how she was like the night flower as the moon shown onto her slender back as she lay asleep on the bed beside me.
I had forgotten how much I loved her. I hated thinking about all the men she would entertain and all the lies they would tell about how affluent and influential they were. They would pay for her attention, and she would play along or brush them off like dust depending on her mood. Although sincere and almost childlike when we were together, she was a master of manipulation when she was working. Most men couldn't tell whether she truly cared about them, or if it was just an act. That is what kept them coming back. My downfall was to have fallen in love with a woman who men couldn't resist being deceived by. I don't know why I had called her again after a year apart, then asking her to meet me at the cafe'. I knew I wanted to hold her again and feel the simple touch of her fingertips on my arm. But there was so much baggage that went along with her choice of lifestyle and the people she associated with. Maybe I just wanted to be in her presence again? I got in the car and drove back down towards the city. I wanted to see her, but I didn't want to be treated like just another customer. Ami often treated me like a stranger when I had been at her club before. But I was driven to see her, so I decided to wait until shortly before closing time to go in. Maybe it would give me more time to be alone with her and convince her to go out with me after work.
Ami came by to see me after a while. I could tell she'd had a few drinks. It was near closing time, and I asked her if she wanted to go someplace where we could talk. She said that she would like to, but someone was waiting for her out front.
"Who?" I asked. Without answering, she brushed past me and began talking to one of the other women in the club. I was getting that same feeling of jealousy and frustration that had driven me away from her before. Yet, just watching Ami move around the club straightening up and turning off lights, I knew that I wanted to be with her. Suddenly she walked up to me and said,
"Let's go." Now she was virtually pushing me out of the club.
"I'll call a cab," she said as she led me to the door.
"Who?" I asked again, but she just looked around frantically and didn't answer me. I tried to get her in the cab, but she resisted.
"There he is," she mouthed. I looked in the direction of her gaze. Across the street in the shadows stood a man staring at us. I'd been watched the whole time. I knew there were others vying for her attention, but I had never seen one of her men so close, and now I was the one in the open. Ami hesitated briefly then shoved me into the cab and told the driver to go to an all-night piano bar on the other side of town. We fell together in the back seat. I needed to feel her warmth and closeness again. She pressed herself against me and kissed me passionately as city scenes rushed by the windows of the cab. Ami fell asleep in my arms as we drove on into the neon-lit night.
We had lived together once, but we had gone our separate ways. I often worried about her and the company she kept. So, I had called her, and we had met at the cafe'. Before our meeting I had rehearsed a speech on how I still cared for her and that I thought she should leave the club life. We would move to another city, start over, and have a life of our own. Yet when I saw her face and heard her voice again, I knew it was hopeless. My will to persuade her was like the air rushing out of an over-inflated balloon. Numbed by her presence, I'd let her slip through my fingers again.
I wanted her for my own, but I knew that was impossible. She had often broken dates to be with other men. Later when I'd ask her about it she would say,
"I thought you understood. That's part of running a club. They're important patrons, and I was just having a few drinks with them." Then she would be hurt and angry because I had mistrusted her. She was wrong about me though, I didn't understand. I didn't want to understand. The taxi stopped suddenly and the automatic door swung open.
"Here we are," the driver said.
The piano bar was on the top floor of a tall, downtown office building. It was a trendy, elegant spot where a lot of club people hung out after hours. The tables were set against full-length windows to view the lights of the city. I was crowded and the host welcomed us as if it were early evening instead of three in the morning. Ami wanted to order drinks, but I told the waiter to bring coffee instead. Ami didn't put up a fight. Maybe she was too tired to protest. The red tail lights of taxis went back and forth on the street below. Some of them stopping in front of the all-night spots, while others drove on into the night.
I noticed that Ami had a ring on. She had never worn jewelery before, So I gestured towards the ring and asked if she was engaged now. She started to laugh then explained that one of her regular customers had given it to her. She had refused his proposal, but kept the ring anyway. She held it up for me to see.
"It's not a diamond, but I suppose it was expensive ," she said casually. The poor fellow probably loved her as hopelessly as I did, yet she flaunted his defeat by wearing the ring. Her callousness amazed me as much as her intriguing sensuality.
Ami stared to get sleepy and I decided it was time to get her home. She wanted to go to another night club. I told her that it would be morning soon and we should go home. She finally agreed. We caught a cab and I started to give the driver the address of Ami's apartment, but she insisted that we drive to my place first. I struck me that she might be living with someone, so I agreed even though it was out of her way and a long ride back alone. As we rode on she asked me to come by the club again next Saturday. She said she would finish early and she suggested that we go to an inn somewhere in the mountains. I couldn't tell if she was just leading me on again, or was sincere. Finally she made me promise to come by for her even though I knew it would never work out. I knew the scene, it had happened too many times before: I'd stop by the club and it would be full of customers. Ami would act as if she knew nothing of our date. And when I'd ask her she would say,
"Oh, was it tonight? we're awfully busy now let's make it some other time." So I promised her again, even though I was tired of playing the game.
The cab stopped in front of my danchi. Ami and I had lived there once. That all seemed so far away now. She pulled me close. No longer alluring, the image shattered by the smell of stale perfume and too many cigarettes.
"See you Saturday," she said with such conviction in her voice that I almost made up my mind to be there again. All I said was,
"Goodnight." The cab door closed and I watched the red tail lights drive on then out of sight down the street.
