The Seven Bridges

At half past eleven on the night of the September full moon, as soon as the party at which they had been entertaining broke up, Koyumi and Kanako returned to the Laurel House and at once slipped into cotton kimonos. They would really have preferred to bathe before setting out again, but they had no time tonight.

Koyumi was forty-two, a plump little figure, barely five feet tall, wrapped in a white kimono patterned with black leaves.

Kanako, the other geisha, though only twenty-two and quite a good dancer, had no patron and seemed fated never to be assigned a decent part in the annual spring and autumn geisha dances. Her crepe kimono was dyed dark-blue whirls on white.

Kanako spoke. 'I wonder what design Masako's kimono will be tonight?'

'Clover, you can be sure. She's desperate to have a baby.'

'Has she gone that far, then?'

That's the trouble - she hasn't,' Koyumi answered. 'She's still a long way from success. What a Virgin Mary that'd make her - getting a baby from a man simply from having a crush on him!' - There is a common superstition among the geishas that a woman who wears a summer kimono with a clover pattern or a winter kimono with a landscape design will soon become pregnant.

When at last they were ready to leave, Koyumi felt the sudden pangs of hunger. It happened every time she set out on the evening's round of parties, but she felt as if hunger were always an unexpected catastrophe striking without warning from the blue. She was never bothered by hunger while appearing before customers, no matter how boring the party 85

might be, but, before and after she performed, the hunger which she had quite forgotten would assail her like a sudden fit.

Koyumi could never prepare for this eventuality by eating appropriately at a suitable time. Sometimes, for example, when she went in the evening to the hairdresser, she would see the other geishas of the neighbourhood ordering a meal and eating it with relish as they waited their turn. But the sight produced no impression on Koyumi. She didn't even think that the risotto, or whatever the dish was, might taste good. And yet, an hour later, hunger pangs would suddenly strike, and the saliva would gush like a hot spring from the roots of her small, strong teeth.

Koyumi and Kanako paid a monthly bill to the Laurel House for publicity and for their meals. Koyumi's meal bill had always been exceptionally large. Not only was she a heavy eater, but she was finicky in her tastes. But, as a matter of fact, ever since she developed her eccentric habit of feeling hungry only before and after appearances, her food bill had gradually been decreasing, and it threatened now to drop below Kanako's.

Koyumi had no recollection of when this eccentric habit had originated, nor of when she first made it her practice to stop by the kitchen before the first party of the evening to demand, all but dancing with impatience, 'Haven't you a little something I can eat?' It was now her custom to take her dinner in the kitchen of the first house, and her supper in the kitchen of the last house of the evening. Her stomach had attuned itself to this routine, and her food bill at the Laurel House had accordingly dwindled.

The Ginza was already deserted as the two geisha started walking towards the Yonei House in Shimbashi. Kanako pointed up at the sky over a bank with metal blinds barring the windows. 'We're lucky it's clear, aren't we? You can really see the man in the moon tonight.'

Koyumi's thoughts were only for her stomach. Her first party tonight had been at Yonei's and her last at the Fuminoya.

She realized now that she should have eaten supper at the Fuminoya before starting out, but there had been no time. She had rushed right back to the Laurel House to change. She would 86

have to ask for supper at their destination, Vonei's, in the same kitchen where she had eaten dinner that evening. The thought weighed on her.

But Koyumi's anxiety was dispelled as soon as she stepped inside the kitchen door at Yonei's. Masako, the much-sheltered daughter of the owner, was standing by the entrance waiting for them. She wore the clover-patterned kimono which they had predicted. Seeing Koyumi, she tactfully called out, 'I didn't expect you so soon. We're in no hurry - come in and have a bit of supper before you go.'

The kitchen was littered with odds and ends from the evening's entertainments. Enormous stacks of plates and bowls glared in the unshaded electric lights. Masako stood with one hand braced against the frame of the door, her body blocking the light and her face dark in the shadows. The light did not reach Koyumi's face, and she was glad that her momentary expression of relief when Masako called to her had passed unnoticed.

While Koyumi was eating supper, Masako led Kanako to her room. Of all the geisha who came to the Yonei House, Kanako was the one she got along with best. She and Masako were the same age, had gone to elementary school together, and were about equally good-looking. But, more important than any of these reasons, the fact was that she somehow liked Kanako.

Kanako was so demure she looked as if the least wind would blow her over, but she had accumulated all the experience she needed, and a carelessly uttered word from her sometimes did Masako a world of good. The high-spirited Masako, on the other hand, was timid and childish when it came to love.

Her childishness was a matter of common gossip, and her mother was so sure of the girl's innocence that she had not given it a second thought when Masako ordered a kimono with a clover design.

