Bouquets of Umbrellas

Part 1

The small, fake giggles of courtesans and the cheerful music of nearby brothels began to increase in volume as the sun set, signaling the beginning of another night of business.

Soon the sounds of drunk men flinging bottles of liquor and accessories of the geishas will mix in. Maybe the resonance of fireworks will be heard today.

Once again, I will sit behind the wooden bars, on display like an emotionless yet beautiful doll.

Once again, I am not a human, just a tool for satisfaction.

Once again, I realize that there is a price on my body and that I have no choice but to let myself be sold.

It is a rainy night in Yoshiwara. Another sad sigh escapes my lips as bouquets of umbrellas blossom outside.

My sister concubines shuffle restlessly on either side of me. The night has just begun yet we were already weary. There is little to no communication between us. Before we can face each other, we lament the fact that we are here every night. However, once we come to terms that yes, this is sadly our fate, we talk quietly, make jokes, and share gossip and news.

Men that come to red- light districts such as Yoshiwara are often rich, powerful figures. They carry news of a society and of people that live outside these walls, away from the dark, caged- in quarters I must call 'home'.

Suddenly a scream is heard. I turn my head towards it. A 'caretaker' hit one of us, she is not poised in a way that was acceptable to him. I pray for her, getting beat like an animal is painful on the body and on the mind.

However, I am grateful that it isn't me.

The brothel I am kept in is not the biggest in the district, but a good number of clients come in every night. Enough to make all of us feel that we are the lowest kinds of people in the world, the filth and the outcasts.

I've been entrapped here for roughly 15 years, I am a young lady of 22.

When I arrived, my first thought was that this place was a boarding school of sorts. Perhaps my parents sent me away to create a better future for me. I was scared, confused and upset but I told myself that they would come visit me. In a few days maybe. Yes, they would come get me soon.

A few days became a few weeks and then a few years. Here I am still, over a decade later. I haven't heard or seen anyone from my family at all.

And so, I grew up here, in the midst of rough men telling me what to do, amongst sophisticated yet miserably beautiful women and men.

My first few years here I was given decent quality clothing and ran errands. Cleaning the floor, sweeping, and assisting the older women get into gorgeous attire. I was slightly envious of the robes they donned for a time in my childhood. I know better now.

Throughout my teenage years, I was taught how to read and write and was always presented and educated on poetry and literature that was popular in Japan. I was also instructed on how to play the shamisen, how to preform various dances, how to play games, as well as the many methods to prepare and serve various types of tea.

Yoshiwara was a walled city with one entrance, and the exterior designs of buildings were minimalistic. It hid the unfair and insatiable undercover culture of this pleasure and entertainment district very well.

When I was roughly 14, I was exposed to the nature of work here. I was sheltered as a child; from how it was presented to me, I was fooled into thinking this was a place of "honest" business, a place where people would request private dancing shows or a partner to play a game and have tea with. I never got any insight of what was happening. All to preserve my innocence, for that sells in large.