text: The firewalking grounds were surrounded by a rice-straw rope decorated with straw wisps and paper streamers. Expectant spectators, hoping for the benefit of the ritual, surrounded the flimsy yet powerful barrier. In the middle of the rectangle was a pile of wood and brush. Additional wood was piled nearby. The yamabushi were dressed in their best, and they had stationed themselves self-importantly in the various appropriate positions. The ritual was long and complicated. Prayers were said. A large conch trumpet was blown. One yamabushi shot arrows at the four directions. Others blew water and waved sprigs of an evergreen bush.
  
  The pile of brush was lit, and bright flames leaped forth. The yamabushi chant rose in volume. The pillar of flame grew and then gradually died down. Eventually only a pile of glowing coals remained. Some of the yamabushi spread the coals more evenly using long green branches.
  
  Hachibei rose and stepped out of his wooden pattens. Satsuki, kneeling on her grass mat in the crowd of other yamabushi, could see only his broad back. From the set of his shoulders she could see that he was calm, unconcerned. Before him the coals glowed with a ruddy light, a twinkling field some thirty feet long. He stepped forward unhurriedly, placing his feet deliberately. Without pause he strode out on to the coals and across them. Satsuki could not see his face, but there was no indication that he even felt the glowing heat under the soles of his feet. Tsuneyoshi rose next. He spared a single glance at Satsuki, whether out of concern for her or for the ritual she could not tell. He strode quickly across the orange sea, and another rose to follow him. A drum was playing all the while, and the beat entered Satsuki's blood, bringing an almost painful feel of expectation.
  
  "Do not be afraid!" Midori whispered beside her. "Trust in Amidanyorai and no harm will come to you."
  
  Satsuki looked at the brown-haired girl in surprise "Afraid?" she repeated wonderingly. "No, of course I'm not afraid. I am concerned, of course..."
  
  Midori patted her knee reassuringly.
  
  "It is a serious problem," continued Satsuki. "I have no idea how to act, and that is most distressing. Perhaps you could give me some advice, as I see you have gone through all this before?"
  
  Midori nodded. The other two women craned their heads as they noticed the whispered conversation.
  
  "It's this robe. It's hardly the correct color for the flames, and what is worse, our feet will undoubtedly be blackened from the ash. How then can we avoid exposing our shins unseemingly while protecting the hems of our gowns?"
  
  Midori's brows creased in thought, while the other two trollops giggled at the inanity of the city girl's question. It was a holy thing they were to do—what matter if their shins were seen?
  
  "Osatsuki, I am afraid it does not matter," Midori said gently. "In case you don't know, many men will see more than our shins after the ritual is over..."
  
  "Of course. I realize that," countered Satsuki. "However, it is so inelegant and vulgar to be exposed in this fashion. I cannot recall a single poem or precept from the past that could help us."
  
  "You can read!" gasped one of the other girls.
  
  "Of course, my dear. Can't everyone?" Satsuki asked in surprise.
  
  Midori shook her head "Truly you are different than us. I am afraid I have no suggestion for your important question"—a smile curved her lips momentarily—"other than to hold up your skirts."
  
  Satsuki considered the suggestion gravely for a moment, then pursed her lips. There must be some solution to the problem, she knew, but unfortunately, she could not think of a single precedent.
  
  Midori rose and urged her to her feet. It was time for them to cross the sea of redly glowing coals. She had little time to consider elegance but would have to act forthrightly. One of the girls before her reached the coals and started walking. She hopped a little as the heat touched her. Satsuki waited for the signal to start, not wishing to crowd those before her. She watched Midori step onto the fire. Her eyes were almost closed, her face composed, and there was no sign that she was walking across glowing coals.
  
