Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai Champloo. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

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"So what happens next?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Your story," he said.

"Oh." The forest we were crossing was quiet, barely disturbed by the chirping of early birds, so we spoke almost in whispers. "You are really interested?"

He looked away, almost embarrassed. "Who starts to tell a story to stop at the middle?"

I smiled.

We arrived in Dejima exhausted and low on morale. I did know nothing of this country, but everybody made it clear to me: foreigners could not step out of this artificial island in the bay of Nagasaki. Although he never admitted it out loud, Captain van Diemen was grateful for whatever happened with the pirates and he proposed me passage in his vessel in its way back to Europe, once it had been loaded with silk and cotton. I agreed happily. Maybe after this crazed adventure I would be able to see again my dear land, and my mother and father and brother. Little did I know that this would be the last I know of Pieter van Diemen.

We arrived around lunch time and had to suffer through controls. Japanese, in the middle of their Sakoku policy, forbid the entry in the island of women and guns, and I was guilty to both. So, in my disguise, I was allowed to follow my crew, but the Dutch administration confiscated my weapon. I felt almost relieved to lose it.

We would stay in Dejima for a few days to revitalize and load the ship. I was given free reign over my free time after we all shared a copious lunch together. Dejima was no more than a few houses put together, a weird mix of the Asian style and the Occidental customs. People played badminton on the streets, billiards inside. I wandered the streets, feeling the conviviality in the merchants. I put some of the gold in my pockets to use and bought food and random items.

"I bought those glasses you are wearing on a whim," I added.

He pushed them up his nose with a finger. "I see."

By the time the Sun was setting down I was tired, cold and hungry, so I looked for the most crowded building, assuming it to be a hotel. Inside, a loud group of men drank and played. I ordered food and ate in silence when one of the sailors that had shared journey with me invited me to their game of cards. Feeling a bit out of place on my own in this tavern reeking hospitability, I accepted the offer.

"I almost lost those glasses on a bet too," I laughed.

Our game was abruptly interrupted by the patrons standing up and gathering outside the local. My gaming partners and I followed the ruckus, but my limited size in regard to the towering heights of the Dutchmen did not allow me to see what caught everybody's attention. They spoke hurriedly in Dutch, so I did not garner any information from eavesdropping. I turned towards the sailor that had invited me - Jan I think was his name - and shrugged and repeated 'wat?' 'wat?'. He spoke to me in Dutch, growing in frustration, trying to make me understand, to no avail. A man to our left piped in, his English's skills superior to those of Jan, "Some captain is taken by authorities. He smuggled criminal. They found gun of killer, one of crew."

The beating of my heart in my ears muffled the sound of the protests of the men I pushed as I made my way to the front of the crowd. My eyes widened in despair and I gasped as I saw my dear captain, cuffed, being led to who knew what demise. I wanted to run forward, to free him from his captors, but those men were surely looking for me too. It would have probably been best if I had done so, for then Pieter van Diemen could have pleaded innocent. Instead, I made him pay for my mistakes.

I did not realize I had stopped walking until my travel companion raised an eyebrow and looked at me expectantly. I resumed my trek by his side.

Instead, I turned to the man next to me and asked, "Do they have the murderer?"

He glared at me, bothered by my familiarity or that I spoke to him in English, but answered me in the same language, "No, they are looking for him. I just hope this is not going to ruin the coming of the oranda-yuki." He elbowed his friend and laughed.

I did not understand. "The 'orada-yuti'?"

He scoffed, irritated. "The Maruyama girls. I ordered one for tonight."

"A what?"

"A geisha." He saw my confusion. "A prostitute... a harlot. What are you? Retarded?"

"It must have been ayūjo, not a geisha," he corrected me.

"Ok, but this is unimportant to our story."

"There are prostitutes here? I thought no woman could step on Dejima."

"They don't live here. They come to spent the night and leave in the morning."

I weighted his words. He was almost leaving when I intercepted him. "Where can I order one of these girls?"

He smirked perversely. "It is too late for tonight, pal. But I guess you can speak with their landlord. Pass by the green windowed house in the second street over there," he pointed. "You can have fun tomorrow. That's it if those nut-heads don't close the island off looking for whoever murdered who knows."

With that, he left. I knew I had not time to wait for another day, to wait for someone to recognise me, to see through my pretence. With a knot in my stomach I searched the building signalled by the unpleasant man. There were several buildings that fit his vague description, but I entered the one were men gathered to drink away their miseries. I avoided falling in their practices. I needed to be sober and bright for tonight.

He gave me a pointed look and I reassured him, "You will understand later."

I had to wait long hours before an Asian man, short and with rat like crooked teeth, came in with an entourage of gorgeous women, delicate and well-mannered. It was nothing like the prostitutes I imagined. He did not say anything as he collected money, dispatching off his beauties. A Dutch man brushed by my side, money already at hand, when I grabbed his arm.

"I buy off your date," I offered in my best Dutch.

He frowned and chuckled. "What?" I pushed ten rix-dollars in his hand, the double of what he was about to pay. "I'm sorry. Not enough."

I pursued my lips and added another five, knowing well that he was conning me. "No more."

He smiled and left the house. Counting carefully my silver coins, I approached the Japanese man and gave him the price of a poor soul. He did not even looked at me, neither made sign, but a young girl that I assumed no older than me, stepped forward. I was likely more nervous than her.

