Chapter 6: Loneliness

April of 1620/Kisaragi of Genna 6

Ranmaru maintained his best fake smile as Akado Tousui recited his so-called poetry. The tall and lanky young samurai had little grasp of effective metaphors, and wrote about the same subject matter every time: the various men he’d met and fallen for. It wasn’t that Ranmaru had anything against that subject, but Akado fell back on the same metaphors for masculine beauty in nearly every poem, and made sure to visit Ranmaru with at least an hour's worth of work once a month.

Luckily, courtesans learned to give very convincing fake smiles, and Tousui was convinced Ranmaru was enjoying every minute while lazing on the cushions that decorated the opulent Yoshiwara lodgings. Once enough time had passed that Tousui wouldn’t be too upset with moving things forward, Ranmaru slunk across the room, his loose yukata, very unconventional for an Oiran, slipping from one shoulder as he placed a kiss onto Tousui’s neck.

“You’re getting better at your pacing and alliteration,” Ranmaru said, before kissing again, this time just below the young samurai’s jaw.

“You... you truly think so?” Tousui asked, struggling against his natural desire to turn as soft as mochi when Ranmaru kissed him.

“Definitely,” Ranmaru replied, now kissing Tousui on the lips. “Genuine progress.”

That was the threshold for the young man. There would be no further need to delicately discuss his poetry.

---

One of the other annoying things about Akado Tousui was his love of sleeping in. The sun was closer to noon than dawn by the time Ranmaru managed to get him out the door. After a quick bath, and quiet thanks that Akado didn’t ask him to be done up in the full makeup of an oiran, Ranmaru made his way up to Saki’s apartment, knowing she’d have a good amount of food ready. Saki and Fuji were also pleasant company, the only ones he could be properly open to in the cut throat environment of Yoshiwara.

He just did his best not to think about how quickly Fuji had adapted to that cut throat living.

“Finally got rid of him, did you?” the young woman in question said, before gobbling up an onigiri.

“I should just refuse him entry if he shows up any later than the dog hour,” Ranmaru replied, grabbing the large bowl of rice Saki had prepared for him.

“You’re much too soft on him,” Fuji quipped as he gobbled down the bowl.

“He’s just a gentle fool,” Ranka said, having eaten more than enough rice to return to her female form. “It’s hard to be cruel to him. Like refusing food to a puppy.”

“I do agree. He’s quite a kind young man,” Saki offered, nibbling on a bit of her own meal.

“You’re both too soft for your own good,” Fuji muttered, grabbing a bit of fish off the table. “He does tip well, though. I’ll accept that as being in his favour.”

Ranka rolled her eyes before grabbing a bit of fish herself. The conversation slowly drifted to the latest gossip Saki or Fuji had picked up. Saki had more, but Fuji always managed to get the spiciest information. Ranka listened intently, a little envious of how the other two were always able to get a better lead on the goings on from the other women and girls of the ‘house’. Ranka herself always found the others giving her lots of space. Whether it was driven by the masculinity of her transformations or the supernatural way in which they worked, she’d never been quite sure, but she’d given up on fitting in after her first two years.

A short while after they’d made their way through the food, though not all the gossip, there was a knock at the door. 

“Oh, do come in,” Saki announced.

A shinzou aged servant girl slid the door open. “The guard is ready for your trip to the local shrine.”

“Is it that late already?” Saki asked, hopping to her feet. “Oh no. I need to get ready.”

Preparations for going out, in a properly presentable way, took longer than Ranka enjoyed, especially as she couldn’t go for the wigs the others used and needed some of the shinzou girls to properly style her natural silver hair. With red markings on her cheeks giving the final touches, Ranka smiled in the mirror. So many in the area were convinced she was a kitsune, and she quite enjoyed the added interest that drew in, especially when she went out in full presentation mode. She didn’t exactly need an extra draw, with her ability to act as, quite possibly, the only male oiran in Japan, but she liked pulling in attention to her feminine side as well. Knowing that she could still make a living in a field where she actually had competition was nice.

Reaching the other two, their faces were predictable. Saki still didn’t think the makeup was appropriate, especially when visiting a shrine, while Fuji had helped come up with the idea. The guard, for his part, was stone faced and unreadable. 

“We should save your hair next time you have it cut, so you can get some wigs made the right colour and save us all some time,” Fuji chided.

