“Certainly, sir.”
Neither Misao nor Katsuragi looked at the hairdresser as he hurried from the room.
An unpleasant silence descended on them.
Misao was sure he was the only one who felt it. Katsuragi was completely unconcerned.
Misao looked up at the door.
The sun was dimming. The afternoon shift would be over soon. There was less than two hours before the night shift began.
He wondered if Masaomi would come again that night.
He was lost in his conflicting thoughts.
Misao wanted to see Masaomi, but he didn’t want him to come. Both of those feelings stubbornly refused to give ground.
He had never believed that in only a few daysno, a single momenta person’s heart could be so thoroughly conquered. And it would take so long to rebuild.
He heard Katsuragi’s pipe tapping against the ashtray. Misao turned his head sluggishly. Katsuragi was looking at him out of the corner of his eye in boredom.
“What are you doing?”
Katsuragi’s eyes glinted. “Would you strip for me?”
Misao glared silently at Katsuragi. Then he turned his face back to the front and stood up resolutely. He untied his belt without even thinking about it. He threw his top kimono onto the floor. When he was down to the final layer of clothing, Misao stood menacingly in front of him. But Katsuragi barely spared him a disinterested glance as he lit a fresh bowl of tobacco.
He exhaled the smoke to one side, his face twisted as if it tasted bitter, and he remarked apathetically, “You don’t wear women’s underwear too, do you?”
“What do you care?” Misao asked sourly, looking away.
Katsuragi took a slow drag on the pipe and paused.
He looked at Misao through the billowing smoke and smirked.
“Ridiculous.”
Misao rouged his lips with the tip of his ring finger.
Kazushi sat with one knee propped up, holding the mirror up for Misao. He was slowly narrowing his left eye in distaste.
“You’re scary,” he mumbled.
Misao finished coloring his lips and traced the corners of his eyes in red, then looked away from the mirror. He raised one eyebrow in annoyance and Kazushi looked back at him with the same expression.
Misao sighed with something close to resignation and grazed his fingers over the face in the mirror.
“Thanks. I’m done.”
“What a disaster.”
Kazushi’s voice was sympathetic as he set Misao’s mirror aside and stood up.
They were in the men’s bedroom on the first floor of the brothel. It wasn’t a very big room, and there were several futons stacked up in a corner. Just before the night shift had started, the men had come in and out of the room with utter disregard, covertly laughing at Misao’s situation. But now it was quiet.
Everyone knew that the reason Misao worked at the Oumi Tea House was because he was a favorite of the owner. So none of the workers ever did or said anything too bad to Misao, in case it angered the owner. But that just meant they didn’t do it to his face. They did it out of his sight, which got on his nerves, of course. Kazushi was the only exception. Maybe because he was closest to Misao in age. Ever since his first big fight with Kazushi, they had been close. That had happened seven years agoancient history.
Kazushi went back to work, so Misao was alone in the room.
He wiped off his ring finger, still stained with his makeup, on a bit of paper he’d kept on his knee. He slipped the rest into the inner pocket of his kimono.
He stood up. The long train of his kimono dragged on the floor with a heavy swish.
Misao laid both hands on the doors to the adjacent room and opened them wide.
Katsuragi was lying on the floor, his head propped in his right hand as he served himself some wine. He looked up at Misao and drained his cup.
Earlier, in Seno’o’s room, Misao had allowed Katsuragi to provoke him and had gone so far as to throw his discarded underwear at the man’s feet. At that very instant, Seno’o had come out of hiding.
Of course, in her rage Seno’o had chased Misao away, and Katsuragi as well. So now they were here. Really, it was a stupid story.
“They’ve opened for business. How long do you plan to lie there?” Misao asked coldly. He wasn’t hiding how he felt.
“What are you talking about? Obviously I’ve been waiting for you to get ready.”
Katsuragi sat up ponderously and stretched his neck. Misao was sure he hadn’t actually strained any muscles. He sighed.
“All right, let’s go.”
Katsuragi slipped past Misao and into the men’s bedroom. Misao followed him with his eyes. “Go where?”
“Seno’o’s room, of course. She is my favorite, after all,” Katsuragi answered coolly, his back still turned. He walked through the bedroom and into the hall.
He seemed entirely unconcerned by the thought of Seno’o’s anger.
“He’s got some nerve,” Misao muttered, as he too left the bedroom. The hall opened into a veranda and continued past the garden. The sun had fully set now. Parties had already begun on the second floor and Misao could hear the singing and general excitement.
“If only you’d been born as a girl, you could have had all that.”
Without turning to look at him, Katsuragi suddenly interrupted his thoughts.
“Oh?” Misao asked, tutting. “You’re the one who made me dress up like this, so could you please stop saying such awful, selfish things?” Misao packed as many reproaches into his response as he could.
The man stopped walking.
He turned his face back to look at Misao. His expression was much more decent than he’d expected.
“If you’d been born as a woman, you would have been even more beautiful and unhappy. Since you’re a man, there’s still hope for you.”
Misao stared at him, wondering what he meant. By the time he realized, Katsuragi had begun walking again.
“You’re just doing it to amuse yourself,” he muttered to the man’s back.
“Of course I am,” Katsuragi answered indifferently. “Why would I pay for something that wasn’t amusing?”
What did he mean by that?
Misao felt sick, as if he were riding something that swayed and bucked unpredictably. If he took Katsuragi at his word, this would end badly. There was nothing lucky about it.
They crossed an arched bridge and stood before the grand staircase. Misao came to a sudden stop then. Katsuragi twisted his head around to look at him, as if he’d sensed something. Misao was peering over Katsuragi’s other shoulder, looking intently at the front door of the tea house.