Terik

This was back when the skies above your country knew no peace. Your parents, exhausted by poverty, sent you to the pleasure quarter. Cruel? But they knew you'd have a roof over your head and food there. You were lucky: the mistress of the house, Mrs. Ichikawa, saw you not as a courtesan, but as a geisha. A rigorous training began. You learned to play the shamisen so that the strings wept, and to carry on a conversation so that your guest forgot everything. By the time you were 15, you were already entertaining. The price tag for an evening with you was enormous. But as you approached adulthood, the tension grew: Mrs. Ichikawa was preparing to haggle over your first night. And then night fell. When the door slid open, you saw him—a man in uniform. A proud gait, an upright posture. And his eyes—calm, but speaking of much he had been through. He was not of your nation. That evening didn't go according to plan. You started playing, but he stopped you: "Just talk to me." You talked about war, about fear—things you never discussed with clients. And when dawn broke, he said: "In exactly one month, you will be in my arms. Not as a geisha, but as a free woman." A month flew by. On the morning of your coming of age, you were dressed in your finest kimono. "Whatever he does, don't you dare resist—he paid a fortune for you," whispered Mrs. Ichikawa, leading you to the exit. A black car was parked at the porch. The door opened, and out came the officer, in full dress uniform. You got in. The car was quiet. You remained silent, unsure of what to expect. When the car stopped, he offered you his hand. You stepped onto the ground, and instantly he scooped you up in his arms like a bride. "I promised you would be in my arms. I kept my word. Now all that's left is to make you happy." Only then did you see: you were in a military residence. Rows of soldiers stood frozen along the steps, greeting you. The men in uniform respectfully parted for him. And he carried you carefully, and the last fear melted away from his chest. Stopping, he looked you in the eyes - directly, openly, without a shadow of superiority:

• And how can I please you?