The door was open.
In the gap between two folding screens, Misao spotted Masaomi sitting, legs stretched out, on top of a decent quality futon. He was wearing a summer kimono. A lantern behind the screen shone on his downcast face.
There was something unbearably poignant about the sight.
Misao couldn’t speak. He only stood there for a long moment.
He had watched Masaomi for too long, he knew.
Masaomi glanced up, as if something had caught his attention. He looked vaguely surprised to see Misao and whispered his name.
While Misao’s eyes searched for something to look at, Masaomi walked out from behind the screens. Before Misao realized it, he was standing right in front of him. He let out a sigh of relief and smiled.
“I didn’t see you all night. I was worried something had happened.”
He put his arms around Misao’s shoulders without any hesitation and started to pull him inside the room, and Misao couldn’t resist. It was like trying to resist the force of gravity.
“I need to talk to you,” Masaomi said, waving Misao behind the screens.
Misao’s body became very still and his face tightened.
Would Masaomi force him to hear it from his own lips?
Why? The sad question billowed through his heart. Masaomi didn’t need to be that honest with him. That was just cruelty.
“I know.”
His voice was like air escaping.
It was pathetic.
Masaomi looked surprised. “What?”
When Misao didn’t answer, Masaomi sat down on the futon and drew Misao down beside him. His face was so close.
“What do you know?” he asked again, confused. Misao’s eyes dropped, unable to bear it.
“When will it be?”
His voice was hard.
Masaomi took a moment to think. “The sooner the better, I think.”
There was some hesitation in his answer. Masaomi cupped Misao’s cheek with his left hand. He turned Misao’s downcast face slightly and looked into his eyes.
“You don’t seem very happy about it.”
Masaomi sounded slightly apprehensive.
“Happy?”
A tremble ran through Misao’s lips and as he gazed at Masaomi’s face, so close to his own, his face contorted. He knew his expression was becoming accusatory.
How could he be happy about it?
“Misao?”
Masaomi looked troubled. Unable to bear the sight of him, Misao twisted his head away, pulling free of Masaomi’s hand.
He spotted an elegant-looking tassel in a corner of the bed.
Dark emotions swirled up to fill his heart. He was afraid he might spit out some horrible abuse at any moment.
He thought his heart cried out with despair alone, but how could that drive him to such depths?
He shouldn’t have come.
He should have surrendered to reality without ever seeing Masaomi again.
“Are you upset about something?”
Masaomi sounded bewildered.
Misao’s eyes hardened and he turned sharply to face him. How dare Masaomi ask him that? Masaomi had been caught completely off-guard. Misao opened his mouth to hurl an assault at him. But some small discretion still remained in a corner of his mind, telling him he had no right to do that. The cold logic forced Misao’s trembling lips shut again.
He turned away and hung his head.
Cautiously, Masaomi started to say something, but before he could get it out Misao pulled the check from his sleeve and held it out to him.
“Katsuragi says he doesn’t want it.”
His voice was hard. He raised his eyes from the check to Masaomi’s face. He was looking down at the check in Misao’s hands with loathing.
“Then you should have burned it,” Masaomi said with a cold evenness.
Misao felt as if his hand had been slapped away.
Katsuragi had told him he could return it, so Misao had begun to think of it like actual money. But unless someone cashed it, the check was just a piece of paper. Masaomi wouldn’t lose anything.
“Were you with him tonight?” Masaomi asked quietly. His face contained the exact displeasure that was in his voice. Misao felt like he was being attacked for something he had narrowly avoided, and he looked away.
“Even though you didn’t come to see me?”
After this accusation, Masaomi sighed and rested his hand over the check in Misao’s hand. He pushed it gently back towards Misao.
“I’m not sure this is enough to bring you back with me to Tokyo.”
His voice was earnest. Misao’s eyes widened. His mouth fell open at the same moment, but it took much longer before he managed to say something.
“What... did you say?”
When he finally did speak, his voice was rough.
“Why? I don’t understand. You’re supposed to spend tonight with Ukigumo! Aren’t you getting married?”
Misao exploded. Masaomi gaped, then his face slowly filled with anguish.
There was a brief silence, and finally he sighed.
“We’re not getting married.”
Masaomi’s voice melted away into the silence.
Misao’s eyes widened as he stared at him.
“But then why?”
