"Shizuka, I please you see. Tai-pan top man," he said kindly, then to Nemi, patting his side where Struan's wound was, "She understand about wound, neh?"
Nemi nodded, her white teeth sparkling.
"Hai, I 'sp'rain, Jami-san! Dozo, 'reave coat here, or up'stair?"
"Upstairs."
He led the way up the great staircase, well lit with oil lamps, Nemi chattering to the new girl who was all eyes. It was his custom, from time to time, to send for Nemi to spend the night here, the manservant returning just before dawn to escort her back to the little dwelling he had bought for her within the grounds of her house, the Inn of Succulent Joy. Ten gold sovereigns it had cost him for a five-year lease for the house after days of haggling. Another ten for her contract for the same period, plus extra for a new kimono each month, hairdressing, a personal maid, and all found, with sak`e.
"But Mama-san, what if fire burn house down, heya?"' he had asked, appalled that he was agreeing to such a huge price though the extraordinarily advantageous exchange rate gave them a profit of four hundred percent most months--meant that almost everyone could keep a pony or two, consume champagne at will, and more importantly guaranteed that Nemi's running expenses would not amount to more than a few pounds yearly.
The mama-san was shocked. "Bui'd 'rike new. You pay ha'f price, fair, neh?"' Nemi, present at the final negotiation, had laughed. "P'renti fire in house, Jami-san, p'renti jig jig, neh?"' When McFay reached the top of the stairs he gave her another happy hug for no reason, other than she had proved to be worth every farthing, giving him so much pleasure and so much peace. On the landing was a large high-back chair. Nemi took off her cloak and hood, telling the other girl to do likewise, leaving them there. Neat and pretty kimonos underneath, hair well coiffured--chrysalis into butterfly.
Pleased with himself he knocked on the door.
"Come in."
Malcolm Struan sat in his chair, a cheroot smoldering between his fingers, elegant in his dressing gown but ill at ease. "Hello, Jamie."
"Evening, tai-pan." Both girls bowed with great deference, McFay quite unaware that almost everything about Malcolm Struan--as well as himself and most gai-jin--was common knowledge and the subject of constant and avid Yoshiwara gossip, his enormous wealth, that he had recently become tai-pan, the circumstances of his wound and now impending marriage. "This's Shizuka, she'll stay with you. The servant'll arrive just before dawn, everything as I told you. I'll knock first. She may be a bit shy but, well, no problem.
This's my musume, Nemi. I, er, I thought it best, the first time, to bring her along to make things easier."
Both girls bowed again. "Heya, Tai-pan," Nemi said in complete control, delighted to meet him and confident with her choice, "Shizuka sister my, good musume, heya!"
She nodded vigorously and gave Shizuka a little push. The girl went over to him, hesitantly, knelt and bowed again.
"I'll be in my rooms if you need me."
"Thanks, Jamie."
McFay closed the door quietly, went further down the corridor. His suite was tidy, masculine and comfortable. Three rooms, sitting room, bedroom, spare bedroom, all with fireplaces, and a bathroom. On the sideboard were cold cuts, fresh bread and her favorite, a freshly baked apple pie, the apples imported from Shanghai. Sak`e in a container of hot water, and Loch Vey whisky from Struan's own distillery that she adored.
The moment the door was bolted she stood on tiptoe and kissed him hungrily. "No see six day, first bed-u then ba'f!" she said, reversing the usual order. His heart picked up a beat though he was in no hurry.
She took him by the hand, led him into the bedroom and half pushed him onto the bed, knelt to pull off his boots and began to undress him, all the time chattering in her half-comprehensible pidgin, telling him that the Yoshiwara was a buzz with business, the Floating World prosperous, not to worry about Shizuka, she was expensive but the best, and what was this they hear about war and please we do not want war, just business, and I have a new kimono with lucky carp all over it that was, well, a little expensive, "but ichiban, Jami-san, you-ah 'rike veri. Bed-u!"
Obediently he got into the four-poster. The night was perfect, neither hot nor cool. She untied her obi, let the kimono fall, then her under-kimono and slip. Quite naked, completely without guilt or shame about nudity like all musume--one of the many characteristics that set them apart, and one that McFay and all gai-jin found so astounding and enviable--she took the pins from her hair, shook it and let it fall to her waist and marched triumphantly to the bathroom and the first delight of the evening.
She sat on the toilet and reached up for the handle to the chain of the water closet and pulled. The water roared down into the porcelain bowl and, as always, she clapped her hands with glee.
The first time she had seen it she had not believed it. "Where wat'er go?"' she asked suspiciously. He had explained and drawn pictures but she still would not believe him until he had shown her the pipes and taken her into the garden where the manhole cover of the septic tank was--all pipes, water tanks, boilers, toilet bowls, hand basins, sinks, taps and the three baths imported from England, Hong Kong and Shanghai where many pieces were beginning to be manufactured for the vast Indian and Asian markets.
She had begged him to allow her to show her friends.
Proudly he had agreed because this was the first such installation in all Japan, to Sir William's chagrin and Norbert Greyforth's fury, and now the pattern of the dozen or so working and nonworking copies, though not all with hot and cold water: nothing but the best and most modern, therefore British, for Struan's.
So guided tours of the privileged few to examine the Jami-san cleansing room became one of the most sought-after sights of gai-jin Yokohama, the chattering musume like so many exotic birds, bowing and sucking in their breaths and pulling the chain to gasps of wonder and applause.
Nemi washed her hands. With a contented sigh, she slipped under the sheets beside him.
Phillip Tyrer was spent and almost asleep.
Fujiko bore his weight comfortably, then began to ease away.
"Iy`e, matsu," No, don't move ... wait, he murmured.
"I just want to fetch a towel, Taira-san. Towel, do you understand?"
"Ah, ah yes. Understand towel. You stay I get..."
"Oh no, I would lose face, it is my duty. Let me go, please... now do not be difficult or naughty."
She chuckled as he nuzzled her and held on but she was deft and knew her craft well and waited. Now the small room was peaceful.
Outside the night was fair. Wind rustled the trees and bushes. A few drafts from around the sliding windows, not yet cold or unpleasant.
Flickering oil lamp.
In a moment she slid away without disturbing his tranquility and went to the little bathroom with its high wooden tub, filled to the brim with hot water, which was on a wooden grill to allow the water to flow away when the bung was pulled out.
Scented soap and chamber pot and fresh towels.
Quickly she used a damp towel and dried herself.
When she came back she brought a hot towel, sponged him then dried him. All the while his eyes were tightly closed and he was near moaning with pleasure, at the same time embarrassed that she was doing it for him, not he for her. "Ah, Fujiko-chan, you are wonderful."
"No, it is my pleasure," she said, long over her wonder and embarrassment at the strange habits of the foreigners: that they rarely bathed, were usually consumed with shame and guilt over pillow pleasures, were astoundingly possessive and usually furious that she had other clients-- stupid, what were they but clients?--or turning away, blushing, when she was undressing for their enjoyment, or covering themselves when only half naked, preferring to fornicate in the dark when everyone knew much of the thrill was to see, examine and observe, or were embarrassed purple when she attempted normal variations to prevent boredom and to prolong and increase Moments with the gods--the time of the Clouds and the Rain.