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Tales of a Geisha

Chapter 1: Slavery

By Kchan Ferrier

February 18, 1856

“Chichi!” a little girl cried out trying to turn in her father’s arms to see his face. “What I do? What I—“

Her questioning was cut off as her father thwacked her bottom hard with his hand, “Shuddup, girl!” He growled in response.

Silence followed as he turned the corner of the street, put her down, and squatted to face her, his hard face staring into her scared, innocent eyes. “Now, you better be good an’ hold my hand. You ain’t been nothin’ but trouble since ya was born.” He glanced around at the swarms of people passing by them before returning his attention to his daughter, “We’re in the city now an’ I don’t wancha gettin’ lost. Mikki-dono’s gonna gimme five hundred yen for ya, ya li’l brat. I wan’ that money real bad, ya hear?”

With that, he stood, gripping her hand tightly in his, and strode down the street, making her run to keep up. After a long moment of silence, the child simply could not keep quiet any longer. She still did not understand why her parents were sending her away. She tried to be a good girl. She really did.

Tears weld up in the young girl’s eyes as her father dragged her through the crowded street. “But Chichi! I want my Haha! Where’s my Haha?” she managed over the noise of the crowed as she ran behind him.

“Your kasan an’ I don’t care ‘bout you no more,” he answered. “Now shuddup. We’re here,” his growling voice ordered as he slid the rice paper door of a large building open, jerking her inside. “An’ don’t ya be cryin’ either. Ya gotta look pretty, hear?”

She nodded solemnly and dried her sad eyes with the sleeve of her kimono.

“Ah! Welcome, Yu-san!” a woman in an expensive kimono and heavy white make exclaimed, walking gracefully towards the father and daughter. “Oh, is this the little dear? She’s beautiful!”

“Uh, yes, well, arigato. Ano…” her father stuttered, grinning like an idiot at the woman.

“Hai, hai” she replied handing him a rectangular envelope. “Dozo.”

“Domo arigato gozaimasu,” he responded, taking the envelope with a stiff bow.

“Would you like to come in and meet some of the miakos your daughter will be staying with? Perhaps have a drink?” she questioned, gesturing towards another room.

“Un… choto,” he replied with another bow, just a stiff as the first one, “I got a few things in town I gotta get before headin’ home an’ I wanna be back before dark. Sumimasen,” he bowed again.

“Perfectly understandable,” she said with a bright, kind smile, “and don’t worry. We’ll take extraordinary care of your daughter.”

“Domo arigato gozaimasu,” he responded with another bow. “Sayonara,” and with out even a glance at his daughter, Yu walked to the door.

“Sayonara,” the lady answered, bowing gracefully.

“Chichi! Don’t leave me!” the little girl cried out. As her father slid the rice paper door shut, she began to sob.

“Hush, child,” the white-faced woman scolded; her face suddenly hard, she thumped the child’s head with a great deal of force. “Crying is not tolerated in my miako house. Now come along, there are floors for you to clean.”



March 7, 1865

Kanamo Yuriko woke to a tear soaked pillow. She hated that dream, she really did, but had it at least twice a week. She had been only three years old when her father sold her. For the first few moments in the presence of her ochaya, Mikki, the geisha had seemed nice. That changed as soon as her father left, though. Nine years later, Yuriko’s ochaya was still a cruel and cold hearted slave driver.

Wrapping her kimono around her thin body, Yuriko stepped out of her small room and stealthily glided down the hall towards the stairs. In continued silence, she descended the stairs and floated towards the kitchen for a glass of water. As she started to pass the private rooms, she could see a soft light glowing behind one of the rice paper doors and a soft mummer emitting from it. Curious, she drew closer.

“You are interested in my Yuriko-chan, ne?” Mikki’s voice asked, making the girl in question freeze.

“Eh, so ne. She is twelve now?” a second of silence fell before the elderly man’s voice continued, “Then she is of age?”

“Hai and I wish for her mizu-age to occur soon,” Mikki replied.

“What is your asking price?” the old man inquired.

“Ten thousand yen,” her answer was followed by a long silence.

Wide-eyed, Yuriko tightened her kimono around herself, clutching it at her chest. Her terror and tears filled her eyes equally. ‘No!’ She screamed inside her own head. ‘I will NOT be sold again! ... This can’t be happening. It can’t!’ She took a step back as the man cleared his throat.

“I accept,” came his decision. “Shall we have it set up for Friday night?”

“Of course,” Mikki answered, “Two nights from now. Would you like some sake?”

“That sounds wonderful.”



When Yuriko finally realized where she was, tears were flowing down her cheeks in a constant stream and she was whispering over and over “… not again, I will not be sold again, not again…”

Shaking her head, she looked down at what she was doing. A stack of carefully folded kimonos, the best ones she had, a few pairs of tabi, and her favorite hair pins and combs were neatly stacked on a large, gray blanket with a long, plain cord running underneath it.

“I am running away?” she whispered, staring at the stack. Then, in a firm mummer, she repeated her intentions, “I am leaving.”

Gently folding the blanket over the items, she suddenly realized that she was fully clothed. Her long, black, glossy hair had been tied back with a blue ribbon that matched the kimono she wore; it was the plainest kimono she owned. But... She didn’t remember getting dressed. Then again, she didn’t remember anything after the conversation she had overheard.

In continued silence, Yuriko tied the cord around the package and threw it over her shoulder. Silent like a mouse, I must escape from my cage, to enter anew, this world filled with rage. The poem came to her mind and unable to help herself, she quietly giggled. Even at times like this my mind turns to poetry. But, oh that one was terrible! As quickly as possibly, she composed herself. If she was caught... There was no telling what would happen to her.

Trying her best to maintain her deftness, the geisha-to-be crept down the stairs and froze. The candle was still burning in the private room Mikki and her client had occupied. Giggles now emerged.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Yuriko gathered the skirt of her kimono to her mid thigh and, as stealthily as she knew how, crept by their room. The door she had entered nine years before slid open silently. As she stepped out, a burst of giggles erupted from the candle lit room making her jump nearly to the ceiling. Heart pounding, she slid into her sandals and out into the street. Once again, in her stealthiest mode, she slid the door shut.

Dropping her skirt and clutching her package firmly to her chest, she burst into a run down the deserted moon lit street. The warm March air filled her with joy as she finally realized her dream. I’m free...