Courtesan’s Favor

The Edo period had a thriving pleasure district wherein hundreds of women worked as prostitutes. This is the story of one of them.

Courtesan’s Favor

  Aoi Fujioka was at the little vanity table, peering at herself in the mirror. She was always so particular about her makeup. Her mouth especially. One of her favorite forms of shinjū was a note written in red ink and signed with a kiss from her freshly painted lips. Aoi was quite popular in the pleasure district, especially for an expensive courtesan. She was a very beautiful woman, exceptionally so, with moon-pale skin, a flowing river of obsidian hair, soft lips and soulful eyes. It was a wonder how she hadn’t been recruited as a royal imperial courtesan. 
  Hikaru poked her head into Aoi’s little room, pushing open the delicate paper door. 
  “Aoi,” she said softly. “Can I borrow one of your jade hairpins?”
  “Which one?” Aoi asked, tilting her head to examine her eyebrows. 
  “Um, any. My last client broke mine.”
  “He broke your jade hairpin?” Aoi actually turned to look at her night-sister. “How did he manage that?”
  “With a lot of effort,” Hikaru snickered softly, smiling. “He wanted to prove how strong he was.”
  “Oh, Abe-San?” Aoi asked knowingly, her voice tinged with piteous disdain. Hikaru replied to the affirmative. Rolling her big eyes, Aoi retrieved a wooden box, placing it opened on the vanity. “Here, pick one.”
  Hikaru sashayed gracefully into the room, her eyes soaking in the many jade hairpins of various styles, complexity, and quality. 
  “You have more than I remember.” Hikaru murmured, her hand hovering over the contents. She plucked a small one from the collection; it was in the shape of a sakura blossom and was of fair quality. Nothing too extreme. She put the hairpin in her ornately arranged locks, looking at herself in Aoi’s mirror. “How’s it look?”
  “Very pretty, as always,” Aoi said, smiling. She reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her night-sister’s ear. “Who do you have next?”
  “He’s new. Never seen him before. Ichibangase-San, I think he said.”
  “Interesting name.”
  “I better get back, he’s waiting.” Hikaru said, giving Aoi a thankful shoulder squeeze. “I’ll give this back by morning.”
  “Not to worry. You can keep it.”
  “You’re too generous, Aoi-Chan!” Hikaru praised, bowing excitedly. She hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Aoi Fujioka sighed softly. Hikaru was young and still very excitable. Aoi, however, had been in this business for far too long. She looked at herself in the mirror, satisfied with her makeup, choosing to arrange her luxurious hair in a very artistic way, done with ease from practice.
  Gogatsu-San would be here any minute now. He was a very regular person. Dependable, one could say. He paid well, but was a little odd. Gogatsu-San would prefer to have his pleasure quickly then spend nearly all the night talking. Aoi had the feeling that he was very lonely. Most clients came to her for her beauty, less for the fantasy of love. Girls like Hikaru were better at that, the illusion of a relationship. Aoi had done that before, but as she aged and became more beautiful, she realized her worth and refused to indulge in her clients’ fantasies. A rare and nearly unheard of thing for a professional courtesan. After all, the fantasy of love was part of the pleasure a courtesan provided. To have one without the other was like a beautiful bloom without a scent to match. She was an orchid, a dahlia of exceptional breeding that men from all around sought to enjoy. Their disappointment when they found that the delicate petals omit no pleasant odor was boundless. 
  Aoi knew she was something unique, something special. Her beauty was her value, it drew in new and continuous clients. She had learned long ago not to become attached to a man. Shinjū were empty promises that could easily have lasting impacts on her physical appearance. Nail-pulling, tattoos, flesh and hair cutting… no, that was unnecessary. Men liked sacrifices from courtesans, proof of love; shinjū. Aoi Fujioka shook her lovely head. It wasn’t real, the love they wanted proof of, but those sacrifices were real. It wasn’t fair, asking so much of women. She refused them this; she could always find new clients, new sources of revenue. Edo was a big city, after all. 
  Gogatsu-San tapped politely on the wooden doorframe. 
  “Fujioka-Sama? It’s Gogatsu-San. May I come in?”
  Aoi smiled lightly. Gogatsu-San was so polite. 
  “You may.” 
  Gogatsu-San slipped in through the door, closing it quietly behind him. He was a plain-looking man, easy to behold but hard to remember. He bowed his head to her before taking a seat on the floor. He loosened his kimono silently, awaiting Aoi’s hands. He sat and stayed quiet, staring at the lovely woman’s back. She was wearing blue for him. 
  “Blue is your best color,” he told her. “Just as your name implies.” Aoi always made an effort to wear blue in some way for him. 
