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

her cold hands into the opposite sleeves. “Sadanobu.”
“Bad luck!” Mitsu caught the yakko ’s arm and held her a minute. “Bad luck,” she said, “to come before that one. He’s not as pure as he makes out. And he’ll get you for it.”
The yakko began to walk back toward the moat, skidding in the snow on her clogs, hurrying, her arms flailing.
“You won’t get out now,” called Mitsu. “Your time is set.”
The yakko stopped. She picked up a stone and threw it into the water. It made a hollow plonk and disappeared, leaving ripples of perfect roundness in the black water. Then she went still, as if frozen. She was all white now, except for her beautiful garment.
“Itz strange, izn it?” Mitsu said. “In real dreams you don’t have so many rules. But these are not real dreams, they’re—” She gave a gusty breath. “At least they are real dreams, but they are not our dreams. We live by playing roles in the dreams of others. They can buy their dreams.”
The proprietor came out the door. “Wherz she going?” he shouted. “Come back.”
“She isn’t going anywhere,” said Mitsu. “She has become a ghost.”
    That was the end. Everyone moaned. People shouted for more. The storyteller vacated the stage. My sisters were gone. When I found my way home, my mother was angry. No one had time to answer my questions. I knew in a way that stories came from real life. But could they come this close to us? Was that my yakko ? My Shino? Could it be? I sat in a corner and rocked myself and pulled at my chin.
    “Look at her! She’s doing it again! She’s going to make her chin even longer.”
    T HE NEXT TIME we were in the Yoshiwara I ran off, looking for her.
    “Ei! Come back.” Hokusai put down his brush with a clatter of annoyance and ran over to scoop me up: I screamed with delight.
    “Worthless child!” he said, loudly enough for anyone to hear. “Why am I saddled with this wild thing?” He ran bowlegged back to his traveling mat and scolded: “You stay still or your father cannot work, and when your father cannot work, you cannot eat!” That was his favorite line.
    And then Shino appeared.
    “May I take her to the caterers? I have to pick up some cakes for tonight and take them back to my house,” she said.
    “Take her!” he said. He didn’t look up from his page. “By all means, take her.”
    That’s how I got to see inside the Corner Tamaya.

6.
    The Corner Tamaya
    T HE CORNER TAMAYA was on the corner of the boulevard and Edocho 2, the second big street of the Yoshiwara. It was built of wood, with three steps going up from the walk. The entrance hall was filled with red cabinets and silk floor cushions. There was an ebony Go board and vessels for incense. “These are from China,” whispered Shino.
    “How do you know?”
    “They’re like the ones we had at home.”
    To one side was an alcove with a low desk in it. There a woman sat on her heels, looking harassed. She was not young, but her clothes were heavy and ornate, layer on layer of velvet and patterned silk. She was doing three things at once: writing, giving orders to a small girl, and throwing her voice behind her up the stairs to order someone else. Her name was Kana, Shino whispered, and she was the housekeeper, a former prostitute who had married the boss.
    “Here you are, Shino,” she said bitterly. “Back at last. Hurry with those to the kitchen.” She didn’t look down far enough to notice me. I was very short.
    We went back to the kitchen, which was warm and splashed with water from a well in the center. Light came down through a vent in the roof. Shino caught the eye of a cook and passed him her parcel. On the way back we saw the bookkeeper, occupied with his abacus. She whispered to me, “He sold me my bedding. I had no money. I don’t like it either—it’s a rough cotton futon and all dull gray, nothing soft or smooth against my skin.”
    I didn’t have a futon of my own; my sisters and I pulled a tattered