be cheeky. You’ll find the most popular of them is just like any other girl. Well, tomorrow, go to the Silver Flower. Everyone there knows you, and you can have as good a time as you like. That should do, shouldn’t it?”
“I don’t want to. It’s not that buying a girl worries me. I just don’t like the idea. If a woman can feel strongly about being a virgin, then a man can, too. I want my first woman to be someone I can remember forever after. I’m damned if she’s going to be some tart!”
His face was bright red. Come to think of it, there was something to what he was saying. There could be nothing wrong with a man cherishing his first time, just the way a girl is likely to do. Oriku had had her first experience with the owner of the Silver Flower, and even now the memory of that first night was clear in her mind. She understood how he felt. Still—
“If that’s what you really insist on, you’ll never find anyone. If you won’t have a woman who’s for sale, you’ll just have to keep waiting for the right chance.”
“Your talking that way just convinces me I’ll end up with some woman who means nothing to me after all, and it makes me afraid.”
“Well then, I see no way out. You’re a man, not a woman. Why not just let things take their course?”
“Dammit, no! I won’t have it!”
Red-faced, he glared at Oriku.
“Auntie, won’t you show me?”
“What? Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re always so sweet to me, and I really love you too. It’d be a memory I’d always cherish. Besides, in time I’m bound to be appointed principal actor.”
“Wait a minute! I can’t do that!”
Oriku straightened up. This was just too unexpected. Flustered, she was also overcome with confusion that the sixteen-year-old Monjirō should feel that way about her. Naturally, she had not yet given up her taste for men, and she fully intended to have a good time with the right partner, if she found one. Anyone other than Monnosuke’s son might well have put the age difference out of her mind. Kabuki people customarily subjected a colleague’s first sexual partner to minute scrutiny. They called the experience “fude oroshi,” or “testing the brush.” Oriku herself had been through it before. So far she had pampered him like a child, and she had no particular reason to say no, but the thought of Monnosuke’s past with her convinced her it was out of the question.
“I won’t have you talking like that. Please. I just can’t.”
She meant this to be her final word, but she simply could not mention Monnosuke. Needless to say, Monjirō fought back.
“I can’t accept that. I’ve had the courage to be frank with you, haven’t I? I’m asking you straight out: please, show me what it’s like. I’m sure you’ve done this ‘testing the brush’ before. Everyone at the theater says you have. Please, Auntie, please.”
As he spoke, he threw himself tight against her. The full impact of his strong young body toppled her over, and he clung to her leechlike, with all his strength. Struggling to push him away got her nowhere, and every word she tried to say came out too loud. The Paulownia was a separate building, it is true, but it was high summer, and every room, everywhere, was wide open. Any cry from her would be heard. For a while she resisted, but in the end she gave up and let Monjirō do as he pleased.
As soon as she woke up the next morning, she went straight to the bathhouse. It was behind the main building, and when there were overnight guests the water was heated early. Despite luxurious soaking, she felt as though the events of the night had soiled her in some way. She thought of the Monnosuke of old. Yes, now she had that bond with the son too, as well as with the father. An indescribable sort of shame seemed to flow through her, like black blood. She scrubbed her arms and legs, and dashed water over herself to wash away any reminder of what had happened.
She did not return to the Paulownia after her bath. Instead she went to a room facing the river and had a cold beer.
Monjirō got up and came to join her. His expression was happy and peaceful. At first he betrayed a touch of embarrassment, but he looked full of life. He was completely different from the night before.
“I’m sorry,” he softly, his own beer glass in hand. “I’m confident now. I could have made up stories, but I’d never have felt confident until I’d known the real thing. I apologize.”
For all his expressions of contrition, he looked distinctly happy.
“It’s going to feel wonderful, later on, knowing you were my first. I’m just so happy, when I think I could fall in love with a woman even better than you.” His words conveyed real joy.
“You’re not to tell anyone, you know.”
“No, I won’t. But when anyone asks me who I ‘tested the brush’ with, I’ll be proud that it was with the mistress of the Shigure Tea-house!”
And off he went to the Kabuki-za, still looking light and cheerful. Oriku’s early feelings of revulsion largely melted away at the sight of his joy. Better me, she told herself, than just any woman. By evening she had forgotten all about it.
It was not Oriku’s way to dwell on what was over and done with, and if anything somewhat unpleasant happened, she would usually have forgotten it in a few days. By the next day that business with Monjirō had healed over like a scratch, and she no longer gave it a thought.
Two years later, Monjirō was promoted and took a new name. Monnosuke, his father, succeeded to his own teacher’s name and became Ichikawa Mon’emon, while Monjirō assumed his father’s and became the third Monnosuke. Mon’emon then paid another visit to Mukōjima.
“I would very much appreciate your backing on this occasion,” he said politely. “I will not ask for it again.”
Oriku was of course resolved to do whatever she could, and she gladly agreed. Mon’emon never normally brought her theater tickets unless she particularly requested them. He faithfully sent her a summer yukata every year during the gift-giving season, but that was all. He never displayed the slightest trace of cupidity. Knowing his character as she did, she replied, “I was thinking about this, too. Knowing as I do what sort of man you are, I’ll approach the Silver Flower about it too.”
She went on, “Your acting success can rise no higher, now that you’re Ichikawa Mon’emon. Let’s drink to that before you go.” She ordered a festive meal and served the saké in the great room of the main building.
“No congratulations could give me greater pleasure than yours,” said Mon’emon, for all his years ever the gentle onnagata. Then, later, when a few drinks had given him the courage:
“I understand Monjirō made himself a bit of a nuisance to you.”
“Yes, when he was drunk he’d come bursting in and say whatever he felt like.”
“He did?” He stopped himself. “I gather you taught him how to make love,” he said with perfect equanimity, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”
Oriku felt herself blush.
“He was so happy