  Satsuki stepped forward. Fingers of one hand unconsciously looped a fold of her robe and raised it slightly. With her other hand she lowered the collar down her back so as to provide some coolness and also, she admitted ruefully to herself, to distract the onlookers. With stately steps she trod across the red expanse, taking great care to lift and drop her skirts in rhythm with her walking. Her progress took on some of the aspects of a stately dance. In consequence of her actions her walk took twice as long as anyone else's. She glided across the expanse, taking great pains to maintain her posture. She was conscious of the eyes upon her, of the fact that she was alone on the expanse of coals, but her attention was wholly focused on taking the proper steps, on preserving her essential dignity and propriety.
  
  Midori and Tsuneyoshi were waiting at the other side.
  
  "You took twice as much time as anyone else," Tsuneyoshi said gruffly. He looked at her feet. Only the soles were blackened by charcoal. The arch and toes were perfectly clean. He touched his lips with a moist tongue, but his face was inscrutable as he turned away.
  
  "You were wonderful!" Midori stroked her arm lightly. "Such a stately walk! Such elegance!" Admiration shone in her eyes.
  
  Satsuki bowed deeply in gratitude. "Really, it was nothing," she said.
  
  A stout man dressed in a grey silk kimono, a short sword thrust through his sash, was watching the two women closely. At the other end of the enclosure an opening was made, and penitents streamed through, controlled by a yamabushi elder, to pass over the dark ashy bridge of coals.
  
  Midori looked at them. "They will purify their sins and be ready for Amida," she said in response to Satsuki's unasked question. "We go first—we are yamabushi and can show them the way. But it is our duty to bring them closer to Amida." They turned to leave. "Well, back to work. My feet do hurt a bit—don't yours?" Midori asked ingenuously.
  
  "No—should they?" responded Satsuki. "I would have thought that with your experience..."
  
  "It always hurts a bit, at least. Sometimes one gets burned seriously. I think my faith is not all it should be..."
  
  "Oh, no, my dear. I am sure it is quite adequate. However, you really should maintain greater decorum. After all, we are on display, and propriety must be observed."
  
  Satsuki and Midori collected their goza mats from the pile of their belongings and headed for their enclosures. A small line of men, mostly young, had gathered there in anticipation.
  
  "Well, at least we don't have to work on our feet," commented Midori.
  
  Satsuki turned to her, shocked. "But of course you sometimes have to stand. How otherwise will your men get their full pleasure?"
  
  Midori was still digesting this surprising bit of information, when they were stopped by Tsuneyoshi. He was accompanied by the stout, richly clad gentleman who had observed them earlier.
  
  "This is the head of the festival committee, Yamamura Jichisai. He has observed you throughout the ceremony. He will engage your services until we leave." He bowed to Yamamura and strode rapidly away.
  
  Yamamura bowed to the two girls. They studied him gravely from lowered eyes. He was not an ill-favored man. He looked bulky and prosperous. His topknot was tinged with grey. His robe was plain but of silk, not cotton.
  
  "I wish to have a small party to thank the other two members of the committee for their help in the successful completion of the festival. I would be grateful for your assistance. Please follow me."
  
  Midori giggled as they followed Yamamura and said in a low voice, "I do believe your sendatsu cares for you. In the secular world he would no doubt keep you for himself."
  
  Satsuki considered the remark gravely. It was true that Tsuneyoshi seemed preoccupied with some problem whenever he came up to her, but she was not sure it was her person that concerned him so.
  
  They came to an elaborate house set in a formal garden. He conveyed them into a set of rooms near a bath.
  
  "Please make yourselves comfortable. The men will be here soon, but there is time to prepare."
  
  He left them, and the two women started making themselves ready for the party. There was a table of expensive cosmetics, which Satsuki used after her quick bath. Midori was at a loss in her new surroundings. Swiftly, Satsuki took charge and helped her friend prepare her face and hair. When Midori could at last look into the polished silver mirror, she gasped with delight. Her face had been powdered lightly, her eyebrows darkened and straightened, her lips painted a bright rose. Her hair rose above her head in the newly fashionable style of Miyako, only slightly less elaborate than Satsuki's own.
  
  Satsuki looked on her handiwork critically. "I am sorry my work is so poor. I am afraid I am terrible at it. Please accept this—it will compensate for my clumsiness." She tucked an elaborate hairpin enamelled with azaleas in varying colors into Midori's hair. It complemented the glossy brown hair magnificently.
  