“Well, you’re the one wasting time now,” Ranka replied, a sly grin on her face.

With the bickering out of the way, the three women headed off towards the local shrine, to give their weekly donations. 

It wasn’t a long walk, Yoshiwara was a compact neighbourhood, and half of it was still under construction. Arriving, the trio made their donations, Ranka’s particularly large due to the kindness Inari had shown her. She gave a bow to the black fox statue that helped Yoshiwara’s shrine stand out against the white kitsune generally associated with Inari, before turning to head off. She gave a smile to the priest, who always watched her from the main home of the shrine. Whether he disliked her or was simply shy, she’d yet to work out.

With the visit finished, it was time to return to the courtesans’ house by the same efficient route. Casual travel was growing more and more frowned upon, as the various brothels decided to make their oiran seem ever more above the common folk. The other women were starting to find the increasing stuffiness suffocating, and Ranka couldn’t blame them.

“Oh,” Saki said suddenly, as the pair walked past one of the shops that lined the main thoroughfare.

“Oh?” Fuji asked. 

She and Ranka both followed Saki’s eyes.

“That doll. It’s so cute,” Saki replied, a wistful tone sliding into her voice. 

Ranka turned her eyes back to Saki, and gave her a gentle smile. “Would you like me to take it out to her?”

Saki nodded, a soft ‘thank you’ escaping her lips. Ranka turned back to the doll, trying to memorise it, to ensure she’d buy the right one to smuggle out to Saki’s daughter. With the doll firmly in her memory, Ranka nudged the group along. The public was no place for Saki to tear up.

“I wonder why they would sell a doll somewhere like this anyhow,” Fuji said, attempting to sound dismissive of the doll that had broken her older sister’s composure.

“The young kamuro girls no doubt have interest,” their guard said, speaking for the first time on the path and making all three women jump a little. “Uh, that’s just my guess.”

“I suppose it makes sense,” Fuji said, raising her nose a bit to regain dignity.

Ranka held back giggling, having found the sight of Fuji showing honest surprise amusing. Delightfully, Saki seemed just as distracted by the event.

The rest of the walk was uneventful, and the three young women breathed a sigh of relief once they were firmly inside, past the parlour where patrons might mingle, and no longer on vigilance as representatives of their house. Ranka was quick to undress, or at least as quick as the numerous layers of an oiran allowed. She then grabbed a rice ball, swallowing it and shivering at the transformation.

Switching twice in a day was always tiring, and Ranmaru needed a full meal before he felt ready to go back out. Before heading off, though, he made sure to blacken his hair and adopt a simpler outfit akin to that of the guards. Shopping errands were not considered appropriate for an oiran, but neither he nor Saki wanted to risk sending out a shinzou girl and her returning with the wrong doll. 

Saki handed him enough money to easily cover the doll and he hurried out. While he doubted most Oiran would pamper their kamuro servant girls with such an expensive doll, he wasn’t going to waste time and risk it being gone. 

Arriving at the store, he let out a sigh of relief, spotting the doll still in the window and slipped in. After a little haggling the doll was his. Giving his thanks, he headed back out, taking a more gradual pace this time. He could tell it was getting too late in the afternoon to head out into Edo proper to deliver the doll, not if he wanted to return home in time to keep up his musical practice and poetry readings. The day to day work of an oiran wasn’t what most would call back breaking, but keeping on top of the latest poetry and staying in practice with the multiple instruments one was expected to have mastered was certainly time consuming. Still, tomorrow was another day, and he could head out much earlier, having not been up late the night before and being able to skip the elaborate preparations of presenting as an oiran.

Stepping back into the ageya, Ranmaru spotted one of the accountant girls tallying up a payment, and headed over to her.

“Any callers for my services while I was out?” he asked.

“No, no. Still a bit early, only had two customers total so far,” the accountant girl replied.

Ranmaru nodded, and mimed a bow with the little doll he was holding directed at the accountant girl. “Thank you. I just wanted to check.”

With that, he made his leave, heading up to Saki’s room. He lingered for a moment, enjoying the sound of her koto practice and waiting for her song to end. He considered it a crime that one with her musical talent was stuck merely at the level tsubone-joro, up on the second floor. Sure, she’d been a bit older than average when she started, and maybe she lacked the fire of a top level taiyu, but she was beautiful, talented, and kind.

