faces. The decorative pattern of the clothing that looked so bulky in the photograph was a help, and set off the four hands vividly. Although the painting was not an exact copy, many Kyoto people must have recognized at a glance that it was based on a photograph of an early Meiji geisha.
A Tokyo art dealer who was interested in the geisha painting came to see Otoko. He arranged to exhibitsome of her smaller works in Tokyo. That was when Keiko saw them—purely by chance, since she had never heard of the Kyoto artist Ueno Otoko.
No doubt it was because of the geisha painting—and the beauty of the painter—that Otoko had been featured by a weekly magazine. She was taken here and there around Kyoto by a staff photographer and a reporter, for shot after shot of her. Or rather Otoko took them, since they wanted to go to the places she liked. The result was a special picture story that covered three of the magazine’s large pages. It included a photograph of the geisha painting and a close-up of Otoko, but most of the pictures were scenes of Kyoto, with Otoko for human interest. Possibly their aim had been to find places off the beaten path, by having a Kyoto artist as a guide. Not that Otoko felt herself unfairly used—she realized she was given three full pages—but the backgrounds were certainly not the ordinary “views of Kyoto.”
Keiko, however, unaware that these were the hidden charms of the city, saw only the beauty of Otoko. She was fascinated.
So Keiko had appeared out of a pale bluish haze and begged to be taken in to study painting with her. The fervor of that appeal shocked Otoko. And then suddenly Keiko’s arms were around her, and she seemed to be in the embrace of a young sorceress. It was like an unexpected throb of desire.
But Otoko demurred and asked if her father and mother knew. “Otherwise I can’t give you an answer. I’m sure you understand.”
“Both my parents are dead,” said Keiko. “I can make up my own mind.”
Otoko looked at her quizzically. “Don’t you have an aunt or uncle, or any brothers or sisters?”
“I’m a burden to my brother and his wife. Now that they have a baby, I seem to be more trouble than ever.”
“Because of the baby?”
“I’m fond of it, naturally. They don’t like my way of cuddling it.”
Four or five days after Keiko settled down with her, Otoko received a letter from the brother saying that she was a wild, headstrong girl, and probably would not even make a good maid, but that he hoped Otoko would take her in. Keiko’s clothing and other belongings also arrived. They gave the impression that she came from a well-to-do family.
Otoko soon realized that there must have been something abnormal about the way Keiko cuddled the baby.
Was it a week after Keiko had come? She had coaxed Otoko to do her hair for her, any way she liked, but in handling it Otoko happened to tug a few strands. “Pull harder!” Keiko had said. “Grab it up so that I hang by it!”
Otoko let go. Twisting around toward her, Keiko pressed her lips and teeth to the back of Otoko’s hand. Then she said: “Miss Ueno, how old were you at your first kiss?”
“Really, now!”
“I was three. I remember distinctly. He was an uncle on my mother’s side, about thirty, I suppose. But I likedhim, and once when he was sitting alone in the parlor I toddled right up and kissed him. He was so startled he clapped his hand to his mouth.”
There on the balcony beside the river Otoko recalled the story of that childish kiss. The lips that had kissed a man at three now belonged to her, and had just held her little finger.
“I remember the spring rain the first time you took me to Mt. Arashi,” said Keiko.
“So do I.”
“And the woman at the noodle shop.”
A few days after Keiko’s first visit Otoko took her around to see the Golden Pavilion, the Moss Temple, the Ryoanji Temple, and then Mt. Arashi. They had gone into a noodle shop on the river bank near the Togetsu
A Tokyo art dealer who was interested in the geisha painting came to see Otoko. He arranged to exhibitsome of her smaller works in Tokyo. That was when Keiko saw them—purely by chance, since she had never heard of the Kyoto artist Ueno Otoko.
No doubt it was because of the geisha painting—and the beauty of the painter—that Otoko had been featured by a weekly magazine. She was taken here and there around Kyoto by a staff photographer and a reporter, for shot after shot of her. Or rather Otoko took them, since they wanted to go to the places she liked. The result was a special picture story that covered three of the magazine’s large pages. It included a photograph of the geisha painting and a close-up of Otoko, but most of the pictures were scenes of Kyoto, with Otoko for human interest. Possibly their aim had been to find places off the beaten path, by having a Kyoto artist as a guide. Not that Otoko felt herself unfairly used—she realized she was given three full pages—but the backgrounds were certainly not the ordinary “views of Kyoto.”
Keiko, however, unaware that these were the hidden charms of the city, saw only the beauty of Otoko. She was fascinated.
So Keiko had appeared out of a pale bluish haze and begged to be taken in to study painting with her. The fervor of that appeal shocked Otoko. And then suddenly Keiko’s arms were around her, and she seemed to be in the embrace of a young sorceress. It was like an unexpected throb of desire.
But Otoko demurred and asked if her father and mother knew. “Otherwise I can’t give you an answer. I’m sure you understand.”
“Both my parents are dead,” said Keiko. “I can make up my own mind.”
Otoko looked at her quizzically. “Don’t you have an aunt or uncle, or any brothers or sisters?”
“I’m a burden to my brother and his wife. Now that they have a baby, I seem to be more trouble than ever.”
“Because of the baby?”
“I’m fond of it, naturally. They don’t like my way of cuddling it.”
Four or five days after Keiko settled down with her, Otoko received a letter from the brother saying that she was a wild, headstrong girl, and probably would not even make a good maid, but that he hoped Otoko would take her in. Keiko’s clothing and other belongings also arrived. They gave the impression that she came from a well-to-do family.
Otoko soon realized that there must have been something abnormal about the way Keiko cuddled the baby.
Was it a week after Keiko had come? She had coaxed Otoko to do her hair for her, any way she liked, but in handling it Otoko happened to tug a few strands. “Pull harder!” Keiko had said. “Grab it up so that I hang by it!”
Otoko let go. Twisting around toward her, Keiko pressed her lips and teeth to the back of Otoko’s hand. Then she said: “Miss Ueno, how old were you at your first kiss?”
“Really, now!”
“I was three. I remember distinctly. He was an uncle on my mother’s side, about thirty, I suppose. But I likedhim, and once when he was sitting alone in the parlor I toddled right up and kissed him. He was so startled he clapped his hand to his mouth.”
There on the balcony beside the river Otoko recalled the story of that childish kiss. The lips that had kissed a man at three now belonged to her, and had just held her little finger.
“I remember the spring rain the first time you took me to Mt. Arashi,” said Keiko.
“So do I.”
“And the woman at the noodle shop.”
A few days after Keiko’s first visit Otoko took her around to see the Golden Pavilion, the Moss Temple, the Ryoanji Temple, and then Mt. Arashi. They had gone into a noodle shop on the river bank near the Togetsu
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