  Midori was speechstruck. She looked from her own image to Satsuki, then back again. "Oh, no, Lady Osatsuki," she said spontaneously. "No one has ever made this of me. I am ever so grateful to you." She knelt at Satsuki's feet with tears in her eyes.
  
  Satsuki raised her and patted her arms. "No, dear Midori. You have been extremely kind to me, showing me how to behave among the yamabushi. You should not address me formally. We should be sisters to each other."
  
  Midori nodded fiercely and embraced Satsuki. "You shall be elder then. I will take instruction from you."
  
  Satsuki kissed her lips lightly. "When we get back to Miyako, it will be most wonderful. This wandering life is interesting, but I so much want to show you real elegance."
  
  The banquet room had been well set by servants. Considering the rustic environment, Satsuki thought they had done rather well. The flower arrangement she decided was rather vulgar and overblown, and the matting underfoot was coarse, but the dishes had a charming simplicity about them that catered to senses jaded by capital overrefinement. She remembered some of her erstwhile peers, noble kuge who would benefit from these surroundings. She herself, when she had lived her life as the second wife of an imperial courtier in the enclosed kuge quarter of Miyako, had had no idea that esthetic pleasure could be derived from anything so countrified.
  
  She and Midori entertained the guests, poured their wine, offered them food. Yamamura looked well pleased at the success of his party. Satsuki rose and sang, and Midori displayed a heretofore hidden talent on the fue side flute. Satsuki studied the men covertly as she engaged them brightly in conversation, sprinkling her talk with fascinating anecdotes from Miyako, a place none of them had been to. Ando, a tall, cadaverous farmer, would be pleased with the simplest of pleasures. Batto, apparently called that because of his long horsey nose, seemed like one who would be open to elaborations. He was a minor merchant, selling agricultural produce to middlemen from the city. He had some pretensions to being a doctor, having descended from an impoverished samurai family (or so he told her), and thus considered himself a man of culture.
  
  As the men drank more, they began to feel freer with Satsuki's and Midori's persons. Controlling the flow of the party, Satsuki at first discouraged intimacies and signalled Midori to do the same. She slapped Ando's hands away when he slid them up her leg, and delicately extricated herself when Batto slipped a hand into the neckline of her robe.
  
  With deliberate indifference she teased the men more and more, gradually allowing them more liberties. Confused at first, later enjoying the game, Midori followed her lead.
  
  They played a finger game, and Satsuki purposely lost a forfeit. When she giggled and refused to pay—she did not care to sing a song designed for the male voice—Yamamura caught her wrist. This time she did not resist as he bore her back onto the seating cushions. His hand slipped into the bosom of her robe. Thick fingers rolled her sensitive nipples and pressed them into the full flesh of her tits. She smiled at his face to encourage him, and he bent forward and nuzzled her neck. She shivered with the feel, and her hand stroked his newly shaven pate as the tip of his tongue travelled down her shoulder, pushing off her loosely held robe. She peered over his shoulder as his mouth finally fastened on one of her prominent nipples.
  
  Midori was well occupied, she could see. Batto had opened her robe, and her pear-shaped breasts were being subjected to a greedy sucking. He would squeeze one while sucking ravenously at the other, then reverse the positions of his hand and mouth. Ando, as Satsuki had expected, was less of a lover. His robe was open, and he squatted between Midori's parted legs. Her knees were slightly raised to afford him a delicious view of her pink slit. But he was holding his stiff prick before him and was in the process of shaking it erect. Without further ado he pushed forward, forcing it between her lips and rubbing his pole on her soft tongue.
  
  Resigned, Midori closed her eyes, merely encouraging Batto by scratching at his back and arms.
  
