no school of Japanese dance bore him any goodwill.
When the cherry blossoms had fallen and the crowds were gone, Oriku made an early morning pilgrimage to the Kannon of Asakusa. She had no idea what to do about finding a teacher for Shūsaku. She felt things might work out if she brought the matter to Kannon in person, since it was at the temple’s main hall that she had first found him. And so, late in April she climbed the temple steps. It was still too early for there to be many visitors, and the air inside the hall felt cool and fresh. There was a desk to solicit contributions for redoing the roof. Oriku made her contribution and then went to stand before Kannon’s main altar. The great chest containing Kannon’s image was imposing, and many candles were burning before it.
Oriku clapped her hands, as always, and prayed, “Please bless Bandō Shūsaku with a good teacher.” That was her only prayer. She felt certain Kannon would help the boy, since he had slept for some time in the darkness of Kannon’s main hall, and she repeated her petition over and over, till she at last felt she had done all she could. Then she pressed her palms together in salutation, made a low bow, and left. Of course, a suitable teacher was hardly likely to fall into her lap just because she had prayed to Kannon, but nonetheless she felt a bit better as she started back down the steps.
Just then someone called out to her. “Mistress Oriku!” It was a man’s voice. She did not even have to stop; he descended the steps beside her.
“You seemed quite absorbed,” he said. “Was there some special urgency to your prayer?” His dignified voice sounded kind.
“Goodness, it’s you!” Oriku cried out in astonishment. “You were here too?”
She halted right there. The man on the steps with her was the kabuki actor Ichikawa Danshirō, whom she had known since her Yoshiwara days. She owed him a debt of gratitude for having brought a large number of guests with him to the opening of her Shigure Teahouse. At present he was living in Senzokuchō, Asakusa.
“What a surprise to run into you this way! You’re quite right. I was asking Kannon for something.”
“I thought so.You looked ever so serious. Is some lover of yours ill?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve ended up looking after a boy, and I’m worried about him.”
She paused on the flagstones below the steps. She had had a sudden idea. Danshirō was especially famous among kabuki actors for his dancing. No, he was not the head of a school, but in pieces like Kisen, Utsubozaru, or Tsurionna he displayed a lightness and grace quite out of keeping with his clumsy build. It was just a fleeting inspiration, but if she asked Danshirō to take on Shūsaku, would he really say no? Surely Kannon had brought her to Danshirō for just this. Such were the thoughts flitting through her head.
“Actually, I was just thinking about calling on you with a request,” she said. “Are you off to work now?”
“No, I’m just back from Osaka. The show at Dōtonbori is over, and I took the night train back to Tokyo. I’ve just arrived, and I came to greet Kannon before going home.”
“I see. You didn’t go straight home, but came by the temple instead?”
“Well, you know, I just don’t feel right if I don’t make a little pilgrimage here whenever I get back to town.”
He was still smiling. Typical Asakusa man that he was, visits to Kannon were just a normal part of his life.
“Then I’m sure you have a lot to do today. I’ll call on you another time.”
“Rubbish! It’s no problem at all. I’m off next month, you know. By all means come, if you have something to talk about. I’ve brought plenty of good things from Osaka—let’s eat them together.”
Danshirō, too, had been formed by the Yoshiwara, and they understood each other so well that he eagerly urged her to come home with him. His wife, however, who had the respect of everyone in the acting profession, would not stand for any nonsense, and Oriku could only wonder what trouble she might get herself into if she nonchalantly turned up with him when he returned from Osaka.
“All right, but I have somewhere else to go first. I’ll just get my little errand done, and I’ll be over after that.”
“I see. Don’t disappoint me, though! I’ll be expecting you. We’ll have lunch together. I’m sure Okoto will be glad to see you, too.”
On that light, friendly note Danshirō set off down the path behind Kannon’s main hall, surrounded by his manager and disciples.
Okoto, Danshirō’s wife, was a Yoshiwara brothel owner’s daughter. She declared when she married him, “When an actor’s short of money he goes downhill. I’ll go into business just to make sure you can take time off whenever you feel like it.” So this sage wife, more than a match for any man, borrowed money from her parents, set up a brothel, and gave Danshirō the freedom to master his art fully.
Danshirō might be endlessly good-natured, but his eagle-eyed wife was a different matter. Oriku first returned to Mukōjima and had Shūsaku get things ready. Then she set out again, carrying a gift of shigure clams.
“Where are you going?” Shūsaku asked suspiciously.
“I’m off to have a talk with Ichikawa Danshirō.” Oriku was frank about it. “Whatever happens to you, your father is the head of a school. Rather than attach yourself to some half-baked teacher somewhere, I think you’d be far better off as the disciple of a real master like Danshirō. It could get quite tricky if you were to approach either Fujima or Hanayanagi.”
“That’s true enough, but would Danshirō teach me?”
“We’ll just have to see. If he won’t, I’ll have to think about it some more.”
“I wouldn’t mind becoming an actor, if he wanted me to.”
Oriku shook her head. “No, I’m afraid you’re too old for that.” Childhood training was essential for actors, and by the time he was sixteen or seventeen an untrained boy was seen as having no possible future.
“I want you to walk to Senzokuchō, Shūsaku. I’ll take a rickshaw. Try to reach the door of the house about the time Danshirō and I have finished talking it over. You know the place, don’t you?”
“Yes—it’s right there at the corner of Ennosuke Lane.”
Ennosuke, Danshirō’s former professional name, had come to identify the lane on which he lived. Even today a memorial stone stands there to mark the spot.
Danshirō and Okoto were both expecting Oriku when she arrived.
“Why didn’t you come straight here with my husband?” Okoto asked. “Lunch is ready. We’ve been waiting for you.”
In the best of moods, she had lunch served in the room next to the kitchen, just as though Oriku had been one of the family. Hers was the warmth of an old denizen of the Yoshiwara.
“Before we eat,” Oriku said, sitting up very straight, “I have a request.”
“My husband is a great fan of yours, Oriku, and I’m sure he’ll happily do whatever you ask.” Okoto was all smiles.
Having