I lead her up, to the room I had paid for the night. My hands trembled as I opened the door for her. I wondered how men could enjoy this, this defenceless girl that could not even communicate in our language. I wondered also how she could live by, her feelings and frustrations. I pulled out two cups and the bottle of liquor I had bought, not caring what kind it was. She sat down obediently and I took the place by her side on the floor. Automatically, as something as natural to her as breathing or blinking, she took the bottle from my hands and served us.

I studied her face, her calm expression, the odd make-up and hairdo. Every time I moved she smiled at me and it annoyed me; there was no reason for her to smile. Although I think what disturbed me most was the way the warmth of her gesture did not reach her big glassy eyes.

She leaned forward, trying to start a physical intimacy that scared me, and I just grabbed back the bottle instead and served her another cup. I raised mine and we toasted. Did she even understand the meaning of it? She downed her drink before her hand caressed my cheek. Did she find me attractive as a man? I just poured another drink and another, and another. In the middle of it, I could sense her discontent, but she knew better than to oppose me. She was here to please me, even if that meant drinking a whole bottle of rum by herself.

She passed out before realising that I had not drank a sip from my cup. Only then, I gave in to her expectations, and I undressed her. Her milky skin was spotless and I felt ashamed of what I was doing. But I knew I had no choice and no time to become concerned by demureness. I stripped myself of my clothes, and I hid as many of my possessions as I could under the complex kimono.

"I tried my best to dress properly, but your clothing fashion is greatly complicated when unused to," I complained.

He only grunted in response.

I used ink to imitate her make up. I had not expected courtesans to look like this, so I tried to rub off the white from her face to apply it to mine. I did not stop until I was satisfied that, unless in close inspection, my make-up was believable. Imitating her hair style proved quite a feat, but I figured after a night of love-making not everybody would look perfect. In the longest wait of my life, I waited until the Sun rise before to go down impersonating the girl locked in the top floor, the key to her room between the folds of my orange kimono.

The rat-like man from yesterday was there already and as I expected, he did barely look at me as I passed him by. He guided me and the other girls towards the street, where a row of kago waited for us. Keeping my head low, trying to hide my occidental features with strands of fallen hair, my hand to my mouth in what could be interpreted as shyness, I boarded one. Other two girls occupied the rest of the small space and our knees touched. I threw my head to the side, avoiding their eyes. To my relief, they looked disinterested in me. I wondered what horrors they had experienced in their dark fate as pleasure women.

The litter shook as strong arms delivered us to Nagasaki, to the "bawdy houses quarter". I followed the other girls inside, holding my breath at the audacity and stupidity of my acts. Yes, I was away from the Dutch authorities, but was that better than my current situation, in a courtesan house surrounded by people that would also execute me if the discovered my fraud? A woman tsk-ed behind my back, clearly dissatisfied by my appearance and with a hand in the down of my back, she pushed me away from the group and towards another room. I could not see her face, but by her voice as she rambled in Japanese, I assumed her to be old.

Once alone, she dragged me in front of a mirror, and tugged at the back of my obi to undress me. I struggled against her hands and she glared towards the mirror. I saw the discovery in her wide eyes; she had seen my true face. In a panic, I grabbed the mirror and slammed it forward, jumping just in time out of the way. It shattered in a rain of pieces over the elder. I did not bother to look if my frenzied escape had made yet another victim, but out of the corner of my eye I could see the crimson pool forming around. Certain that the noise had alerted the brothel of something amiss, I did not waste a beat as I opened the door opposite from where we had come in. It gave way to a long balcony that ran around the building and I saw with distress that we were on the top floor of a three-story building. People down the street did not seem to have noticed my appearance and I tried to act natural as I walked along the balcony, which was no more than the width of a corridor, away from the main street below me.

I saw my opportunity in the roof of another building not too far away, and I threw my legs over the banister, using my arms to slide down until my feet almost touched the tiles. At that time I saw men emerge to the balcony I had just left, and in panic, I threw myself down, to the street. My right ankle soared in pain.

"For someone not sporty, you seem to take a habit of jumping out of buildings..." he teased.

"It is a period of my life I hope to not repeat," I answered.

He chuckled.

I gathered the zori that had slipped away and searched for an escape route. Bad luck, I was in a dead-end street; the only way was forward, towards the main street where the entrance to the brothel was. I limped towards the exit of the street and peaked at the situation. Men rushed inside the building, hands ready to their weapon of choice, women and passer-by gathered also around, curious of the commotion. This chaotic state gave me the perfect cover to sneak out and, trying to hide my injury, walk as calmly as I could away from the pleasure district.

From there on, I chose to follow those streets less busy, clearly without a clue of my direction. Nagasaki is a big village, which in a sense played against me, for it is easy to get lost, but it also meant that you are less likely to catch people's attention in this pot of activity. My ankle hurt dearly, and I wanted nothing more than to stop and rest, but a strange energy surged in me that kept me going forward. I must also add that I was inept at walking with these Asian shoes.

At some point in my march, I noticed clothes hanging to dry in an empty street, and I stole them. They were man's clothes, less flashy than the orange kimono with dragons embroidered that I was wearing. Once I was sure no one followed me, I found a dark alley where to change. Back to my transvestism, I somehow felt safer.

I ended up leaving Nagasaki that day. It marked the beginning of a long period of wandering, homeless and lonely, that continues to this day on, but that hopefully, will end soon.