Memoirs of a Geisha
Since moving to New York I’ve learned what the word “geisha” really means to most Westerners. From time to time at elegant parties, I’ve been introduced to some young woman or other in a splendid dress and jewelry. When she learns I was once a geisha in Kyoto, she forms her mouth into a sort of smile, although the corners don’t turn up quite as they should. She has no idea what to say! And then the burden of conversation falls to the man or woman who has introduced us – because I’ve never really learned much English, even after all these years. Of course, by this time there’s little point even in trying, because this woman is thinking, “My goodness… I’m walking with a prostitute…” A moment later she’s rescued by her escort, a wealthy man a good thirty or forty years older than she is. Well, I often find myself wondering why she can’t sense how much we really have in common. She is a kept woman, you see, and in my day, so was I.
Memoirs of a Geisha, Arthur Golden
An interesting insight into the floating world, but I must admit I was completely disgusted after reading about the buying and selling of mizuage – so much so that I won’t mention the details here. I always knew most Japanese men had a thing for innocence, but to see how far it would take them if they had the means… A doctor collects the blood