Masaomi ought to have attracted scores of women without needing to come to a brothel. Was it just the indulgence of a man with too much time and money, like it was for Katsuragi? Misao just couldn’t figure it out.
There could be many reasons for him to visit a brothel for the first time.
Simple appreciation of women. A family custom. To see someone from work. To cheer himself up. Among all those, there was one more reason; a motive purer than the rest.
Well...that must be it.
Everything fell into place.
Well then.
“Did you know that Ukigumo likes candy?” Masaomi looked surprised at Misao’s sudden inquiry.
That must be it. He was almost certain.
Masaomi must have seen Ukigumo on the street going out to greet a customer and fallen in love at first sight. Suddenly, it all made sense. His gift to Ukigumo had never been intended for anyone else. He had known exactly what he was doing.
Confusion came over Masaomi’s face when Misao pulled the object from his kimono and held it out to him.
At first he peered curiously at the handkerchief Misao held out to him, but a few moments later he let out a murmur. “Ah... that’s mine, isn’t it?”
“I’m returning it to you.”
Masaomi gave a slight nod. He didn’t even ask him how he’d gotten it and simply picked it up. “Thanks for going to all that trouble.”
Misao watched him pull his hand away.
He momentarily regretted returning it, a strange sort of attachment flitting through his heart; but when Masaomi stood up, all business, Misao no longer understood why he had felt that way.
All he could do was shake his head at this mysteriously uncharacteristic mood.
Masaomi appeared to be tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of his flocked jacket, which hung in a corner of the room. His back was turned, so Misao couldn’t really see what he was doing.
They had been talking the entire night, so this was the first time Misao had seen his back.
Why did it make his heart feel so empty?
“Don’t you think it was a little arrogant to give the maid a token intended for her courtesan?” Misao asked quietly.
It seemed highly unlikely that Masaomi would carry that sort of thing around with him as a matter of habit. It was much easier to imagine that he had done some research into Ukigumo’s tastes.
Masaomi came back over to Misao and chuckled. He didn’t deny it. So he really had come to the Oumi Tea House to try and win Ukigumo.
“Don’t you feel sorry for her?”
Misao didn’t know why he said something so petty. He felt almost nauseous at giving voice to these angry words and his face twisted. The eyes of the man across from him stared back, trembling like a candle flame.
It was the face of a man who had suddenly encountered something unexpected.
Then his eyes lowered and he looked to be deep in thought, staring at a point on the floor. It seemed Misao’s words had dug up something much deeper inside him.
In the silence that followed, so quiet that they could hear the crackling of the fire burning in the lanterns, Misao briefly regretted his rudeness.
There had been no reason to attack Masaomi.
Misao knew very well how happy that small act of charity had made Sazu, even if it was unintentional. He also knew how very important the memory of it would be to her for the rest of her life.
So then why had he said it?
A sudden anger, quick like the flare of a match, had taken over his emotions.
Masaomi let out a single long sigh.
Misao held his breath and pressed his lips together.
“I see,” Masaomi said to himself quietly. His big, round eyes closed once, briefly. “Definitely, such arrogance is highly unattractive in a person.”
He turned to face Misao, chastising himself.
Misao heard the pounding of his heart inside him.
“It’s all in the name of self-gratification.”
Misao had always thought of this place as nothing but a lie.
Men and women held the ugly truth about themselves under layer after layer of gilding.
The truth had no place here.
A raspy breath escaped Misao’s slightly open lips.
“Forgive me.”
He bowed his head.
“It was very petty of me to say that.”
He had no doubt made Masaomi say things he would have rather not said.
The man had spoken his feelings truthfully, without any pretense.
“Forgive me,” Misao said again.
Masaomi moved silently to sit diagonally across from him. “Sit up.”
All Misao could see were Masaomi’s hands, resting lightly on the long kimono that covered his knees.
“I don’t want you to apologize to me. In fact, I’m glad you said that. I need to be aware of this selfish side of myself.” Misao felt a little suspicious of this act of self-discipline.
He slowly sat up and turned his head haltingly. This was the closest he had been to Masaomi all day. He saw that the man’s placid features bore him no grudge.
“Hey, I still haven’t asked you your name,” Masaomi said with a light laugh. “I’m Masaomi. Masaomi Towa. And you are?”
“Excuse me for not introducing myself earlier.”
Misao sat up straight and reoriented his body to face Masaomi.
“Misao. I was named for a festival.”
Masaomi nodded.
“That’s a pretty name. Could I be so bold as to take your hand?”
“My hand? I don’t understand.”
He tilted his head and held his hands out, palms up. Masaomi swept one up in his left hand.
Misao gulped and his eyes widened. He followed the path of his hand with bulging eyes as it was raised to the level of the man’s chest, as it touched his skin, then he turned his eyes to Masaomi’s face. His eyes were lowered to Misao’s palm, the orange light of the lanterns casting the faint shadow of his eyelashes on his face.
The pulse in Misao’s wrist thudded, as if competing with the speed of his heart’s pounding.
He felt a single finger touch his palm, then slide over it.
A sensation shot through Misao, threatening to choke him.
The finger traced out a character on the taut skin of his palm.
It was his name.
Misao’s eyelids fluttered with each stroke.
As he finished the last line, the man’s finger withdrew from his palm.