  Satsuki returned to her own affairs. She slowly guided Yamamura down the length of her body. His lips slipped down the pleasantly padded length of her ribcage. Her wide obi sash was in the way of her pleasure and rather than have him take it off in discomfort, she guided him back up again until his lips whispered at her ear. She twisted her torso skillfully aside, then raised herself slightly to afford him a better view. Bending forward from the hips she loosened the intricate knot at her back, then leaned aside. Knowingly he loosened the sash with one arm.
  
  Satsuki found the sound of silk slithering as it opened to his access stimulating. She shivered involuntarily, and he chuckled in a low voice. The knot was untied, and he pulled at the fabric. She aided the movement unobtrusively, and again the sound of silk slithering off her body brought great pleasure to both. She twisted back and leaned forward so that her nipples peeked out of the robe. He admired them for a while, and just at the right moment, before he became satiated by the view, she lay back on the cushion, one knee artfully raised. He moistened his mouth with sake, then leaned forward and laved her nipple with the liquid. The liquor stung pleasantly, and she arched her body. His fingers wandered downwards until they encountered her perfumed bush. He dug deeply into her cunt; then another finger wandered to the tiny starfish of her anus. She poured some sake into her palm and wet the bush, which he sniffed appreciatively. At the same time she began opening his robe.
  
  Now the stimulation of Satsuki's movements had become too much for Yamamura. He rolled over her and shoved his prick deep into the waiting cunt. Though surprised at his sudden boorishness, Satsuki knew that it was her duty to please him as well as she could. She raised her hips in perfect counterpoint to his. He breathed heavily now, his face screwed into an expression almost of pain. He bit her neck, her nipples, her mouth. His hands went around her buttocks, squeezing her to him. She helped him with measured pressure from her cunt and thighs. As his climax approached, she raised her knees and pummelled the backs of his calves with her heels.
  
  She glanced again at Midori. Batto had replaced Ando, who was sitting cross-legged watching his friend at work. The horsey-faced man was bucking over Midori in a lively manner. Unlike his predecessor, he was aware of his companion. He would stop every once in a while to regard his handiwork, admiring Midori's pointed breasts or withdrawing completely to examine the fine brown hair of her pussy, now streaked with the froth of his movement. Midori appeared to be enjoying him, as well. Audible gasps came from her mouth as he moved deeply into her. Her eyes were closed, and a bead of sweat (inelegant but appropriate, Satsuki thought) lay on her upper lip.
  
  The two men climaxed simultaneously. Yamamura gave a low growl and stiffened, and his thick tube hosed Satsuki's insides with a flood of sticky come. Batto wriggled on Midori like an eel, muttered something incomprehensible, and collapsed on her breasts.
  
  After lying there for a while to allow the men to get their breath back, Satsuki sat up. Discreetly she wiped the insides of her thighs with the tissue paper in her sleeve. She frowned at Midori, who was about to cover herself up inelegantly with the hem of her robe. Smiling, Satsuki poured cups of sake for the men and withdrew to repair her toilet, motioning Midori to follow. They would return to perform some more once Satsuki thought them presentable.
  
  "We could have had them again," Midori protested when they were alone.
  
  "Darling Midori, of course we could have. But what elegance could there be in that? They can have village girls any time they like and futter them like pigs in the gutter to their hearts' content. No. You and I, we present them with elegance. We play on their senses, we tease them while not appearing to do so. We must never wear out their desire for us, never offer them enough. I would not do it this way for a city gentleman, of course. But each type of man must have what he is least familiar with. In a while we will return again, offer them some drink, talk some more, entertain them, and before they know it, they'll be in us again. Darling, you must trust me."
  
  "Of course, Elder Sister." Midori smiled in acquiescence. "Though I do wish Mr. Batto had not finished so soon. I was just about to..."
  
  "Yes, I know, dear. I was watching you. I am sure we can get them to have you again. And if not..." Satsuki smiled and then leaned forward mischievously. Before Midori could react, she found her skirts raised and Satsuki's skillful mouth applied to her newly washed lips. There was flick of a knowing and loving tongue—and Satsuki withdrew.
  
  "You do have the softest and most beautiful lower hair I have known," she said conversationally. They checked their appearance for the last time.