Chapter 3
I never stopped by the club that night, and I never heard from her again. I went on with my work, and I supposed she went on with her life of the night. On a Sunday morning after enough time had passed so that I wasn't sure when the promised Saturday had been, I was drinking coffee and reading the Sunday paper in my apartment. A familiar name froze me. The type read:
"Seiyama Ami, Gion nightclub owner, stabbed to death in her apartment. Suspect in custody is a male thirty-four years old. Unemployed. Thought to be a member of a Kansai crime family. Victim believed to have known suspect."
I dropped the paper and looked out at the morning city. I imagined Ami still sleeping on my shoulder, breathing softly with her hand on my chest. Now her life was no more than a few ink lines on the police blotter of another Saturday night. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. I smashed the coffee cup against the wall and watched in silence as blood and coffee dripped down the wall. I closed my eyes and envisioned a great fist of pain and malice rise up from the foul underworld and crush the dreams and passions of a woman named Ami. And the city stood by as that life was crushed and felt nothing.
In the autumn, I returned to the city and stopped by the cafe' that Ami and I used to visit. Snow began to fall and rush hour traffic jammed the roads. From across a familiar street, I saw a young woman wearing a light blue kimono trying to make her way through the throngs of commuters. I started to rise out of my chair for the resemblance was too great. Before I could take a step, she turned the corner and was gone.
I wanted her for my own, but I knew that was impossible. She had often broken dates to be with other men. Later when I'd ask her about it she would say,
"I thought you understood. That's part of running a club. They're important patrons, and I was just having a few drinks with them." Then she would be hurt and angry because I had mistrusted her. She was wrong about me though, I didn't understand. I didn't want to understand. The taxi stopped suddenly and the automatic door swung open.
"Here we are," the driver said.
The piano bar was on the top floor of a tall, downtown office building. It was a trendy, elegant spot where a lot of club people hung out after hours. The tables were set against full-length windows to view the lights of the city. I was crowded and the host welcomed us as if it were early evening instead of three in the morning. Ami wanted to order drinks, but I told the waiter to bring coffee instead. Ami didn't put up a fight. Maybe she was too tired to protest. The red tail lights of taxis went back and forth on the street below. Some of them stopping in front of the all-night spots, while others drove on into the night.
I noticed that Ami had a ring on. She had never worn jewelery before, So I gestured towards the ring and asked if she was engaged now. She started to laugh then explained that one of her regular customers had given it to her. She had refused his proposal, but kept the ring anyway. She held it up for me to see.
"It's not a diamond, but I suppose it was expensive ," she said casually. The poor fellow probably loved her as hopelessly as I did, yet she flaunted his defeat by wearing the ring. Her callousness amazed me as much as her intriguing sensuality.
Ami stared to get sleepy and I decided it was time to get her home. She wanted to go to another night club. I told her that it would be morning soon and we should go home. She finally agreed. We caught a cab and I started to give the driver the address of Ami's apartment, but she insisted that we drive to my place first. I struck me that she might be living with someone, so I agreed even though it was out of her way and a long ride back alone. As we rode on she asked me to come by the club again next Saturday. She said she would finish early and she suggested that we go to an inn somewhere in the mountains. I couldn't tell if she was just leading me on again, or was sincere. Finally she made me promise to come by for her even though I knew it would never work out. I knew the scene, it had happened too many times before: I'd stop by the club and it would be full of customers. Ami would act as if she knew nothing of our date. And when I'd ask her she would say,
"Oh, was it tonight? we're awfully busy now let's make it some other time." So I promised her again, even though I was tired of playing the game.
The cab stopped in front of my danchi. Ami and I had lived there once. That all seemed so far away now. She pulled me close. No longer alluring, the image shattered by the smell of stale perfume and too many cigarettes.
"See you Saturday," she said with such conviction in her voice that I almost made up my mind to be there again. All I said was,
"Goodnight." The cab door closed and I watched the red tail lights drive on then out of sight down the street.
Chapter 3
I never stopped by the club that night, and I never heard from her again. I went on with my work, and I supposed she went on with her life of the night. On a Sunday morning after enough time had passed so that I wasn't sure when the promised Saturday had been, I was drinking coffee and reading the Sunday paper in my apartment. A familiar name froze me. The type read:
"Seiyama Ami, Gion nightclub owner, stabbed to death in her apartment. Suspect in custody is a male thirty-four years old. Unemployed. Thought to be a member of a Kansai crime family. Victim believed to have known suspect."
I dropped the paper and looked out at the morning city. I imagined Ami still sleeping on my shoulder, breathing softly with her hand on my chest. Now her life was no more than a few ink lines on the police blotter of another Saturday night. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. I smashed the coffee cup against the wall and watched in silence as blood and coffee dripped down the wall. I closed my eyes and envisioned a great fist of pain and malice rise up from the foul underworld and crush the dreams and passions of a woman named Ami. And the city stood by as that life was crushed and felt nothing.
In the autumn, I returned to the city and stopped by the cafe' that Ami and I used to visit. Snow began to fall and rush hour traffic jammed the roads. From across a familiar street, I saw a young woman wearing a light blue kimono trying to make her way through the throngs of commuters. I started to rise out of my chair for the resemblance was too great. Before I could take a step, she turned the corner and was gone.
© Copyright 2025 James Noah
No comments:
Post a Comment