“Well?” said Tara.
Sam ran his hand through his hair in frustration.
“It’s just stupid.”
Tara folded her arms across her chest, waiting. He sighed.
“My friends threw a leaving party for me at a pub in town. Elle, my ex-, turned up unexpectedly and there was a bit of a scene. My friend Julie made some crack about me being hopeless with women. I said I was staying away from them while I was in Japan. She bet me I wouldn’t. That’s everything.”
“That’s it?” said Tara, looking puzzled. “That’s everything?”
“Yes!” said Sam, between clenched teeth.
Suddenly Tara laughed. “Oh, well, okay then. It was just that Paul made it sound so… I don’t know, like I was part of the bet or something.”
Sam stared at her, his body relaxing slightly. “No, of course not.”
He studied her face. “You’re… you’re not angry?”
She laughed again. “No, of course not! Actually I think it’s kind of cute.”
He smiled in relief. “Thank God for that. I hate arguments: for a moment there I was having flashbacks.”
Tara lay down again and closed her eyes. “Nah, but I might have to punch Paul later.”
Sam laughed. “Join the queue.”
“But I’m curious,” she said. “What made you change your mind? About me, I mean…”
“I didn’t change my mind about you,” he said.
Tara looked confused.
“I fancied you the first moment I saw you,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “And then I got to know you and I liked you even more, but…”
“But?” she prompted.
“I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to get involved… involved with you when I knew the chances were that in a few months we’d be living on different continents.”
His voice became quieter so she had to strain to hear him. “I knew I’d like you too much,” he whispered.
Tara stared at him, and the strength of her gaze made him look away.
“So why did you change your mind?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t see the point of trying to stay away from you anymore.”
Then he bent down and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. For a moment Sam forgot where they were, until Tara pulled away, her breathing too fast.
“Let’s go back to the hostel,” she said, huskily.
Oddly enough, Sam didn’t need a written invitation this time.
For the first time in weeks, Sam set the alarm on his watch to make sure he got up in time for work. Or rather, to make sure he and Tara got up in time for work. He’d set it early enough for them to get in a quick swim first, but somehow they never made it to the basement pool.
They even had to run to the subway, ignoring the surprised glances of other commuters.
Sam found it very hard to concentrate on his teaching that first day back. His students were enthusiastic and welcoming: several had brought small gifts from their holidays. Sam wasn’t sure if he was allowed to accept them or not but it seemed natural enough. He thanked them in Japanese and they seemed delighted.
Just after assembly he was accosted by Ms Amori.
“Patterson-san, I trust you had a good holiday?”
“Yes, very good, thank you. Did you go away?”
She shook her head a trifle impatiently, leaving Sam with the feeling that he’d said the wrong thing – again. Maybe subordinates were not supposed to chat with senior staff in a friendly manner. Or maybe she just didn’t like him. It was hard to tell. Although, to be fair, she didn’t seem to like anyone else either.
“We ask all our foreign teachers to present an assembly about an aspect of British society. You will do this, please, toward the end of the semester. In Japanese. Should you need additional help with translation, I will be happy to help you.”
She bowed, her head bobbing in a brief nod, and Sam had no choice but to agree and bow back.
He’d been in Japan long enough to know that the subservient person must make the lowest bow and Amori-san wasn’t the kind of woman you messed about with.
She stalked away, her heels clicking on the wooden floor.
Sam frowned at her back. Assemblies lasted nearly 40 minutes – that was a lot of time to fill. He hoped his Japanese would be up to the task. At least he had a couple of months to work on it.
When he got back to the hostel, he had a couple of hours to kill before Tara would return from teaching her evening class. He threw a jaundiced look at the increasing pile of laundry stuffed under his desk, sighed and pulled it out. Oh well, he’d be able to get in a swim at the same time. He hadn’t managed to get to the pool since he’d got back from Hokkaido.