Masako was a student in the Arts Department at Waseda University. She had always been an admirer of R, the movie actor, but ever since he had visited Yonei's her passion for him had been mounting. Her room was now cluttered with pictures of him. She had ordered a white china vase enamelled with the 87

photograph of R and herself taken on the memorable occasion of his visit. It stood on her desk, filled with flowers.

Kanako said when she was seated, 'They announced the cast today.' She twisted her thin little mouth into a frown.

'Did they?' Masako, sorry for Kanako, pretended not to know.

'All I got was a bit part again. I'll never get anything better.

It's enough to discourage me for good. I feel like a girl in a musical who stays in the chorus year after year.'

'I'm sure you'll get a good part next year.'

Kanako shook her head. 'In the meantime I'm getting old.

Before you know it, I'll be like Koyumi.'

'Don't be silly. You've still got twenty years ahead of you.'

It would not have been proper in the course of this conversation for either girl to mention what she would be praying for tonight, but even without asking each already knew the other's prayers. Masako wanted an affair with R; Kanako a good patron; and they both knew that Koyumi' wanted money.

Their prayers, it was clear, would have quite different objects, all eminently reasonable. If the moon failed to grant these wishes, the moon and not they would be at fault. Their hopes showed plainly and honestly on their faces, and theirs were such truly human desires that anyone seeing the three women walking in the moonlight would surely be convinced that the moon would have no choice but to recognize their sincerity and grant their wishes.

Masako spoke. 'We'll have one more coming along tonight.'

'Not really? Who?'

'A maid. Her name's Mina, and she came from the country a month ago. I told Mother I didn't want her coming with me, but Mother said she'd worry if she didn't send somebody along.'

Kanako asked, 'What's she like?'

'Just wait till you see her. She's what you'd call well-developed.'

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At that moment Mina opened the sliding doors behind them and, still standing, poked in her head.

'I thought I told you that when you open sliding doors you're supposed to kneel down first and then open them.' Masako's tone was haughty.

'Yes, miss.' Mina's coarse, heavy voice seemed to reflect nothing of Masako's feelings. Kanako had to restrain a laugh at Mina's appearance. She wore a one-piece dress made up of strange bits and patches of kimono material. Her hair was set in a rumpled permanent wave, and her extraordinarily brawny arms showing through her sleeves rivalled her face in duskiness.

Her heavy features were crushed under the swollen mass of her cheeks, and her eyes were like slits. No matter which way she chose to shut her mouth, one or another of her irregular teeth protruded. It was difficult to uncover any expression in that face.

'Quite a bodyguard!' Kanako murmured into Masako's ear. Masako forced a severe expression to her face. 'You're sure you understand? I've told you already, but I'll tell you once more. From the minute we set foot out of this house you're not to open your mouth, no matter what happens, until we've crossed all seven bridges. Even one word and you won't get whatever you're praying for. And if anybody you know talks to you, you're out of luck, but I don't suppose there's much danger of that in your case. One more thing. You're not allowed to go back over the same road twice. Anyway, Koyumi will be leading. All you have to do is follow.'

At the university Masako had to submit reports on the novels of Marcel Proust, but when it came to matters of this nature the modern education she had received at school deserted her completely.

'Yes, miss,' Mina answered. It was by no means clear whether or not she had actually understood.

'You've got to come along anyway; you might as well make a wish. Have you thought of something?'

'Yes, miss,' Mina said, a smile slowly spreading over her face.

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'Why, she acts like everybody else!' commented Kanako.

Koyumi appeared at that moment, cheerfully patting her midriff. 'I'm all set now.'

'Have you picked good bridges for us?' asked Masako.

'We'll start with Miyoshi Bridge. It goes over two rivers, so it counts as two bridges. Doesn't that make things easier? Pretty clever of me, if I must say so.'

The three women, aware that once they stepped outside they would be unable to utter another word, began to talk loudly and all at once, as if to discharge a great accumulation of chatter. The chatter continued until they had reached the kitchen door. Masako's black-lacquered geta were waiting for her oh the earthen floor by the door. As her bare feet stepped into the geta, her polished and manicured toenails gave off a a lustre faintly visible in the dark. Koyumi exclaimed, That's real style!

Nail rouge and black geta - not even the moon can resist you now!'

' "Nail rouge!" That dates you, Koyumi!'

'I know the word. "Mannequin", isn't it?'

Masako and Kanako, exchanging glances, burst out laughing. The four women stepped out on to Showa Avenue, Koyumi leading them. They passed a parking lot where a great many taxis, their work ended for the day, reflected the moonlight from their black chassis. The cries of insects could be heard from under the cars. Traffic was still heavy on Showa Avenue, but the street itself was fast asleep, and the roar of passing motor-cycles sounded lonely and isolated without the accompaniment of the usual street noises.

