you.”
“I won’t be long. Just let me in there, please.” Otoko went past Keiko and sat down at the dressing table. She looked at her in the mirror. “How about Kiyamachi? Ofusa’s place. Call and ask for a table on the balcony, or a little room on the second floor—anything, really, as long as it looks out on the river.… If you can’t get that, let’s go somewhere else.”
Keiko nodded. “First I’ll bring you a glass of ice water.”
“Do I look hot?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t get violent.…” Otoko shooksome lotion from a bottle onto the palm of her left hand.
The ice water Keiko brought sent a chill all the way down her throat.
Keiko had to go to the main residence of the temple to make her telephone call. When she came back Otoko was still hurrying to get dressed.
“Ofusa says we can have a balcony table until eight-thirty.”
“Eight-thirty?” Otoko frowned. “Well, that will do. If we go right away we can have a leisurely dinner.” Drawing the side mirrors of the vanity closer together, she leaned forward and looked at her hair. “I suppose I needn’t redo it.”
Keiko reached behind Otoko’s obi and gently straightened the back seam of her kimono.
THE LOTUS IN THE FLAMES
T here is a celebrated passage in the
Illustrated Sights of the Capital
about people enjoying summer evenings along the Kamo River: “Benches line the wide strand, and balconies stretch out over the river banks from the houses of pleasure on both east and west, their lamps like stars reflected in the water. The dark purple kerchiefs of young Kabuki actors flutter in the river breeze—these beautiful youths are shy in the bright moonlight, and seductively shade themselves with their fans, so gracefully that those who see them are too entranced to avert their gaze. Now the courtesans are at their most exquisite, promenading to north and to south, lovelier than the hibiscus and fragrant with rich perfumes.…” And then there were the comic story tellers, mimics, and other entertainers—“monkeys, wrestling dogs, trained horses, pillow jugglers, rope walkers who prance like fabulous beasts. You hear the boisterous piping of astreet vendor’s flute, the rush of a cooling waterfall in a jelly shop, the echo of tinkling glass wind chimes to invite the evening breeze. Rare birds of Japan and China, and wild beasts from the mountains, are gathered and put on show, and people of all kinds crowd together to feast and drink by the river.”
In 1690 the poet Basho also came here, and wrote: “What is called enjoying a summer evening by the river goes on from sunset till the last glimmer of the moon at dawn. Balconies line the river banks for drinking and feasting. Women knot their obi in splendid bows, men come turned out in long cloaks, priests and old gentlemen mingle with the crowd, even young apprentices of coopers and blacksmiths sing and make merry as carefree as can be. Truly a scene of the Capital!
The river breeze
—–
Out in a thin russet kimono
On a summer evening.”
After the Meiji era the river bottom was deepened, and electric trains to Osaka began running along the east bank. It was the end of the evenings by the river “on a strand dotted with booths for a variety of shows, acrobatics, rarities and curiosities, and the like, all lighted up by lanterns, lamps, and bonfires, as bright as day”—the end, too, of the merry-go-rounds and tightwire performances added toward the close of Meiji. Only the balconies along Kiyamachi and Ponto-cho were reminiscent of the old summer evenings by the river. Of all she had read about those evenings, what particularly lingered in Otoko’s memory was the passage about the young Kabukiactors who joined the throngs on the moonlit strand, their dark purple kerchiefs fluttering in the river breeze. “These beautiful youths are shy in the bright moonlight, and seductively shade themselves with their fans …” Alluring images would drift into
“I won’t be long. Just let me in there, please.” Otoko went past Keiko and sat down at the dressing table. She looked at her in the mirror. “How about Kiyamachi? Ofusa’s place. Call and ask for a table on the balcony, or a little room on the second floor—anything, really, as long as it looks out on the river.… If you can’t get that, let’s go somewhere else.”
Keiko nodded. “First I’ll bring you a glass of ice water.”
“Do I look hot?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t get violent.…” Otoko shooksome lotion from a bottle onto the palm of her left hand.
The ice water Keiko brought sent a chill all the way down her throat.
Keiko had to go to the main residence of the temple to make her telephone call. When she came back Otoko was still hurrying to get dressed.
“Ofusa says we can have a balcony table until eight-thirty.”
“Eight-thirty?” Otoko frowned. “Well, that will do. If we go right away we can have a leisurely dinner.” Drawing the side mirrors of the vanity closer together, she leaned forward and looked at her hair. “I suppose I needn’t redo it.”
Keiko reached behind Otoko’s obi and gently straightened the back seam of her kimono.
THE LOTUS IN THE FLAMES
T here is a celebrated passage in the
Illustrated Sights of the Capital
about people enjoying summer evenings along the Kamo River: “Benches line the wide strand, and balconies stretch out over the river banks from the houses of pleasure on both east and west, their lamps like stars reflected in the water. The dark purple kerchiefs of young Kabuki actors flutter in the river breeze—these beautiful youths are shy in the bright moonlight, and seductively shade themselves with their fans, so gracefully that those who see them are too entranced to avert their gaze. Now the courtesans are at their most exquisite, promenading to north and to south, lovelier than the hibiscus and fragrant with rich perfumes.…” And then there were the comic story tellers, mimics, and other entertainers—“monkeys, wrestling dogs, trained horses, pillow jugglers, rope walkers who prance like fabulous beasts. You hear the boisterous piping of astreet vendor’s flute, the rush of a cooling waterfall in a jelly shop, the echo of tinkling glass wind chimes to invite the evening breeze. Rare birds of Japan and China, and wild beasts from the mountains, are gathered and put on show, and people of all kinds crowd together to feast and drink by the river.”
In 1690 the poet Basho also came here, and wrote: “What is called enjoying a summer evening by the river goes on from sunset till the last glimmer of the moon at dawn. Balconies line the river banks for drinking and feasting. Women knot their obi in splendid bows, men come turned out in long cloaks, priests and old gentlemen mingle with the crowd, even young apprentices of coopers and blacksmiths sing and make merry as carefree as can be. Truly a scene of the Capital!
The river breeze
—–
Out in a thin russet kimono
On a summer evening.”
After the Meiji era the river bottom was deepened, and electric trains to Osaka began running along the east bank. It was the end of the evenings by the river “on a strand dotted with booths for a variety of shows, acrobatics, rarities and curiosities, and the like, all lighted up by lanterns, lamps, and bonfires, as bright as day”—the end, too, of the merry-go-rounds and tightwire performances added toward the close of Meiji. Only the balconies along Kiyamachi and Ponto-cho were reminiscent of the old summer evenings by the river. Of all she had read about those evenings, what particularly lingered in Otoko’s memory was the passage about the young Kabukiactors who joined the throngs on the moonlit strand, their dark purple kerchiefs fluttering in the river breeze. “These beautiful youths are shy in the bright moonlight, and seductively shade themselves with their fans …” Alluring images would drift into
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