The washing machines were surprisingly old fashioned. They stood in a solemn row, shabby guardsmen, in an outdoor basement courtyard, protected from the rain by a narrow, sloping roof. Sam had to turn on a tap to allow the machine to fill with water before the washing cycle started. It seemed a rather obsolete technology for such an advanced country.
When the washing was churning away, he made his way to the almost empty pool and started swimming laps. His mind drifted away, thinking, inevitably, about his two nights with Tara. Was it only two nights? It seemed longer.
He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice Paul was sitting watching him.
Paul called his name.
“Sam, buddy!”
A jolt of remembered annoyance ran through him. He swam to the edge of the pool.
“Paul.”
“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday, buddy,” he said, a look of real regret on his face. “I didn’t mean to mess things up for you – and Tara. Sometimes I just open my mouth to change feet.”
Sam shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. She was cool – once I had the chance to explain.”
Paul looked relieved. “Thanks, buddy. Maybe we can go out for a beer later? Or tomorrow? A guys’ night out?”
“I can’t tonight and tomorrow I’ve got evening classes. But Wednesday would be okay?”
“You got it!” said Paul, looking relieved.
But it didn’t quite work out like that. Paul invited Yoshi along, and Yoshi took it upon himself to invite Helen and Tara.
Sam was the last to hear about the change of plan; it was Tara who told him, early on Wednesday evening.
“You weren’t going to invite me?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
Sam smiled crookedly. “Actually, no. Paul said he wanted a ‘guys’ night out. It was Yoshi who put the kybosh on that.”
“Fine!” said Tara, with a small laugh. “I won’t come!”
Sam wrapped his arms around her and ran his fingers down her spine.
“You’re invited,” he whispered into her hair.
Her reply took quite a long time and they were the last ones to make it to the reception.
Helen raised her eyebrows. “We’re all here then. At last.”
Tara stuck out her tongue and Sam just smiled.
They set out into the busy evening, Helen leading the way through a tangle of unnamed streets.
“Malcolm and I found this fabulous little place,” she said. “It’s tiny but the food was to die for. I’m not even sure it was a real restaurant – it was like being in someone’s front room. I hope I can find it again.”
She led through an alleyway that got narrower and narrower, and the sound of the city streets began to fade away.
“How on earth did you find this place?” said Tara.
Helen blushed. “Oh, we were just looking for somewhere quiet. We just, er, stumbled on it.”
Paul threw an incredulous look at Helen. “You guys!”
The alleyway became so narrow that it was barely wider than their shoulders, when a pool of light from a sign advertising Kirin beer illuminated a small door. A cat with four small kittens was sitting in a cardboard box filled with shredded newspapers. It watched them with its lamp-like eyes, then yawned wi
dely when Sam stopped to stroke it.
Helen pushed open the door which led into a tiny room with a short bar that was really just the top of a counter lined with bottles of sake. Three miniature tables were squeezed around the edges of the room – they were the first customers. The owner came rushing down the stairs, apparently delighted to see Helen again. He smiled and bowed and ushered them each to a seat.
There was no menu and no choice, just a constant stream of dishes from the kitchen behind, only some of which Sam recognised. But there were no fish swimming in the sake so he didn’t much care about the rest. In fact he hardly tasted the food; instead he was hyper aware of the pressure of Tara’s thigh next to his and the way her elbow would sometimes bump into him, and the moments when she lightly laid her hand on his knee and smiled.
“So, anyway,” Paul was saying, “I got into that programme at Dartmouth after all. They emailed me and said there’s a place – starting in the New Year.”
“Congratulations!” said Helen. “You said Dartmouth was a long shot – you must be really pleased!”
“Well done, mate,” said Sam.
“Felicitations!” said Yoshi, which made everyone laugh.
Tara stood up and gave Paul a hug. Sam felt a ripple of irrational jealousy run through him. He forced it away, roughly.
“But before I go,” said Paul, gazing around, his expression suddenly challenging, “I want to do something really special: I want to climb Mount Fuji. Who’s coming with me?”