A few scraps of cloud drifted in the sky under the moon, now and then touching the heavy bank of cloud girdling the horizon.

The moon shone unobscured. At breaks in the traffic noises the clatter of their geta seemed to rebound straight from the pavement to the hard blue surface of the sky.

Koyumi walking ahead of the others, was pleased that only a broad, deserted street lay before her. It was Koyumi's boast that she had always got along without depending on anyone, and she was glad that her stomach was full. She couldn't under-90

stand, as she walked happily along why she was so anxious to have more money. Koyumi felt as if her real wish was to melt gently and meaninglessly into the moonlight falling on the pavement ahead of her. Splinters of glass glittered in cracks in the sidewalk. Even bits of glass could glitter in the moonlight - it made her wonder if her long-standing wish were not something like that broken glass.

Masako and Kanako, their little fingers hooked, trod on the long shadow Koyumi trailed behind her. The night air was cool, and they both felt the faint breeze penetrate their sleeves, chill-ing and tightening their breasts damp with perspiration from excitement over their departure. Through linked fingers their prayers were communicated, the more eloquently because no words were spoken.

Masako was picturing to herself R's sweet voice, his long, finely drawn eyes, his locks curling under the temples. She, the daughter of the owner of a first-class restaurant in Shimbashi, was not to be lumped together with his other fans - she saw no reason why her prayer could not be granted. She remembered that when R spoke, his breath, falling on her ear, had been fragrant, not smelling in the least of liquor. She remembered that young, manly breath, heavy with the sultriness of summer hay. If such recollections came to her when she was alone, she felt something like a ripple of water slide over her skin from her knees to the thighs. She was as certain - yet as uncertain - that R's body existed somewhere in the world of the accuracy of her recurring memories. The element of doubt constantly tortured her. Kanako was dreaming of a rich, fat, middle-aged man. He would have to be fat or he wouldn't really seem rich. How happy she would be, she thought, if she could shut her eyes and feel herself engulfed by his generous, unstinted protection!

Kanako was accustomed to shutting her eyes, but her experience up to now had been that when she opened them again the man in question had disappeared.

The two girls looked back over their shoulders, as if by common consent. Mina was silently trudging behind them. Her hands pressed to her cheeks, she was grotesquely lurching along, 91

kicking up the hems of her dress at each step. Her eyes stared vacantly into space, devoid of any purpose. Masako and Kanako felt that Mina's appearance constituted an insult to their prayers.

They turned right on Showa Avenue, just where the first and second wards of the East Ginza meet. Light from street lamps fell like splashes of water at regular intervals along the row of buildings. Shadows hid the moonlight from the narrow street.

Soon they could see Miyoshi Bridge rising before them, the first of the seven bridges they were to cross. It is built in a curious Y-shape because of the fork in the river at this spot.

The gloomy buildings of the Central District Office squatted on the opposite bank, the white face of a clock in its tower proclaiming an absurdly incorrect hour against the dark sky.

Miyoshi Bridge has a low railing, and at each of the corners of the central section, where the three arms of the bridge meet, stands an old-fashioned lamp post hung with a cluster of electric lights. Each cluster has four lamps, but not all were lit, and the unlit globes shone a dead white in the moonlight. Swarms of winged insects flocked silently round the lamps.

The water in the river was ruffled by the moonlight.

At the end of the bridge, before they crossed it, the women, led by Koyumi, joined their hands in prayer. A dim light went out in the window of a small building near by, and a man, apparently leaving after finishing his overtime work, the last to leave, emerged from the building. He started to lock the door when he noticed the strange spectacle and stopped in his tracks.

The women gradually began to cross the bridge. It was hardly more than a continuation of the pavement over which they had been striding so confidently, but, faced with their first bridge, their steps became heavy and uncertain, as though they were stepping on to a stage. It was only a few feet to the other side of the first arm of the bridge, but those few feet brought a sense of accomplishment and relief.

Koyumi paused under a lamp post and, looking back at the others, joined her hands in prayer again. The three women imitated her. According to Koyumi's calculations, crossing two of 92

the three arms of the bridge would count as crossing two independent bridges. This meant that they would have to pray four times on Miyoshi Bridge, once before and after crossing each arm.

Masako noticed, when an occasional taxi passed, the astonished faces of the passengers pressed against the windows, but Koyumi paid no attention to such things.

The women, having arrived before the District Office, turned their backs to it and prayed for the fourth time. Kanako and Masako began to feel, along with relief at having safely crossed the first two bridges, that the prayers which they had not taken very seriously until now represented something of irreplaceable importance.

