Paul heard him come back and tapped on his door.
“Hey, buddy, how’d it go?” He saw the frown on Sam’s face. “That good, huh? Tara was looking for you. I told her you’d run into an old friend. She was cool about it.”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a tired hand across his face. “Thanks, Paul. I’ll see her in the morning.”
Paul left him, alone closing the door quietly.
Sam peeled off his damp shirt and headed for the showers. He wanted peace and quiet; and, more than anything, he wanted to be alone. But Yoshi was in the changing rooms, apparently having just finished a swim.
“Ah, Sam-san! I have been looking for you!”
“Join the queue,” muttered Sam.
Yoshi looked puzzled. “No, there is no queue. Showers are empty, Sam-san. But I have question for you.”
Sam sighed. It wasn’t fair to take out his bad mood on Yoshi.
“Sure, Yoshi, what is it?”
“Soon, day after tomorrow, maybe, I go to visit my family for long holidays. You want to come with me, Sam-san? Visit my family? I have told them very much about you. They look forward to meeting with you. Is very interesting in Hokkaido. You will come?”
Sam was taken aback. Yoshi hadn’t told any of them much about his family. Sam knew he had a younger sister who still lived with Yoshi’s parents, but that was about it. Suddenly the idea of being out of town whilst Elle and Roland Nash trod the streets of Tokyo was very appealing. And if that weren’t reason enough, he also knew that it would hurt Yoshi – be a grave insult in fact – to turn him down. His reply was immediate and sincere.
“Wow! Thanks, Yoshi. I’d love to meet your family. So, yeah, that would be great. Day after tomorrow, huh?”
Yoshi beamed, then made a low bow.
“Thank you, Sam-san. You do great honour for me.”
They arranged to meet the following morning to arrange their travel plans and Yoshi trotted back to his room, talking happily to himself.
Sam took his time with the shower and slowly made his way to his room. His head was pounding and all he wanted to do was sleep. But both Paul and Tara were standing outside his room as he trudged up the stairs. They appeared to be arguing. Tara saw him first. She looked furious. She marched up to Sam and whacked him hard across the face.
“What the hell was that for?” he shouted, rubbing his cheek, anger flaring in him.
“You are such a player, Sam!” she yelled and pushed her way past him down the corridor.
He started to follow her but Paul laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Let her calm down a bit first, buddy. What did you do to her, anyways?”
“I have absolutely no idea!” said Sam, his voice angry and mystified at the same time.
But when he opened the door to his room he knew exactly what had upset Tara.
Elle.
Lying across his futon.
In her underwear.
Paul glanced in, raised his eyebrows, cast an amused look at Sam and went back to his own room without speaking.
Sam stood in the doorway, glaring at her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She frowned at the unfamiliar anger in his voice.
“I didn’t like the way we parted, Sam,” she said, almost calmly. “Bloody Roland Nash!” She rolled her eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend; he never was. We’re on a business trip together, that’s all. He’d like to think he has a chance with me, but come on! As if!”
She lowered her voice and stared up at him, a calculated smile on her face. “It’s you I want, Sam. We are good together.” She knelt up and began to unhook her bra. “I’m going to remind you just how good together we are.”
Sam hurriedly stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“For God’s sake, Elle, leave your clothes on!” he said, quickly.
“Why?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes. “Do you want to undress me?”
“No! We’re finished! Remember? You said it. We have been for months. What the hell do you think you’re doing here: in my room, in my bed?”
“Don’t sulk,” she said, pouting. “It doesn’t suit you. And don’t be such a tease. You never used to be. You were always much more… direct!”
She tugged playfully at the hem of his towel still looped around his waist from the shower.
“But it might be fun if you played hard to get… just for a little while.”
“Jesus!” he shouted, and she jumped.
He turned his back on her and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Then in a calmer voice he said,
“I want you to put your clothes on and I want you to go. I can’t be any clearer than that, Elle.”