There was a short silence.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” said Helen, a small smile breaking out, “but isn’t it really difficult?”
“Nah,” said Paul. “I met this old guy in Bangkok who said that we could get up there in four or five hours, and then a couple more to get back down. Most people go up in the evening, and camp out on the mountain to watch the sunrise. He says old people do it, too, and as long as we pace ourselves, we’ll be fine. You in? Sam?”
“Bloody hell! Of course I am!”
Paul smiled. “Yoshi? Helen? Tara?”
“It will be honour to climb Fuji-san,” said Yoshi, seriously. “Is most important symbol of whole Japan.”
“I’m in,” said Tara. “Definitely!”
All eyes were on Helen.
“Well, okay. Just as long as you promise to carry me if I can’t keep up.”
Paul threw her a high five and Sam wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. Yoshi begged for the honour of carrying her, should she need it.
Then Paul insisted they all drank to it and ordered another bottle of sake.
“There’s just one thing,” he said. “We’ll have to do it soon – in the next couple of weeks. Once we get into October it’s too dangerous – snow, maybe even typhoons. So, I was thinking, none of us are working the weekend after next – how about then?”
“That’ll be different,” said Sam in a low voice, as if speaking only to himself.
“What do you mean, love?” said Helen, who was sitting with her arm hooked through his.
“Oh, it’s my birthday that weekend,” said Sam, smiling. “I like the idea of being on top of Fuji-san for that.”
“Your birthday! You great galah!” snorted Tara. “Just when were you planning on telling me that?”
“Er, well, I wasn’t going to bother...” he stuttered, his voice failing under the gaze of her angry eyes.
“Well,” said Helen, evenly, “now we can really celebrate it.”
“How old you be, Sam-San?” said Yoshi.
“Twenty-five,” said Sam. “A quarter of a century!”
Helen raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think you need to worry about your age just yet, Sam!”
But Yoshi was gazing at him in horror. “You say twenty-five, Sam-san? Twenty-five?!”
Yoshi suddenly dropped his head into his hands.
“What’s the matter, Yoshi?” said Helen, gently.
“Is very bad age,” said Yoshi, looking up at Sam woefully. “Is worst year for a man. Is yakudoshi – year of bad luck!”
“Blimey, thanks, Yoshi!” said Sam, trying not to laugh. “Just when I thought I needed cheering up.”
But Yoshi shook his head. “Is very serious, Sam-san. Very serious. You must make yakubarai – purification at shrine.”
“Oh, come on!” said Tara. “You don’t believe in all that superstitious nonsense, do you, Yoshi?”
Yoshi looked bewildered and upset. He stared at Sam, his eyes worried, his soft face creased in concern.
“You must make yakubarai, Sam-san. You are my friend! Is most important. Please!”
Sam could see he was deadly serious.
“Okay, Yoshi, no problem. I’ll do it. You’ll just have to tell me how.”
Yoshi relaxed a fraction but it was clear to everyone that he was still anxious, throwing worried glances at Sam every few minutes, as if waiting for him to spontaneously combust, or get hit by a stray asteroid.
When they got back to the hostel, Yoshi hovered by Sam’s side, as if afraid to leave his sight.
In the end Sam had to turf him out of his room, while Tara pointedly started unrolling the futon bed.
“That was weird,” she said, looking at Sam.
“Hmm.”
“You’re not really going along with all this mumbo-jumbo, are you?”
“Actually, I am,” said, Sam smiling at Tara’s sceptical expression. “When I was with his family, they prayed for the spirits of their ancestors. And it wasn’t just like singing carols at Christmas once a year, they really meant it: it was important to them. And for some reason this yakubarai is important to Yoshi. Well, it’s not going to kill me to go along with it – and it might be kind of interesting. Besides, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
He didn’t think it would be wise to mention that he’d met Elle whilst celebrating his birthday the previous year.
Tara smiled and shook her head.
