She lit me with her love, and lined me with the words, I love you only. Indeed, her love was life itself, and brightly did I shine by it.
I watched the people come and go in fine kimonos, paper lanterns in their hands, smiling from ear to ear, like the good god Ebisu. How happy they looked! Some rode in boats while others danced upon the shore. Some beat on drums while others played the shamisen. They seemed to be celebrating something. But what?
It dawned on me. Of course, they were celebrating my birthday! So I burned brighter, much brighter than before. Of all the paper lanterns out that night, my light was the most handsome, and the most mysterious also. Everywhere I went the people smiled to see me, recalling lost days of youth; and in my light did even ordinary words become imbued with deeper meaning. Ah, how wonderful is the light of love!
She sat in a boat and gazed at the Moon.
“The light of this lantern has more meaning than you,” she murmured.
“Any light can have meaning in the dark,” said the Moon with a frown, and she hid herself behind a cloud of grey mist.
“I wonder,” laughed the Waves as they rolled in the sea. But what did they know? They are such fickle things.
“The first time I saw him was in Ueno Park,” she said, looking down at me. “He was with some foreigners who had come to watch the cherry blossoms fall. But he was not watching the cherry blossoms fall. His eyes were closed. And as I watched him, I wondered, ‘What is he thinking about? And why does he look so weary, as if he has no desire to watch the blossoms?’ I pondered this until I had forgotten all about the cherry blossoms, until I was looking only at him. And when he passed me, I said to him, ‘Today I found something more interesting to watch than the cherry blossoms’; and he turned and looked at me strangely.”
As she spoke, she paid no heed to the beautiful boats all covered with flowers, nor to the festive music that was filling the air.
She watched only me.
“One night,” she went on remembering, “he came to the teahouse with his friends. And like before, he seemed to have eyes for nothing. How curious, I thought, and sang to him my very best song. Then, when his face brightened, I knew that he loved me.”
Whether she had said this to make me jealous, I cannot say. All that I know is that true love takes no joy in jealousy.
“He came to the teahouse now and then. And whenever he heard me flirting with the other customers, his face would darken. Yet he never once looked at me. Had he taken one look, he would have seen everything. But then he was a strange man. How else to describe him? There are many strange men in this world . . .
“I dropped a violet at his feet.1 He took no notice of it. Then, when his friends called me over, I declined, saying that I had another customer. I was lying, of course. But he had ignored me. Later, I heard him say that if he could not find work, he would have to return to his own country. As I came near, he turned to me and said, ‘I may be going home, but my happiness will remain here.’ Still, he did not look at me. Why?
“Little lantern, little lantern, you see that boat over there? The man I told you about is on it now. He is waiting for my answer. You must tell him everything!”
She turned to her boatman.
“Good sir,” she begged him, “pray pull up to that boat full of foreigners. I should like to give one of them this lantern.”
So we came to the boat, and with trembling hands, she relinquished me to someone on board, saying, “Give this to him.”
“To me?” said a pale-faced man.
“To thee,” she smiled, and ordered her boatman to steer her away.
The man brought me close, hiding his face from the others.
“Little lantern, little lantern” he whispered, “what did she ask you to tell me?”
“My light,” I said proudly, “is lit by her love, and has more meaning than the light of the Moon. She has asked me to tell you that she loves me only.”
“I see,” said the man. “So it’s you that she loves. So she loves the light only, and only what is bright. And to her, the near light of a paper lantern has more meaning than the distant light of the cloud-covered Moon.”
I felt his tears on my flame, and nearly extinguish it. But a moment later, I was burning as brightly as before. Surely the light of love cannot be extinguished by tears alone!
She sat in her boat and gazed at the Moon.
The boat full of foreigners pulled up beside her.
“How heartless!” they shouted, and threw me in her face.
“No,” said the man. “I should thank you for your honesty.” And he ordered his boatman to take him to the big ship that was about to depart for a faraway land.
She leaned over and wept.
Oh, why did she weep?
“Alas! It’s over. He loves me not,” she sobbed into the water. “My violet meant nothing to him. But then why did his face darken when I flirted with the others? And why did it brighten when I sang to him my songs? And why did he ask me to give him an answer? Did he toy with me only because I am a geisha?”
“I wonder,” laughed the Waves as they rolled in the sea.
But she did not hear them. She only wept.
Oh, why did she weep? I was lit by her love, was I not?
“Pray,” said the boatman to another who was just then returning from the big ship, “was there a blind man on your boat?”
She looked up. “What! Where?”
“There,” said the boatmen, pointing to the ship.
I felt myself being thrust into the night.
“He was blind?” she exclaimed, raising me higher. “He was blind?”