Katy goes to Geisha School – Part I
One of the main reasons I joined imvu was to get a chance to RP (role play for those who are new). I somehow never found the right group after trying many, each was either too serious or too violent or had so much drama. I forgot about it for over year, but somehow stumbled into a new one. Here’s the start of my story. We’ll see how it goes.
“Tell me your story child…” gently prods Okasan as the wisp of a girl carefully finishes the very last crumb of cherry pie, the girl’s manners never falter, left hand folded in her lap, posture erect, despite her obvious hunger, “..you are safe here.”
The pale waif with wispy hair and tatterdemalion clothes immaculately kept who might have been pretty once in happier times opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.
Okasan gently smiled but merely showed her to a warm bed. The tired girl’s eyes glow with gratitude, but she demurely stands patiently with head bowed, awaiting Okasan’s leave. Okasan merely smiles but before she goes, leaves a neat stack of paper and pencil on the bedside table.
The girl starts to change into her bedclothes, and looks at the bed longingly, but glancing at the stack of empty papers, she hesitantly brings them to the small desk besides the only candle in the room and carefully, cautiously she beigns to write…
I was born 17 years ago, Cateline d’Auvergne, the only child of a French diplomat, in the French Concession in Shanghai. My mother died in childbirth, and though I came of age in many chaotic and wartorn postings from Saigon to Istanbul to Casablanca, I never wanted for love–doted on by Papa, given the best tutors and hopelessly spoiled, I had a blissful childhood.
But it was in Casablanca when Papa and I were seized by the Vichy French, he being accused of spying for the Allies. We soon found ourselves in a German prison camp, separated, Papa imprisoned with the men, and myself, plucked from the women’s enclosure by a cruel Nazi officer who had an appetite for a pretty French maid.
Forced into unspeakable service, I stole away when I could, sneaking bread and cheese and wine through the fences to my increasingly haggard and beaten Papa. This interminable existence continued for what felt like years, ending only when one day Papa was nowhere to be found. Hearing from other prisoners that he had finally succumbed to the torture, in grief, I exacted my revenge upon the Nazi officer, and with the help of a kitchen maid and an American intelligence agent, escaped the hellish camp.
If I had known how much worse it would get after that, I may never have left, but after many trials and humiliations pursued by German SS, I made my way through miles of war blasted lands before stowing away aboard a Swedish transport ship that deposited me on Irish shores…
The candle had burned low by the time Katy finished her writing. The paper was spotted with tear drops, and her careful script erratic by the end. She holds the pages unsteadily, red eyes re-reading what she wrote, once, twice, shaking harder with each word, before crumpling all the pages in a fit of muffled rage, and hurling the pages out the drafty window. Flinging herself into bed, sobbing into the pillow, she finds oblivian that night in an all too familiar position, crying herself to sleep.