When Selfer first set her up here, he had told her this or that important person might want her dressing up geisha, some of them being in Asia too long and going native. You never knew what they might want. So they had all the props here in a footlocker. They even had the opium, fancy pipe and all.

Who knew that this Japanese goon would have geisha as his angle? She had showed the getup to him, and he put it on with little help from her. He had her rub his feet before slipping his toes into his geisha zori, and his face started to scrunch up with an anticipation of desire, and she was starting to worry a little about what came next.

As it turned out, the man’s needs were simple. She was to sit on the floor cross-legged and watch him please himself in his geisha getup. Which was a relief to her, plenty lolo though it was, he in his makeup while dipping his fingers into the folds of that kimono and pulling it out. She did her best not to laugh. The wig fell off as he bobbed up and down, and he let it fall and she saw his shaved head had a bump or two that weren’t natural. That kept her from laughing for good. So too did his wide jaw, his scar tissue for cheeks, the fat lips, and those steel eyes. His grimace seemed to be daring her to laugh, at which point who knew what manner of blow or weapon would find her. So she kept her face a curiously sensual mask.

You like geisha, Tojo? I’ll watch you be geisha. Then you give me the gold.

She had to get to the gold before Frankie. Who cared what he did after?

The Japanese goon uttered a soft honk, which sounded like a nēnē bird, and this almost sparked a laugh from her belly, but she choked it back down by clearing her throat. To keep any laughs away she thought of a dead nēnē she’d seen on one of the camp paths, just a baby male with little black head and bill and legs and feet. Poor thing. And so rare now, what with the haoles and Asians bringing so many predators to the islands for so long. Some unlucky nēnēs couldn’t fly properly. It must have been lost up here in the forest. She then thought of its mother looking for it all day and night. So, she ended up setting it alongside the path in case her makuahine was still looking. The next day she returned and found it still there—but gone to heaven. She buried it just among the trees, wondering how many sentries or staffers or important visitors strolled on by it without even a care. They could all go to hell.

“Ohhhh,” the geisha man grunted in conclusion.