At some point, during Ranmaru’s musings on how Saki deserved better, the sound of her koto had stopped. Shaking his head of thoughts, Ranmaru knocked on the door.

“Come in?”

Ranaru slid the door open a little and slipped in. “I’ve got the doll. It’s a little late to head out today, but I’ll go first thing in the morning tomorrow. Oh, and here’s the change.”

“I hope she’ll like it,” Saki said, as she took the few coins Ranmaru had handed over.

Ranmaru smiled. Saki’s daughter was only in her second year in the world. A child that young surely had little taste in toys yet, besides excitement about one being new. 

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Ranmaru said, placing the doll beside her. 

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With that, he left her alone for the evening, retreating to his own apartment to work on his own musical practice. 

---

Breakfast was much earlier the next day, with no customer to shoo away. The buckwheat porridge that formed the base of Ranmaru’s meal wasn’t his favourite, but it was filling and didn’t risk a transformation. 

He dressed a bit nicer than he had for yesterday’s outing, wanting to appear something closer to a merchant leaving after a night in Yoshiwara than a guard on an errand. Placing the doll in a pack, he gave a quick farewell to Saki and Fuji and set off.

With his hair black and his presentation masculine, the guards meant to keep the oiran and lower yujo in Yoshiwara paid him barely a second glance, and then he was out in the proper city. 

Much like Yoshiwara, Edo as a whole was akin to a grand construction site. Sitting between Edo Castle and the Sumida River, Yoshiwara sat nearly smack dab in the middle of the chaotic explosion of a city. He’d only arrived a little under five years ago, yet, between the constant construction and frequent small fires, he felt like he was in a new city nearly every time he slipped out from the usual confines of his life in Yoshiwara.

The other jarring thing, as he walked the streets of the real Edo was the sudden shift in the gender balance. Yoshiwara was awash with girls and young women, but the real Edo was a city of politicians, merchants, and samurai. So few men brought their wives, assuming they had one to begin with, that the balance on the streets was strikingly male dominated. It was no surprise that Yoshiwara’s girls were able to get such good business in such a city.

Slipping along unnoticed, just another man in the crowd, Ranmaru headed south west, to higher ground and nicer homes. The further he went, the more the grand part time estates of daimyo dotted the neighbourhood. His destination was none of those, however, but rather a tailor’s shop in a more crowded corner of Yamanote where servants of the wealthy residents who defined the landscape lived. 

Ranmaru stepped into the shop, and waited quietly to one side as the tailor handled an already present customer. It took a few minutes, but he was able to occupy himself by studying the fabrics for sale, noting one of two pattern styles he’d not seen yet in Yoshiwara, and a few more that had already gone out of fashion in the ever changing tastes of the pleasure district.

“Hello there, how can I... oh! Mei!” the tailor said, his service smile shifting to a warmer and more genuine expression part way.

“Hello, Mr. Shidate,” Ranmaru said with a small bow. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

He was glad to see the tailor was looking well, even as he was now firmly across the border into middle age.

“No, no, I’m free enough today. Is everything alright?”

“Everyone is fine. Saki merely wanted me to drop off a present for your daughter,” Ranmaru explained, pulling the doll out from his bag.

“Oh, what a lovely doll. Yes, she should be upstairs with my wife, if you want to deliver it in person,” Mr. Shidate replied.

“Ah, thank you,” Ranmaru said, bowing before heading behind the counter.

The staircase in the back was steep, but not exceptionally so. Above, he found Mrs. Shidate and little Hasu, the latter playing with some blocks while her adoptive mother watched on.

The small girl spotted Ranmaru as soon as he’d finished climbing the stairs, and watched him warily for a moment or two. Then she noticed the doll in his arms and lit up, and came running over.

“For me?” she asked, pointing to the doll.

“It is indeed,” Ranmaru replied, crouching down to hand it over. “A gift from auntie Saki.”

“Yay!” Hasu said, plucking the doll from his arms and ready to run off before an ‘ahem’ from Mrs. Shidate caused the girl to freeze. “Right! Thank you! Forgot.”

“You were excited, it’s no worry,” Ranmaru replied, before turning to Mrs. Shidate. “She’s certainly grown since I last saw her.”

“Mhm. Growing like a beanstalk,” Mrs Shidate replied, a similar warm smile to her husband spreading across her face. “You’d said Miss Hanamoto was tall, and she certainly seems to be taking after her.”

