Walking through Miyako, I projected my existence into every crevasse my eyes fell upon. I tested what it would be like to continue my life there, and if I had no other option, nothing else to live for, could I bare it? The village was straightforward, unlike anything I had lived through before. The businesses were run with care and order, the streets had two directions, the people were complacent. There was nothing fragile about Miyako like there was about Edo. Miyako, I decided, could handle me. I could see that as my beauty would fade, the beauty left in the village would uphold me. The red lacquer on the bridges, the gold details on the shop fronts, the blackened bamboo shoji screens, the natural green of the momiji, all these things would remain as I faded away, giving me a vibrant background on which to fall.
The shop Hiroyuki-san brought me to was tucked away, hidden and modest, almost completely covered in ivy that clung to the dark brown wood. Inside, the light was warm like the glow from a fire, the windows shrouded to protect the silk of the kimono from the harsh rays of the sun. Here and there a beam of light broke through, making its way to kiss the floor, and the upheaval of dust from the tatami floated in it. I was handed a cup of tea by the shop keeper, a small old woman, and the touch from her fingers were so cold. She was weathered as if it had been her to survive a winter in the mountains, her hands shook, but her face was bright. She should have retired long ago, I thought, but she felt enough happiness in her work that she would run the shop until her passing.
"Hiroyuki-san is a valued customer. He brings me new business with the young Maiko he helps train in the art of the tea ceremony, and the Okiya they belong to." She hurried about the shop as she spoke with her back to me, fetching one item after another from the disorganized shelves. She hung fabrics and finished garments over a standing bamboo display set beside a long mirror. The glass was peeling at the edges and warped in the middle with a shallow bow, but looking at it somehow gave me peace. Myself and the mirror, the two of us had reflected much in our lives, and had become weathered for it, but unlike the mirror which stood in the centre of the room and reflected what it was told to, I could not blame simple reflection for the things I had done.
As the old woman outstretched her arms and hands, motioning for me to stand in front of the mirror, I took notice that she held her fingers poised together neatly, like a Geisha would when holding a fan. A habit, I suspected, from when she was young. I repositioned myself and reached to my back to begin the work of untying the knot of my obi. A cold grip on my hands brought me pause, and the old woman moved my hands away. "You do not have to stretch and contort to dress yourself any longer. I am here now to tie and wrap for you."
I took a moment to look at myself in the mirror, something I had not indulged in for what felt like years. I could hardly remember what I looked like, but I knew that I had changed, and I must have still been recognizable if only slightly. I used to talk to that reflected me, hidden away in that other world that couldn't be touched. I used to force the pure parts of me that were left into that reflection so they too could not be touched. I used to think I could save them for later, that somehow I could reach into the reflection to retrieve them and the Gods would be less wrathful. My hair was once smooth and shining, and while it was not unkempt, it lifted itself with a dryness, and was dull, hanging down around me in line with my hips. My eyes had become more tired, heavy with relaxation, the fight that used to be in them to keep them wide had faded. The natural curve of my expressionless lips was serious, matching the long angles of my jaw. Underneath the kimono, I was curious to know if the way I looked down upon myself was an accurate representation, but the old woman placed herself between us, pulling, tugging, with the last finishing touches.
When she stood aside, I was given space to admire the kimono she had dressed me expertly with. Black silk woven with thin white vertical stripes, a white embroidered crest on the right breast, black hakama pants tied neatly in front. After a moment she reappeared beside me, smoothing her palm over the silk from my shoulder to my wrist as if to test the durability. She took the hair that fell forward over my shoulder gently and bounced it in her hand, her eyes finding mine in the mirror, her face emanating the pride she felt over how I looked.
"Shall I braid your hair?"
"No. You have done plenty for me." I cast my gaze downward, not yet ready to watch myself smile. Happiness was still an emotion that I was getting used to.
"You look very sharp now. How silly a woman's kimono looked on you. Now we know better."
The stage and the Okiya were different things to me when I returned to Miyako, and I no longer had the luster of nightlife embedded in my skin. The stage was work. The Okiya was a hiding place. I was too jaded to live in performance when there was only one other person watching. I would not act to keep someone, but I reasoned that I never had. The difference in the youthful me was the hunger. I craved, I lusted, I hunted, because I didn't know what it felt like. I had never been validated. The answers to those things that I wished for had become open ended questions, and I had been told to accept that it was all that there was. The longing I had, the pulls of my heart, the end of it all was questions.
When I entered the room, my eyes went straight to her. She was pouring sake into a gentleman's cup with a smile on her face, but I blocked out all the laughter and conversation. She looked over to me when she heard the door slide open, but looked away just as quickly. I understood, I didn't want to look at her either. The other geisha that entertained the room all threw their gazes at me as I walked behind them to the space at the front of the room. I could feel their eyes on me, and I knew they wanted all my secrets. The lust in Miyako was different from the lust in Edo. I could tell all of these women that lay their judgment on me wanted me for more than just lust. I wondered how they could have been so attracted to something that was so much like them. They knew that their flirtations and sentiments towards the gentlemen in the teahouses were only acts, and they would disappear like the steam off a teacup as soon as the party was over and they stepped into the night. So why couldn't they understand that I was also playing a part? Why couldn't they see that once the makeup washed away, and the kimono came untied, I was something purely evil underneath?
I remembered, as I danced, that I had sold my soul to a demon. I danced with that unseen entity, laughing at it behind my fan, because I knew that I had cheated it. I knew that long before that demon told me I could live forever, another more sinister force called love had stolen my soul away from me. Without payment, without promise, with only the feelings of regret and longing that haunted me.
As I danced, as I spun and twirled my fan, I remembered that I had once been held with kindness. I moved my body to the way I imagined that peaceful touch would run the contours of my body. I closed my eyes and let the beat of the taiko move me, the rhythm slowly becoming intertwined with the memories that were coming forth in my head. With every beat, I made a movement, and I began to let control go.
This is what my life had become. It was usual, it was common, and predictable. For every person that had come into my life, and had fled from my life in fear, I took a step forward into peace. The further in I stepped, with every light I snuffed out, the less my chance became to turn back and walk out. So I had reached peace, and I had accepted that if I was to live forever, then I would remain in solitude, in shadows, in an eternity that belonged only to me.