  “How are you, Fujioka-Sama?” he inquired gently, using a very generous honorific, denoting his respect for her. A courtesan is never called ‘Sama’ by a client. Women are rarely ever addressed in such a manner by men anymore. Not after Confucius. 
  “I’m fine, Gogatsu-San.” 
  “Are you certain? There’s something different about you tonight.”
  “Different how?”
  “You seem… pensive.”
  Aoi chuckled softly, turning to face him, her kimono drooped sensuously off her shoulders. 
  “Perhaps I’m just excited?” she asked him, smiling. Her hands found purchase on his body. Gogatsu-San placed his own large hands atop hers, stopping her. He looked deep in her big eyes, searching far inside, seeing beyond the walls of sex and fantasy and beauty. He was peering into her heart, her mind, reading the pages of her soul with the ease of a scholar. Aoi felt uncomfortable, powerless, unable to close the doors of her life to Gogatsu-San. 
  “Tell me, Aoi-Chan,” he said, shifting his tone from respectful client to concerned friend. “Please.”
  “There’s nothing to tell.”
  “You don’t need to lie to me. I’ve never liked it when you lied.”
  Aoi sighed, curling her fingers into the well-worn fabric of his clothes. She tried to slip her hands beyond the boundary of civility to distract him, convince him to change the subject. But he did not comply. Even after she successfully outmaneuvered the folds of cloth, he did not take his eyes from her face. “Aoi-Chan.”
  “I was thinking about shinjūs,” she confessed, peeling and pulling at his garments, just trying to busy her hands. Gogatsu-San waited for more information, letting her paw and fiddle with him gently. “About the things women do to keep men interested in us.”
  “And then what? There’s more, I see it.”
  “Well, I found myself wondering if other women have to go through such things for their husbands or their lovers. How much do they sacrifice for them? Is it as much as what my sisters must give?”
  “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that. Not for certain. Though my mother often did things for my father that I could call sacrifices.”
  “Oh?” Aoi inquired. She had gotten his clothes off by now. “What sort of things did your mother sacrifice?”
  “She had two lovers. One was very rich, the other was a farmer. She loved one, but not the other. My mother chose my father, a farmer, much to the disdain of her family. She didn’t speak to her parents for years. She gave up a life of luxury for my father. I’d call that a sacrifice.”
  “Did she ever talk to her family again?” Aoi inquired, her questing hands pausing on Gogatsu-San’s chest.
  “Yes, after I was born.” 
  Aoi nodded. 
  “May I hold you, Aoi-Chan?” he asked. Aoi thought for a moment before she leaned into his embrace. Gogatsu-San’s arms were warm and comforting, his body firm and stable. He smelled of woodsmoke and spices. Gogatsu-San was a cook, a very good one, so he always smelled delicious. Just another reason to like the man. For the first time since her father held her as a child, Aoi Fujioka felt safe with a man. He stroked her silky, obsidian hair, felt her soft body laying atop his and he was happy. 
  “Aoi-Chan. Why are you a courtesan?” 
  “I’ve been a courtesan since I was 13.”
  “That’s very young.”
  “I wasn’t the youngest.”
  “Why did you stay a courtesan?”
  “I became more beautiful. I could make my own rules. What else was I to do?”
  “I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know.” Gogatsu-San paused, listening to Aoi breathe against him. “If you could stop, would you?” She thought long and hard about that. 
  “Yes, I suppose I would. I won’t be beautiful forever, after all. What use is an ugly courtesan?”
  “I don’t think you’ll ever be ugly, Aoi-Chan. You’re lovely above and below the skin.” Gogatsu-San paused and Aoi heard his heart drum faster. “I’d like to ask you something in all sincerity. May I?”
  “You may.”
  “Would you marry me, Aoi Fujioka?”
  Her mind flew back to an old saying; ‘The most common lie told by a prostitute is “I love you.” The most common lie told by a client is “I will marry you.”’ Her heart pounded in her breast.
  “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Gogatsu-San?”
  “I never have and I never will.”
  “So your words are true? You wish to marry a courtesan?”
  “I wish to marry you, Aoi-Chan.”
  Aoi Fujioka’s eyes watered. Terror was all that swept through her. A moment or so passed before a trembling wave of excitement washed over her. She was shaking against Gogatsu-San. 
  “Do you need time to think about it?” he asked, sensing her unbridled fear.
  “N-No, Gogatsu-San,” she croaked, her throat dry and voice hoarse. “I will marry you. If that is what you want.”
  “Is it what you want? To marry me, a cook? Be sure, Aoi-Chan. I want you to be happy.”
  “Yes, Gogatsu-San. I’m certain I will be happy with you.”
  “Then, please, my love. Call me Daichi.” Aoi never knew Gogatsu-San’s first name. Daichi. Daichi Gogatsu. A beautiful name for a beautiful man worthy of endless love.

END