“Yes. Her and her sister both,” Ranmaru replied. “Their brother and father were too.”

“I want you to tell Miss Hanamoto that our offer for her to see Saki on her flower viewing day stays open. We remain in her debt, offering us a child when we’d given up... we don’t want to keep them apart any more than needed.”

Ranmaru returned the older woman’s smile. “I will pass the offer on, but I suspect Saki will refuse again. It’s not that she doesn’t want to see Hasu, but... she’s had too many goodbyes. Even if it’s just for a year...”

Mrs. Shidate nodded, eyes drifting over to Hasu for a few moments. The girl seemed determined to build a small house for her new doll out of various blocks and loose fabric trimmings. 

“Well, I should really head back,” Ranmaru said, breaking the peace of watching Hasu’s construction efforts. “There’s work to return to, and I don’t want to intrude for any longer.”

“There’s no need to worry. We’re always happy to have you visit, though,” Mrs. Shidate replied.

“You’re too kind,” Ranmaru said, as he headed down the stairs.

Reaching the main level of the store once again, he was glad to find Mr. Shidate alone, the tailor hard at work copying out an outfit design. When he looked in a spot that seemed interruptible without too much harm, Ranmaru cleared his throat.

“Oh, you’re back down. Did she like the doll?”

“She did indeed,” Ranmaru replied, his eyes drifting across the shop. “While I’m here, I was wondering if I could order a delivery? Some of your fabrics look quite new, and the one rather caught my eye. That red silk, in particular.”

“Oh yes. It’s a new design a weaver friend of mine had her girls try. If you pass it on to an oiran, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. Hard to get better advertising”

Discussion of the length needed followed, Ranmaru admitting he had not planned on shopping for silk and had barely a quarter of the money needed to purchase a kimono’s worth. Shidate dismissed the worry, happy to accept the majority of payment upon delivery from such a close friend. Ranmaru gave his thanks and headed out.

Walking home, he studied the buildings he passed, taking a slightly different route than the one that had brought him there. While he lacked the level of wealth required to own such opulent homes, he knew his life in Yoshiwara brought a level of material wealth few in the city could afford. He’d just bought himself new silks on impulse, of all things. 

Yet there was an emptiness in his heart. He wondered if the owners of the houses felt the same. Or the passing servants rushing about on errands. Was this just the ennui of existence so talked about by Buddhist monks? Or was it that he really wasn’t cut out for the monitored and ruthless life of Yoshiwara?

Pausing a moment, wavering on the impulse to head to his favourite fried tofu yattai to distract himself a little, Ranmaru heard a voice call out his name.

Turning, to follow the sound, he spotted Tousui hurrying his way.

“Mei Ranmaru, is that truly you?” the young samurai asked.

“It is,” Ranmaru replied, with slight hesitation.

“Ah, it’s just, with your hair blackened and the lack of makeup on your face, I was doubting myself. I should have known there was no other man to match your looks, though,” Tousui said.

“You flatter me,” Ranmaru replied, glad the flattery hadn’t yet turned to poetry.

“I... I hadn’t thought they let those in your... er, career path, exit into the wider city though?” Tousui asked, sliding into a conspiratorial whisper.

“They only check the women, so I can usually get out.”

Tousui looked confused a moment before the meaning registered. “You know, sometimes I forget how that is only sometimes true for you.”

“I’m not surprised. You rarely see me the other way around,” Ranmaru replied, doing his best not to laugh.

“Maybe I should make another attempt at it,” Tousui muttered, looking lost in thought for a few moments. “Ah, but now is not the time for that. I’m expected at the home of one of my father’s business partners... you’re not free currently, are you?”

Ranmaru raised an eyebrow at the sudden coyness in his client’s voice. “I’m never free, but I am available today. Why?”

Tousui blushed at the implication, before fumbling with his coin purse. “I... I somewhat fear the man I have to meet. My father wants me to try to handle negotiations, but...this man, he’s fought engagements at sea against pirates, and served in battles in Siam and other distant lands. He also knows so much of the world, speaking Portuguese and Spanish at least. I worry I’ll fold, and promise him whatever he asks for... but you! You’re as cultured, and have the fire of an oiran! I’ve heard that oiran can cow a veteran samurai with only words! I’ll gladly pay your usual fees for your support in this matter.”

Ranmaru blinked, a little surprised. “Not the request I expected, but... I think I could help.”

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