“Is it that girl?” she said furiously, her façade crumbling. “The one who was at the door just now? Because if it is…”
He spun round.
“That is none of your business.”
He controlled his voice, speaking through clenched teeth, because he so badly wanted to shout at her again.
Elle’s blue eyes blurred with tears.
Oh, God. Not the waterworks: not tears, when he was so furious with her.
He leaned against the door, as far away from her as the tiny room would allow him, giving them both some space.
“Elle, come on. We gave it a good go, but we’re just not right for each other. I’m never going to fit into your world: and, frankly, I’m never going to earn enough money to give you the lifestyle you want.”
“I don’t care about the money,” she said, softly.
He shook his head. “Yeah, you do.”
“You’re wrong, Sam. I can earn enough for both of us. I can…”
“And how long are you going to be happy with that?” he said. “Always looking at me like you can’t understand how I can be satisfied with less; irritated because you’ll be the one who has to pay for the expensive holidays and the expensive cars. You say it doesn’t bother you now, but it will. I can already see that.”
“That’s what you think of me?” she said, the hurt in her eyes turning to anger. “You really think I’m that shallow?”
There was really no easy way to answer that question: ‘Yes, I think you’re that shallow so sod off’; or ‘No, I don’t think you’re that shallow so I’ve just defeated my own argument’. Crap: another no-win situation. How did she do that? Was it special training women got at school? Or maybe it was something to do with the X chromosome.
She sensed his hesitation, although without comprehending the reasons for it.
“We had fun today, didn’t we?” she said, her voice calmer, attempting to be alluring, seductive. “That’s how it could be again.”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“What do you want from me, Elle?” he said, quietly.
“A second chance… a second chance for us,” she said, quickly.
He looked up, meeting her eyes. “I don’t feel the same.”
Elle looked as if Sam had hit her. She looked down, then nodded her head slowly.
“I see. And you’re not going to change your mind?”
He shook his head.
“Well…”
She reached over to the desk chair where her clothes were neatly folded. Sam pulled the door open to wait outside, giving her some privacy, and a chance to pick up the pieces of her shattered pride.
When she came out of his room, she looked composed.
“Do you want me to get you a cab?” he said.
She gave a small smile. “I think I can manage that by myself. Goodbye, Sam.”
“Bye.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.
“Take care of yourself.”
She turned to go, then paused. “The sex was good, wasn’t it?”
He smiled crookedly. “Yeah. The sex was great. Take care, Elle.”
She smiled and walked away.
Chapter 9 – August
Sam
was awake for a long time after that. A solitary bottle of beer kept him company.
He felt cursed with a photographic memory, replaying over and over everything he’d said, everything she had done, the day rewinding in slow motion. And then: he kept coming back to the look on Tara’s face – the one just after she’d hit him – the fury and the hurt written in her eyes.
He told himself he’d be able to fix that, that she’d listen to the truth. He wasn’t very good at lying to himself – and he didn’t believe himself either. But still: he hoped.
The result of his disturbed night was that he slept rather later than usual. He was woken by the sound of Paul moving around next door.
Damn. He’d wanted to be up early – maybe catch Tara at the pool before it got too crowded. Well, it was too late for that now. He’d have to do it the hard way.
He threw on some clothes and ran lightly up to the next storey, which was one of the women’s floors. He’d spent half the night deciding what he’d say to her, so he tapped on her door without thinking it through any further.
There was no response
He tried again. “Tara, it’s Sam. Can we talk?”
Nothing.
Then the door next to Tara’s room opened and Heidi, a recently arrived New Zealander, looked out.
“Oh, it’s you. Tara’s not here – she’s gone away.”
Sam was taken aback. “Where’s she gone?”
“Huh, like I’d tell you! You know, you’re a real shit, Sam, treating Tara like that.”
Sam frowned. “I haven’t done anything that…” he paused. “Will you at least tell me when she’s getting back?”
