The Toyotomi Blades (24 page)

“It’s not that bad.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. There seems to be a constant stream of scalding water coming into this tub.”

“You’re supposed to like it. It’s cultural.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, culturally I’m American, not Japanese.”

As soon as I said that I realized that I meant more than just my preferences in bath water. From the moment I came to Japan, when the customs agent spoke Japanese to me, I was trying to sort out what it meant to return to the land of my ancestors. I felt strangely comfortable in Japan. Sights, sounds, customs, and the faces of the people had a resonance with me that reminded me I come from Japanese stock. But this was an ease that came from preserved memories, not from actually fitting in. Foundations of culture transcend race, and I realized that my culture is American.

No matter how much interest I might have in Japan, no matter how much I learned about it from books and documentaries and even visits, I would never be Japanese. That might seem obvious, but like Buzz Sugimoto, who was dumbfounded when I pointed out that his symbols of rebellion over Japan becoming too Westernized were actually Western, I achieved resolution from a statement which should have been clearly apparent. No matter how uncomfortable I may sometimes feel in America as a minority, I will never fit in better elsewhere, even in Japan where I’m part of the racial majority.

When Mariko and I got back to the main room, the hanafuda cards were waiting for us. We played a game called
koi-koi,
which is a simple matching game. You pick up cards on the table by matching them to cards of the same suite in your hand. You try to get the highest-scoring cards, and simple design changes on the cards, like a colored ribbon as part of the design, indicate the value of cards. It’s mostly luck, or at least that’s what I told myself as Mariko wiped me out in short order. If I had won, then I would have opined that koi-koi is a game of skill, of course.

“Can I ask you something, Ken?” Mariko said as she leaned forward and scooped up the winnings from her latest hand. Her yukata was left open, revealing an expanse of skin and one breast. I don’t know if this was through negligence or if it was a ploy to distract me from the game. If the latter, it was working.

“Ask me what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You mean playing cards? With the winning streak you’re on, I’m asking that myself.”

“No, I mean getting involved in another mystery. You were sort of pulled into the first mystery, but with this one you seem to be the one pursuing things. You’ve been running some awful risks with those guys after you. You think some people have been murdered for those swords, and yet you push on.”

“I’m doing this because I don’t have much going in my life, except for you. I’m over forty and unemployed and my life is half over. I don’t want to play the second half as safe as I played the first half. This mystery has become important to me, and failing to solve it would be a kind of road block on the new path my life seems to be going down.”

I said more than I intended, but I felt good about saying it. Mariko leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. It was a soft, gentle, loving kiss.

“Now,” Mariko said, “even though we’ve had this tender moment that doesn’t mean that I don’t intend to take you for every penny you have. Dig into your pockets and produce the rest of your loose change. Japanese or American money cheerfully accepted. Shuffle the cards.”

26
      

I
could use a snack right now,” Mariko said, placing down a hanafuda card.

“Since you’ve cleaned me out, I’ll run into town and get something. There’s no room service at the inn, or maybe I should say ryokan.” I got off the zabuton cushion and stretched. “I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Don’t get any of those dried fish or dried squid snacks,” Mariko said. “Get us some real American potato chips or something like that.”

“We’re staying in a three-hundred-year-old Japanese inn and you want potato chips?”

Mariko looked at me and started going, “Yumm.”

“I’ll go, but you have to give me some money. You really have cleaned me out.” She started laughing, but she did fork over several hundred-yen coins.

I took off the yukata I was wearing and got my jeans and a sweatshirt on. I pulled on my jacket and made my way through the corridors of the inn to the front lobby. The lobby was deserted, but I found my shoes sitting in the little numbered box right where I left them. I put them on and made my way down the little road towards the lights of the business district of town. The night air was brisk, and I sucked it in, relishing the relatively novel sensation of air not tainted with the smog of Los Angeles or Tokyo.

There was a certain amount of nightlife because the town was a resort center for people visiting Lake Biwa and the surrounding countryside. Although the main business district of town was only about four blocks long, there must have been a half-dozen bars stretched out along those blocks, with bright neon signs casting a splash of garish light onto the street.

I figured sooner or later I’d come to some kind of open convenience store or liquor store where they would have snacks to purchase. I wasn’t quite sure about American-style potato chips, but I thought I could find something that would be good to munch on. There were a surprising number of people still milling around on the street at that time of night. Everybody seemed to be in a good mood, and even though the air was chilly, it was not so chilly that it was unpleasant.

I had walked about a half block into the business district when I stopped. At the end of the block, standing in front of a bar, was Junko. She had told us she wanted to take a shower and go to bed, so I was a bit surprised to see her out on the town. She was talking to a tall, thin man dressed in a topcoat with a hat pulled down low over his face. She seemed to be in earnest conversation when suddenly she looked up in alarm, grabbed the man by the arm, and quickly dragged him into the bar.

I looked across the street to see what had caused her to scurry into hiding with her companion. There, weaving through the crowd, was Sugimoto and another man who I didn’t recognize. Both looked like they were drunk, staggering down the street together. Sugimoto had on his black leather jacket and his companion was dressed in jeans and a ski parka.

I turned quickly and hurried back up the hill to the ryokan. I was so excited that I almost forgot to take my shoes off when I got into the lobby. I remembered at the last minute before I tromped on the tatami mats, and stopped quickly to rip off my shoes and stuff them into one of the numbered boxes.

I made my way through the maze of corridors and burst into the room where Mariko was resting. She looked up in surprise.

“That was fast. What kind of snack did you buy?”

