Free Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden Page A

said, continuing to cough, or laugh, I couldn’t tell which. “Do you have any idea what it cost?”
    â€œNo, ma’am.”
    â€œMore than you did, that’s for certain.”
    Here the maid appeared with tea. While it was served I took the opportunity to steal a glance at Granny. Whereas Mother was a bit on the plump side, with stubby fingers and a fat neck, Granny was old and shriveled. She was at least as old as my father, but she looked as if she’d spent her years stewing herself into a state of concentrated meanness. Her gray hair made me think of a tangle of silk threads, for I could see right through them to her scalp. And even her scalp looked mean, because of patches where the skin was colored red or brown from old age. She wasn’t frowning exactly, but her mouth made the shape of a frown in its natural state anyway.
    She took in a great big breath in preparation to speak; and then as she let it out again she mumbled, “Didn’t I say I don’t want any tea?” After this, she sighed and shook her head, and then said to me, “How old are you, little girl?”
    â€œShe’s the year of the monkey,” Auntie answered for me.
    â€œThat fool cook is a monkey,” Granny said.
    â€œNine years old,” said Mother. “What do you think of her, Auntie?”
    Auntie stepped around in front of me and tipped my head back to look at my face. “She has a good deal of water.”
    â€œLovely eyes,” said Mother. “Did you see them, Granny?”
    â€œShe looks like a fool to me,” Granny said. “We don’t need another monkey anyway.”
    â€œOh, I’m sure you’re right,” Auntie said. “Probably she’s just as you say. But she looks to me like a very clever girl, and adaptable; you can see that from the shape of her ears.”
    â€œWith so much water in her personality,” Mother said, “probably she’ll be able to smell a fire before it has even begun. Won’t that be nice, Granny? You won’t have to worry any longer about our storehouse burning with all our kimono in it.”
    Granny, as I went on to learn, was more terrified of fire than beer is of a thirsty old man.
    â€œAnyway, she’s rather pretty, don’t you think?” Mother added.
    â€œThere are too many pretty girls in Gion,” said Granny. “What we need is a smart girl, not a pretty girl. That Hatsumomo is as pretty as they come, and look at what a fool she is!”
    After this Granny stood, with Auntie’s help, and made her way back up the walkway. Though I must say that to watch Auntie’s clumsy gait—because of her one hip jutting out farther than the other—it wasn’t at all obvious which of the two women had the easier time walking. Soon I heard the sound of a door in the front entrance hall sliding open and then shut again, and Auntie came back.
    â€œDo you have lice, little girl?” Mother asked me.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œYou’re going to have to learn to speak more politely than that. Auntie, be kind enough to trim her hair, just to be sure.”
    Auntie called a servant over and asked for shears.
    â€œWell, little girl,” Mother told me, “you’re in Kyoto now. You’ll learn to behave or get a beating. And it’s Granny gives the beatings around here, so you’ll be sorry. My advice to you is: work very hard, and never leave the okiya without permission. Do as you’re told; don’t be too much trouble; and you might begin learning the arts of a geisha two or three months from now. I didn’t bring you here to be a maid. I’ll throw you out, if it comes to that.”
    Mother puffed on her pipe and kept her eyes fixed on me. I didn’t dare move until she told me to. I found myself wondering if my sister was standing before some other cruel woman, in another house somewhere in this horrible city. And I had a sudden