Mistress Oriku. Matsutaro Kawaguchi

from Osaka—let’s eat them together.”

      Danshirō, too, had been formed by the Yoshiwara, and they understood each other so well that he eagerly urged her to come home with him. His wife, however, who had the respect of everyone in the acting profession, would not stand for any nonsense, and Oriku could only wonder what trouble she might get herself into if she nonchalantly turned up with him when he returned from Osaka.

      “All right, but I have somewhere else to go first. I’ll just get my little errand done, and I’ll be over after that.”

      “I see. Don’t disappoint me, though! I’ll be expecting you. We’ll have lunch together. I’m sure Okoto will be glad to see you, too.”

      On that light, friendly note Danshirō set off down the path behind Kannon’s main hall, surrounded by his manager and disciples.

      Okoto, Danshirō’s wife, was a Yoshiwara brothel owner’s daughter. She declared when she married him, “When an actor’s short of money he goes downhill. I’ll go into business just to make sure you can take time off whenever you feel like it.” So this sage wife, more than a match for any man, borrowed money from her parents, set up a brothel, and gave Danshirō the freedom to master his art fully.

      Danshirō might be endlessly good-natured, but his eagle-eyed wife was a different matter. Oriku first returned to Mukōjima and had Shūsaku get things ready. Then she set out again, carrying a gift of shigure clams.

      “Where are you going?” Shūsaku asked suspiciously.

      “I’m off to have a talk with Ichikawa Danshirō.” Oriku was frank about it. “Whatever happens to you, your father is the head of a school. Rather than attach yourself to some half-baked teacher somewhere, I think you’d be far better off as the disciple of a real master like Danshirō. It could get quite tricky if you were to approach either Fujima or Hanayanagi.”

      “That’s true enough, but would Danshirō teach me?”

      “We’ll just have to see. If he won’t, I’ll have to think about it some more.”

      “I wouldn’t mind becoming an actor, if he wanted me to.”

      Oriku shook her head. “No, I’m afraid you’re too old for that.” Childhood training was essential for actors, and by the time he was sixteen or seventeen an untrained boy was seen as having no possible future.

      “I want you to walk to Senzokuchō, Shūsaku. I’ll take a rickshaw. Try to reach the door of the house about the time Danshirō and I have finished talking it over. You know the place, don’t you?”

      “Yes—it’s right there at the corner of Ennosuke Lane.”

      Ennosuke, Danshirō’s former professional name, had come to identify the lane on which he lived. Even today a memorial stone stands there to mark the spot.

      Danshirō and Okoto were both expecting Oriku when she arrived.

      “Why didn’t you come straight here with my husband?” Okoto asked. “Lunch is ready. We’ve been waiting for you.”

      In the best of moods, she had lunch served in the room next to the kitchen, just as though Oriku had been one of the family. Hers was the warmth of an old denizen of the Yoshiwara.

      “Before we eat,” Oriku said, sitting up very straight, “I have a request.”

      “My husband is a great fan of yours, Oriku, and I’m sure he’ll happily do whatever you ask.” Okoto was all smiles.

      Having no intention in any case of keeping anything from her, Oriku touched on the situation in Mitsunojō’s family and went straight to her request that Danshirō teach dancing to the now-homeless Shūsaku.

      “But I’m an actor, not a dance teacher,” Danshirō replied gravely.

      “So there would be nothing wrong with your accepting him as a student of acting. He would of course run errands for you, and I hope you would take him with you and teach him when you perform.”

      “If he’s to be an actor I don’t mind, but if he’s going to be a dance teacher, then it’s out of the question.”

      “Isn’t that up to him, though? As long as he keeps his mind on learning, it will be far better for him if he stays with you, instead of going off to some half-baked dance teacher.”

      “She’s right, you know,” Okoto put in. “There are hardly any teachers left who really teach. You could at least meet him. Mistress Oriku does so much to keep us going, you could for once do as she asks.”

      “All right, I’ll have a look at him. Bring him around sometime.” Danshirō still looked bothered.

      “I’ve asked him to wait at the gate. I’ll have him come in right away.”

      “Dear me, you leave nothing to chance, do you?” He smiled wryly.

      Oriku brought Shūsaku in. Sitting there in his most formal posture, he looked very sweet.

      “What a nice boy!” Okoto exclaimed.