Dawn Inside the Yoshiwara
Two men sat on a bench outside the gate of the Yoshiwara Pleasure District. Dawn was breaking, the sky shading from dark blue into pink.
“Hold the lantern a little to the side, Shigenobu,” the older man said. “It’s still too dark to see without it.”
“Of course, Sensei,” the younger man said.
Two strong men emerged from the gate, half carrying, half dragging a third. The third man’s arms draped over their shoulders, his head lolled to the side. He was very fat and clearly very drunk.
Utagawa Hiroshige watched for a moment, then swirled his brush against the inkstone. He outlined the gate and the fence with quick, sure strokes. Gray puddles of dilute ink hinted at a row of blossoming cherry trees.
A pair of neatly dressed servants met the two men and their burden. Shigenobu knew their livery well: it belonged to a wealthy priest from a nearby temple. The servants wrapped a concealing hood around their master’s face and transferred his arms to their own shoulders. The two men who had brought him disappeared back into the Yoshiwara.
“Did you see that?” Shigenobu asked. He glanced at his teacher’s drawing. Hiroshige filled the pathway beyond the gate rapidly, sketching a pair of courtesans, their clients, and their attendants.
“Sensei,” Shigenobu complained, “that isn’t what we saw?”
“You are still learning how to understand a client’s requests, Shigenobu. Our esteemed patron does not wish to see a print in which he is too drunk to stand.”
