The Printmaker's Daughter by Katherine Govier Read Free Book Online Page A

with nothing.”
He sucked air and walked in front of her down the boulevard. The quarter was marked out in squares, the streets in a small grid. The broad street in the center, Nakanocho Boulevard, went straight for a short distance and ended at the moat. Branching off to right and left were smaller streets. Edocho 1 went off on the right side and Edocho 2 on the left. The next was Ageyacho on her right and Sumicho on her left. “All of these are green houses. The last street here’z Kyomachi. Itz where the poorest prostitutes live, izn it? See? You’re lucky to be with me. Wait here; I’ve business to do.”
The yakko stood waiting in the cold, just in front of Mitsu’s shop. The layer of white snow was thin on the ground. She saw it covered blades of green that had already, too keenly, sprung up. But it was cold here, much colder than at home because of all the water.
From inside her shop Mitsu peered at her . . .
    Mitsu? I knew Mitsu. She was really in a story? I worked my way forward a row or two. Miyo and Tatsu pulled on my coat from behind and made faces. They were going home. I shook my head. I put my hand back on my chin and rubbed it, my thumb on one side and my finger on the other, like an old man, my mother said.
. . . peered again, and then walked out to stand silently in the doorway. The yakko brushed off the light, high dressing of downy snow that had settled on her clothing. Her thonged clogs sat half-buried in the white fluff.
“Do you have any fresh tabi?” said the yakko to the shopkeeper. “I need them. These are wet and my feet are very cold.”
“That’s not what I sell,” said Mitsu. “And anyway, you won’t be wearing socks here.”
The yakko leaned against the post of the wall, reached down, and picked up one of her feet. She rubbed it energetically with both hands. The foot was very white.
“But you are wearing some,” she said.
“That’s different,” said Mitsu. “I’m retired.” She noticed that the yakko’s hands were white too. Her face was white. “You’ve never been here before, is that it? Izn it? Never come through the Great Gate? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to live at the Corner Tamaya.”
“Ooooh,” said Mitsu.
    The storyteller’s hand went to his mouth and his eyes bulged. I burst out laughing. It was a perfect imitation.
“I’ve heard about you. You must be the disobedient wife of Lord Yoshida.”
“How did you hear?”
“Gossip,” Mitsu said. “Rumor. We hear everything.”
The yakko hung her head.
“You aren’t the only lady here. But you’re one of the few. It used to be that the courtesans were high-born and elegant, but now we’re all a little cheaper. Everyone tries to save money, even on their dreams.”
The young wife put her footsole down in the snow. She winced. She picked up the other one and lost her balance, nearly toppling.
“Courtesans go barefoot. That is the rule.”
“That’s a ridiculous rule,” said the yakko irritably.
Mitsu raised her finger to her lips. “The bare feet are beautiful and desirable, izn it? You’ll get used to it. Just remember: the Yoshiwara is all backward. That’s because it’s the pleasure world.”
The yakko went silent for a few minutes. Mitsu stood staring at her.
“What did you do?” said Mitsu.
The pale white girl-woman inclined her head. “What do you mean?”
“You know. To get”—Mitsu sliced her hand in a theatrical gesture—“sent up?”
“I disobeyed my husband.”
    Murmurs went through the crowd. They could see why that had got her in trouble.
“How?”
“I . . . I went to the theater.”
It was a lie. She had raised her hand to him, but so great an offense she would not own.
Mitsu gasped. “The theater! Thaz all?” It was not exactly allowed, but some women did it.
“He flew into a temper and the guards pulled me away. They took me to the magistrate.”
“What magistrate did you go before?”
The yakko pulled her coat tighter around her chest and buried