Masako had come to feel that she would rather be dead if she couldn't be with R. The mere act of crossing two bridges had multiplied many times the strength of her desires. Kanako was now convinced that life would not be worth living if she couldn't find a good patron. Their hearts swelled with emotion as they prayed, and Masako's eyes suddenly grew warm.

She happened to glance to her side. Mina, her eys shut, was reverently joining her hands. Masako was sure that Mina's prayer, whatever it was, could not be as important as her own.

She felt scorn and also envy for the empty, insensible cavern in Mina's heart.

They walked south, following the river as far as the streetcar line. The last car had, of course, departed long ago, and the rails which by day burned with early autumn sunlight now stretched out two white, cool lines.

Even before they reached the streetcar line Kanako had begun to feel strange pains in her abdomen. Something she ate must have disagreed with her. The first slight symptoms of a wrenching pain were forgotten two or three steps farther on, followed by recurring sensations of relief that she had forgotten the pain, but a crack developed in this reassurance, and even while she was telling herself that she had forgotten the pain, it began to reassert itself.

Tsukiji Bridge was the third. They noticed at the end of this bleak-looking bridge in the heart of the city a willow-tree, faith-93

fully planted in the traditional manner. A forlorn willow that they normally would never have noticed as they sped past it in a car grew from a tiny patch of earth at a break in the concrete.

Its leaves, faithful to tradition, trembled in the river breeze.

Late at night the noisy buildings around it died, and only this willow went on living.

Koyumi, standing in the shadow of the willow, joined her hands in prayer before crossing Tsukiji Bridge. It may have been her sense of responsibility as the leader which made Koyumi's plump little figure stand unusually erect. As a matter of fact, Koyumi had long since forgotten what she was praying for. The important thing ahead of her now, she thought, was to cross the seven bridges without major mishap. This determination to cross the bridges, no matter what happened, was, she felt, a sigh that crossing the bridges had itself become the object of her prayers. This was a very peculiar outlook, but she realized that it, like her sudden seizures of hunger, belonged to her way of life, a reflection which hardened into a strange conviction as she walked in the moonlight. Her back was held straighter than ever, her eyes looked directly before her.

Tsukiji Bridge is a bridge utterly without charm. The four stone pillars marking the ends are equally unattractive. But as the women crossed the bridge they could smell for the first time something like the odour of the sea, and a wind reminiscent of a salt breeze was blowing. Even the red neon sign of an insurance company, visible to the south farther down the river, looked to them like a beacon warning of the steady approach of the sea.

They crossed the bridge and prayed again. Kanako felt that herpain,nowacute,was making her sick.They crossed the streetcar line and walked between the old yellow buildings of the S

Enterprises and the river. Kanako gradually began to fall behind. Masako, worried, also slowed her pace, but unfortunately she could not open her mouth to ask if Kanako was all right. Kanako finally made her understand by pressing her hands against her abdomen and grimacing with pain.

Koyumi, in something like a state of inebriation, continued to march triumphantly ahead at her usual pace, unaware that 94

anything had happened. The distance between her and the others widened.

Now, when a fine patron loomed before her eyes, so close she need only reach out her hands to grab him, Kanako realized helplessly that her hands would never stretch far enough. Her face had turned deathly pale, and a greasy sweat oozed from her forehead. The human heart, however, is surprisingly adapt-able: as the pain in her abdomen grew more intense, Kanako's wish, so ardently desired a moment before, her prayer which had seemed so close to fulfilment, somehow lost all reality, and she came to feel that it had been from the start an unrealistic, fantastic, and childish dream. She felt as she struggled painfully ahead, fighting the relentless, throbbing pain, that if only she gave up her foolish delusion her pain would immediately be healed.

When at last the fourth bridge came into sight, Kanako laid her hand lightly on Masako's shoulder, and, in something like the gesture language of the dance, she pointed to her stomach and shook her head. The stray locks plastered with perspiration against her cheeks seemed to say that she could go no farther.

She turned abruptly on her heels and dashed back towards the streetcar line.

Masako's first impulse was to run after Kanako, but, remembering that her prayer would be nullified if she turned back, she checked herself and merely watched Kanako run. Koyumi first realized that something was amiss when she reached the bridge.

By then Kanako was running frantically in the moonlight, not caring how she looked. Her blue-and-white kimono flapped, and the sound of her geta echoed and scattered against the nearby buildings. A lone taxi could be seen, providentially parked at the corner.

The fourth bridge was Irifuna Bridge. They would cross it in the direction opposite to that they had taken over Tsukiji Bridge.

The three women gathered at the end of the bridge and prayed with identical motions. Masako was sorry for Kanako, but her pity did not well up as spontaneously as usual. What passed through her head instead was the cold reflection that