“I didn’t buy any snacks. I saw something strange in town. Two things strange.”

“What?”

“Sugimoto’s in town. I saw him on the street in the village. He was there with another man. They looked like they were drunk.”

“What’s Sugimoto doing here?”

“Heaven knows. He’s supposed to be in Osaka. Now I see him here with some stranger and I’m beginning to wonder about his role in this entire thing. I’ve been suspicious of him for some time now. He was able to arrange an interview with the head of the Sekiguchi-gummi pretty easily, and his family is supposed to be involved in the music business. The Yakuza are supposed to be involved in show business.”

I unzipped my jacket and continued. “I also saw something else that’s puzzling.”

“What was that?”

“I saw Junko in town. She was talking to somebody I didn’t recognize, someone tall with a hat on. The hat was pulled low so I couldn’t see his face, as if he wanted to hide his identity.”

“Did she see Sugimoto, too?”

“She sure did, and as soon as she saw him, she grabbed whoever she was with and ducked into a bar. She looked as startled to see Sugimoto as I did. I think she was trying to hide from him.”

“That’s strange. Maybe she just changed her mind about going to bed, got restless, and went into town and met someone.”

“I bet she met someone,” I said. “Maybe one of the guys who have been after me. One was a tall guy with a gold tooth. I didn’t see his face, but the guy she was talking to was tall.”

“Now you’re getting paranoid.”

“Am I? Geez, I never thought of this, but everybody’s been telling me how many of the Yakuza members are Korean. One of the guys I identified was Korean. Junko’s Korean.”

“Ken, how many Italians do you know?”

I looked at Mariko, puzzled. “I suppose dozens, maybe even hundreds.”

“And how many are members of the Mafia?”

“None that I know of.”

“So why should Junko be a member of the Yakuza just because she’s Korean? You sound like some of the Japanese, classifying Junko as a criminal just because she’s Korean.”

“But there are Italians in the Mafia,” I protested, “And there are Koreans in the Yakuza. She was up to something, and it was something that made her hide when she spotted Sugimoto. You’re the one who’s been having an uneasy time with her.”

“That’s just a little rivalry. But in this situation you’re not sure what’s going on.”

“No, I’m not, but I don’t like it. Sugimoto is supposed to be in Osaka. Junko lies to us about going to bed early. She hides when she sees Sugimoto. Something’s fishy.”

“Sugimoto is the one I’d worry about. He obviously followed us here. You said he’s been against you investigating the swords from the beginning.”

“That’s right. Plus I don’t know who Sugimoto’s companion is. He might be another Yakuza, one I haven’t seen yet.”

“More Yakuza!”

“I have the bruises to remind me that someone is interested in me,” I reminded her.

“I know. I’m sorry, Ken. It’s just that first you think Junko is a Yakuza and now you think Sugimoto is one, too. That Sekiguchi-gummi head said he wasn’t interested in you, and you thought it might be that political group.”

“Maybe I was wrong. I just don’t see the political connection. Sugimoto knew about my encounter with the two Yakuza in Tokyo, even though neither Junko nor I told him. He claims to be a rebel, but he longs for a return to values he considers ‘true’ Japanese, just like a lot of Yakuza. He’s discouraged my investigation of the swords from the start. And now he shows up here unexpectedly and without telling us. All these things leave a lot of unanswered questions.”

“Okay, so maybe Buzz Sugimoto is suspicious,” Mariko conceded, “but saying Junko’s a Yakuza is silly.”

“Then who was she talking to, and why did she hide when she saw Sugimoto?”

“I don’t know. Okay, okay, something fishy is going on. What do you think we should do about it? Confront Junko?” Mariko asked.

“No. In the morning, let’s ask her how she slept and see what she says. If she says she got restless and went into town, then we should be upfront with her about me seeing her and ask her why Sugimoto’s here. If she lies again, then I think we should be cautious.”

“How?”

“Let’s split up the search tomorrow. The center of the map is north of here, but let’s tell Junko we should also search to the west of the town and that we’ll split up to do it. We’ll search the north and I’ll find someplace in the west for her to search.”

“Is that really necessary?”

I sighed. “You’re the one who’s been telling me I’ve gotten paranoid over the Yakuza thing. We can call the search off completely, but that will mean turning everything over to the
News Pop
show and Buzz or Junko can come up and look for the treasure after I leave Japan. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Well, that doesn’t leave us many choices, then. I could try going to the local police, but I don’t have any proof of anything. I don’t want to leave Japan without at least giving a shot at finding the treasure. And if Junko lies to us tomorrow, I don’t want to have to worry about her at our back while Sugimoto may be in front of us. Do you have a better plan?”

After a few moments, Mariko said, “I hope Junko tells us in the morning that she couldn’t sleep and went into the village where she picked up a guy. Then we can go treasure hunting together. Otherwise, I’ll play along as you explain that you had a brainstorm about a new location for the treasure to the west.”

27
      

T
he forest was a wild and feral place. Giant cryptomerias grew in profusion. The rough, red bark of the trees clung to the large trunks, making a curtain that shrouded the forest beyond. Between the trees
hagi,
or bush clover, grew. A low morning mist clung to the roots of the trees, adding an eerie highlight to the forest.

“You sure you want to split up?” Junko asked.

“Yes. I was looking over the maps last night and I realized that the treasure was just as likely to be in the western part of the valley as here. It will be more efficient if you scout that location while Mariko and I look here. Meet us here at three o’clock and we’ll compare notes. If we find anything interesting here, we’ll still have time to take you to it so you can see what you want to film for the show.”