Sayonara by James A. Michener Read Free Book Online Page B

where an elderly man with a white beard stood for a moment, discovered Mrs. Webster and hastened toward her, bowing very low and saying, “Mrs. General Webster! It is a superb honor.” He waved his hand deprecatingly and said, “Rehearsal only.”
    As he turned he disclosed behind him a most lovely slender actress in a plaid skirt, brown vest, and cocky green tam o’shanter set saucily over one eye. I did a sort of double take and whispered to Eileen, “That’s the girl who was with the Marine lieutenant.” Eileen studied her and said, “Of course it is.”
    The Supervisor saw us staring at the remarkable girl and said, “Mrs. General Webster and honored guests, may I present Fumikosan, one of our finest actresses?” Although I am certain the girl recognized us, she did not betray that fact but stepped sedately forward and bowed low before Mrs. Webster. When she reached me I held out my hand, but she started to bow again, whereupon I withdrew my hand and saw that she was looking up at me with immense gratitude for my not having recognized her in front of the Supervisor. Eileen saw this too and had the presence of mind to say, “We did not see you on stage, did we?” The girl replied in a soft voice, “I not play this week. I…Moon…Troupe.”
    Hastily the guide explained, “The four troupes each have a name. Moon, Star, Snow and Flower. You would say that Miss Fumiko is one of the best stars of the Moon Troupe.” I was about to say that I had already seen Miss Fumiko when a distinct glance from her begged me to remain silent.
    With extraordinary grace Miss Fumiko walked over to a piano, but I didn’t hear her sing, for just as she began we left for the flower path leading back to our Cadillac. As we walked beneath the swayingcherry blossoms I noticed that each of the shops we had seen earlier had on display large glossy photographs of the principal Takarazuka actresses. As we passed slowly along, the pictures of the beautiful girls, half of them dressed as men, had a mesmerizing effect, but while I was studying them Eileen discovered one of the real phenomena of Japan. “Oh, look!” she cried.
    The play
Sarutobi Sasuke
had ended and from the dressing-room doors the Takarazuka girls were entering the flower walk. The youngest were dressed in formal green skirts and about them pressed an adoring crush of people trying to touch them, trying to lay hands on the green skirts or press a letter or a gift upon the actresses. When a particularly famous girl appeared the crowd would utter a little cry and fall back and the actress would move on in a kind of courtly grandeur.
    The Takarazuka girls passed along the flower walk, their green skirts swaying softly beneath the cherry blossoms, and I could hear a sigh go up from the crowd as the girls turned the corner, entered upon a bridge and crossed the river to the other side, where I was told they lived like nuns in a secluded dormitory. When they were gone the crowd at the dressing-room doors looked about idly as if now there was nothing to do, and for the first time I realized that every person in the milling mob was a young girl. There were no Stage-door Johnnies. They were all Stage-door Jills.
    Mrs. Webster said, “The young girls of Japan idolize these actresses.”
    Eileen said, “No wonder! The actresses are so beautiful.”
    “And the girls outside are so ugly,” Mrs. Webster said. “Have you ever seen so many round, red faces? Such dumpy little creatures?”
    “I don’t know,” Eileen said. “America has its share. When I was thirteen I would stare in the mirror and pray God that I might grow up to look like Myrna Loy.”
    “Ah, but you were never a square-beamed little urchin! Lloyd, this child was always beautiful.” Then she played her trump card. “I’m having dinner with the Supervisor—that sweet old man with the beard. He’s very important. You two drive along home.”
    And she looked at me with that perfectly frank stare as if to say,