She threw him another disgusted look and closed her door firmly.
Bloody women! Why were they all so unreasonable?
Yoshi caught him as he wandered back to his room.
“We plan our trip now, Sam-san?” said Yoshi.
Sam nodded slowly, his mind elsewhere.
“Yeah, sure. Just give me 10 minutes. I have to write a letter.”
Yoshi bowed and they agreed to rendezvous in the nearby coffee shop for a late breakfast. Yoshi’s favourite place was Mr Donut, where you could order a pastry of poached egg and ham. Sam had never been able to figure out how they got the poached egg to stay runny in the middle of a pastry. To Yoshi, this was the most English of breakfasts.
Sam sat at his desk, his head in his hands, thinking about what he wanted to say to Tara: words that would over-ride what she had thought she’d seen, what she must have imagined had happened. Eventually he picked up his pen and began to write, the words flowing more quickly as he moved down the page.
When he’d finished, he folded the sheet of paper twice and ran back up to the floor above, throwing an irritated glance at Heidi’s room, and pushed the paper under Tara’s door. He hoped she’d at least read it before she ripped it into shreds – she’d looked pretty angry. He couldn’t blame her for that – seeing Elle in his room like that, it must have looked so… he tried to push the memory away.
Yoshi looked up happily when Sam walked into the coffee shop.
He was easy company and his joyful view of the world lifted Sam’s spirits.
“Now we plan our road trip, Sam-san: on the road like Easy Rider!” He stumbled slightly over the second word. “You ride motorbike, Sam-san?”
Sam was surprised. He couldn’t imagine Yoshi on a motorbike, but then again, Yoshi was full of surprises.
“Yeah, I guess. I had a little 150cc when I was a kid. But not since then. Are we going by bike?”
Yoshi shook his head. “It is 800 kilometres to Sapporo, then 100 kilometres to my family in Furano. We will fly to Sapporo: it is the largest city in Hokkaido; fourth largest in whole of Japan. We stay there one night, then take bus to Furano. It is resort in the mountains. We are by Daisetsuzan National Park: many bears, very wild. Is very distant place: no trains, no buses. We will go camping, I think, if you like? I borrow motorbikes from friends.”
Sam grinned.
“That sounds brilliant. I’ve read there’s some serious hiking up there.”
And it did sound brilliant: in fact it was just what Sam needed.
Yoshi laughed happily at the real enthusiasm in Sam’s voice.
“I have checked flights. We can fly to Sapporo this afternoon, Sam-san,” he said, “and stay night in capsule hotel. Then I have small chance to show you Sapporo: is very interesting city.”
They had a plan.
Even better, they were leaving immediately.
Sam stuffed some clothes into his duffel bag, including a warm fleece. Yoshi warned that the mountains could get cold at night. It would be a relief to leave the heat and humidity behind.
Paul came and sat in his room while Sam packed.
“So you’re going to be camping, huh?” He shook his head. “All that nature stuff when you could have come to Bangkok with me – it’s gonna be pretty wild. Sure you don’t want to change your mind?”
Sam smiled. “No thanks. I’m looking forward to seeing the sky for a change. Besides, I have a feeling it’ll be a lot healthier than what you’ve got planned.”
Paul laughed. “Binge drinking with strange women in foreign countries – it’s the American way, my friend. Well, hasta la vista. See ya in a couple of weeks!”
Half of Tokyo appeared to be heading for Sapporo that afternoon. The queues at the airport wound relentlessly through the departure lounge, people waiting patiently, chewing on rice balls. Sam’s luggage was searched thoroughly by a stony-faced security officer.
“He think you might be drug tourist,” explained Yoshi loudly.
Several foreigners turned and stared.
“Why would he think that?” said Sam, uncomfortably.
Yoshi shrugged. “You gaijin.”
As if that were explanation enough.