“You’re nuts, but I kinda like it.”
Sam smiled. “How much do you like it?”
“Hmm, let me see.”
She pulled him towards her and unfastened the first button on his shirt.
“Quite a lot.”
She kissed his chest. Then she undid another button.
“Yes, definitely growing on me.”
She kissed him again.
“Hmm... I might just have to see a bit more to be certain...”
But suddenly, her slow seduction wasn’t fast enough for Sam. Hungrily he lowered his lips to her neck and the rest of the buttons on his shirt gave way with a ripping sound.
It was clear that Yoshi had been entirely serious about his concerns because two days later, he announced that Sam would have his purification at a local shrine in three days. Yoshi had spoken to the priest and arranged everything. All Sam had to do was show up – and bring some money. Just as a token, of course.
On the agreed date, Yoshi banged on Sam and Tara’s door very early. With a groan from Sam and a muttered curse from Tara, Sam grabbed a towel and headed for the showers. Sam had to stop Yoshi actually following him into the shower as he shouted instructions through the curtain, to ensure that Sam was ritually pure.
The others waited in the hostel’s reception, although it was barely light and nowhere was open to get breakfast. Paul grumbled quietly until Helen elbowed him hard in the ribs.
Yoshi was a cat on hot bricks, never taking his eyes off Sam, as if waiting for a fatal accident, bizarre shopping rage incident or cataclysmic, doom-laden event of mythical proportions that would stop Sam getting his purification. It made everyone feel edgy and bad-tempered.
The Shinto shrine was at one end of a large park in the centre of Tokyo. They entered through the main gate where a priest was waiting for them, dressed in white robes, his reading glasses almost an anachronism. He greeted Yoshi warmly and stared myopically at Sam.
They all made deep bows and in formal Japanese, Sam thanked the priest for his help. The m
an continued to stare, showing as much understanding of Sam’s words as if they’d been spoken in Serbo-Croat. Paul laughed nervously and Tara thumped him in the ribs. Helen smiled smugly. Her chastisement had been much gentler.
Next to the decorated entrance stood a square-shaped, rough-hewn stone basin about the size of a medieval font. Yoshi instructed Sam to wash his hands in the water, first the left hand, then the right, and to rinse out his mouth: all part of the ritual purification. Next, the priest spoke to Yoshi, informing him that Sam could now approach the shrine.
Something fragrant was burning in a small brazier, sending clouds of grey smoke billowing out. The pale light of early morning added to the feeling of timelessness and Sam felt a shiver go through him. Even Tara seemed unnerved, hands jammed deep in her pockets.
“Now we must call down the kami, the spirits,” said Yoshi in a whisper.
He passed Sam a straw rope decorated with strips of paper.
“This will stop the bad luck,” said Yoshi. “Now bad luck not spread to your friends, too.”
The priest waved some evergreen branches over the brazier, wafting the smoke towards Sam and the others. Helen was trying not to cough and Tara’s eyes were watering.
“The smoke will catch blessings of deity and burn away all impure things,” explained Yoshi quietly.
Then the priest motioned to Sam to ring the small, brass bell. The dull tolling rang mournfully through the park, startling some pigeons.
“We must bow again,” said Yoshi. “Now, Sam-san, put money-offering in box and ring the bell once.”
Sam did as he was told, stuffing a thousand Yen into the small, wooden receptacle.
“Bow two times,” hissed Yoshi. “Now you must clap two times while you pray, thinking hard about the good things you want to happen this year.”
Sam followed the instructions, his thoughts on Tara, on Fiona and Rosa, and on his friends home and away.
“Now you bow again,” muttered Yoshi.
The priest smiled and Yoshi looked relieved. Apparently the ritual was over.
“You will be safe now, Sam-san,” said Yoshi, happily. “Bad luck chased all away.”
Sam thanked the priest, who smiled and bowed, but refused to believe that a gaijin could possibly be speaking his language. Sam gave it up.