His lips trembled.
His brain felt like it was bruised from a lack of oxygen.
“You’re going to keep her as your mistress?” Misao asked, despairing.
Masaomi looked as if he wanted to argue, but apparently thinking better of it, he closed his mouth as soon as he’d opened it.
Misao’s heart fluttered and his mind clouded.
“Noyou’re not like that!” he muttered derisively, but what was really in his heart? What did he really want? Reallywish for? His emotions had all gone astrayhe didn’t know anymore.
Agony clouded Masaomi’s brow.
“What did you think I was like?” he asked, his voice controlled.
Misao squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He pushed a hand against his temple and hung his head.
“Misao.”
Masaomi reached out to touch his shoulder and Misao almost knocked his hand away, but he sagged. Masaomi held him in his arms, steadying Misao against the tremors of his body. He buried his face in Masaomi’s robe. He felt the man’s warmth.
“No”
His throat was tight.
“Misao.”
Held in the man’s arms, hearing him speak his name, Misao pounded against his chest, just once.
“How could you?”
He squeezed a husky voice from his constricted throat.
How could he ever be expected to give up the warmth he felt in this man’s arms?
“You should have just told me that she was the only one you cared about.”
They heard a voice suddenly from the other side of the screens, and Misao stiffened. He lifted his head slightly. Masaomi was already gazing seriously in the same direction. He still held Misao in his arms, but not strongly enough to hold him back. Misao pulled petulantly away and turned angrily to the screen.
“You don’t need to look so innocent, Masaomi.”
Ukigumo came through the screens. She was wearing a nightgown.
Painfully aware of how very out of place he was, Misao started to stand up. But Ukigumo stopped him with a look. She sat formally on the edge of the bed. Then, without the slightest perturbation, she fixed her eyes on Masaomi with a purity like morning dew. Masaomi moved into a more formal position as well and looked back at her, as if awaiting orders.
Misao was perplexed by the extreme formality they treated each other with. They were nothing like a man and woman in bed together.
Nothing like a courtesan and one of her regular customers.
Misao held his breath, but Ukigumo paid him absolutely no attention. She fixed Masaomi with a cool regard and spoke calmly. “You should take good care of the things most precious to you. Don’t pay attention to anything else.”
A look of deep regret came over Masaomi’s face.
“Really, Masaomi.”
For the first time, her face had a touch of warmth in it.
“You need to forget about me.”
Misao was trying to look small and quiet, but when Ukigumo gave Masaomi this unexpected notice of separation, a cry escaped him nevertheless. He looked at Masaomi, wondering how he would take it, but he didn’t seem particularly upset. He just sighed gently and quietly lowered his eyes.
“You won’t change your mind?” Masaomi asked, looking up at her, but Ukigumo only shook her head, her long lashes never fluttering.
“As I told you initially, I am not interested in accepting pity.”
Finally, Misao lost the thread of the conversation.
He had no idea what they were talking about. The conversation was not developing at all as it should for a man and woman who obviously loved each other.
“I, Ukigumobut no, you knew me as KotokoI loved you when were we children. And because I loved you, I know very well that you never loved me.”
Ukigumo’s story, which she told with slightly narrowed eyes, staggered Misao’s heart.
Images flickered into his blank mind one after another, and everything fell into place.
A gasp escaped his lips, which had opened without his realizing it.
“I’m sorry, Kotoko,” Masaomi apologized. “I’ve been extremely inconsiderate to you.”
“Yes. I am humiliated.”
Ukigumo spoke harshly.
“I am, in some ways, the best there is at the Oumi Tea House. It would dishonor my name to be paid out of sympathy by a man who will not share my bed.”
Ukigumo held her long neck straight. Her decisive tone showed her inner strength.
“Having dedicated my body to the pursuit of sensuality and love, I will leave here having conquered the great gates by love. But you are not the one to help me do that, Masaomi.”
“Is there someone who can?”
Ukigumo answered Masaomi’s question with a sorrowful movement of her eyelids and a mysterious smile. Then she turned her inscrutable expression on Misao.
“Forgive me.”
Ukigumo inclined her head slowly to him, and Misao shook his head, uncomprehending. His shoulders were incredibly tense.
“I thought I would surely win Masaomi’s heart this time, but I attempted many unflattering frivolities.”
She was referring to feeding her guest stories.