The flight was full. The Tokyoites were taking their summer break, fleeing the stifling city, stocked up with latest hiking gear in their new backpacks, and ready for the cooler air of the mountains.
At Sapporo, despite the fact that it had been a domestic flight, they were separated again. And, once again, Sam’s luggage was subjected to a thorough search. He found himself wondering if they’d be getting out the rubber gloves any time soon: he really, really hoped they wouldn’t; as it was, scenes from Midnight Express ran in nightmarish images through his mind.
In the end, the security officers released him into the care of a worried-looking Yoshi. It occurred to Sam that he’d probably just experienced the first act of overt racism since arriving in Japan. It was a strange feeling, compounded by Yoshi’s obvious embarrassment at the less than generous welcome his guest had received.
Sam brushed it off to save Yoshi’s consternation but it reminded him that he was very much a visitor – a barbarian, a gaijin – and, at times, only just tolerated.
Once they’d escaped the airport, their first stop in Sapporo was to drop off their luggage at the capsule hotel Yoshi had booked for them. Sam had heard about this peculiarly Japanese form of accommodation but had never before experienced it. Capsule hotels were an invention of the seventies, which in Sam’s book, hadn’t been the most stylish decade.
The word ‘hotel’ was something of an exaggeration but there was no doubt the capsules were useful: each tiny hutch provided bedding and, in some cases, a TV and wireless console; they were popular and well used by salarymen whose inebriation, caused by after-work team-building drinks, often made it unsafe (or unwise) for them to travel home.
But it was cheap, which was the whole point.
The capsule hotel in Sapporo was surprisingly busy. They checked in and went to find their sleeping quarters. The beds were stacked in two rows, one sleeping block on top of another. They reminded Sam of a vet’s, where poorly pooches were stashed into oxygenated cages… except these were without the oxygen.
Yoshi looked at the capsule and looked at Sam. He frowned, his brain doing the obvious calculation.
&nbs
p; “Capsule is two metres by one metre by one-point-two-five metres: how tall you, Sam-san?”
Sam smiled. “I’ll be fine, Yoshi. I’ll just try not to stretch out.”
He shrugged: it would be an experience, albeit not one he’d like to experiment with for more than one night – not if he wanted to avoid a permanent crick in his spine.
Yoshi looked relieved: he was eager to make Sam’s stay on his home island as perfect as possible.
Sapporo was a surprise: for a start, it was laid out like an American city in a grid pattern. The streets were wide and tree-lined, and public parks sprouted greenly in all directions.
“Sam-san,” said Yoshi. “You want to visit famous botanic gardens or Sapporo beer museum?”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “There’s a beer museum?”
Yoshi giggled. “Yes! Is very famous. Is only beer museum in Japan. You like to visit?”
“Sure!” said Sam. “I’ve never been to a beer museum before.”
Which was true, unsurprisingly.
The museum was contained across three neat floors in a European-style red brick building. After a quick tour of the history of the factory that included miniatures of the building and an inspection of the brewing equipment, they headed for the museum bar, where they were enthusiastically encouraged to sample the products. It was very mellow, sitting overlooking the garden, imbibing a century and a half of history.
After an hour of R&R they were both feeling in need of a more solid form of refreshment.
“You must try jingisukan, Sam-san!” giggled Yoshi, his face rather flushed. “You have heard of Jingisu Kan, of course?”
Sam screwed up his eyes, trying to remember. There was something familiar about the words.
“Famous Mongol warrior!” said Yoshi.
That jogged a memory.
“Oh, right. Genghis Khan. Sure! What does he have to do with food, because I’ve got to tell you, Yoshi, I could eat a horse.”
“No, no, Sam-san,” said Yoshi in consternation. “No horse meat: jingisukan is lamb dish. Very tasty. But perhaps you prefer seafood: crab is very famous in Hokkaido. Also best place for dairy products – our agriculture is very good. My family are farmers, but mostly soybeans and sugar beet.”