Zen Attitude (11 page)

“Watch your pace, and picture your success! On the last lap, you can walk and do your stretching here,” Akemi ordered.

We circled the track again before I was permitted to walk. Akemi accelerated, legs flashing faster and faster until she disappeared in a blur. I had been walking only a few minutes when she passed me again.

All the sliding doors were swollen by humidity, so I had to shove hard to enter the small, square room floored in
tatami.
True to Zen style, the teahouse was decorated only with a chest for tea ceremony bowls. A musty smell told me dampness and insects had probably gotten inside the
tatami
and the few
zabuton
, cushions for sitting, stacked in the corner.

“You’re not stretching!” Akemi yelled as she passed again, so I went outside and did some hurdler’s stretches. What I really wanted was water. A small stream trickled near by, but I didn’t trust its cleanliness. I was preparing to head back to the water fountain near the temple when Akemi came around one final time holding two plastic bottles.

“You read my mind,” I told her, sucking down the contents of the bottle she handed me.

“Water is very important. I had these chilling in the stream behind the house.” Akemi balanced her foot against the teahouse wall and stretched. Her breathing dropped to normal within a minute. I was jealous, because I was as drenched in sweat and as exhausted as during my first run at Yoyogi Park. Still, I calculated that I’d run a mile without stopping. Akemi had shown me I had the strength.

“Has my mother called you?” Akemi finished her bottle and went back to stretching. “She’s forgiven you, I think.”

“How did that happen?” I was stunned.

“I pointed out how unfair she’d been. It was silly of her not to take what you’d bought for her. It was going into my room, and I don’t care at all about its age.”

I voiced something I’d been wondering about. “If your room does get redecorated with Japanese antiques, what will happen to your medals, all the things that are a part of you?”

“She wants me to put them in storage. It’s silly to keep them around, as I haven’t won a match in ten years.”

“But you’re always training in the
dojo
.”

“It’s just a hobby. I do a few exhibitions.” She shrugged.

“Why don’t you work at the temple? You’re the only child, so I assume you’ll inherit.”

Akemi shook her head. “In Buddhism, like your Catholicism, women can’t become priests. My cousin Kazuhito gets the temple. I’m sure my parents built me the
dojo
to ease their guilt.”

“I’m an only child, too. Growing up, I felt I had everything I could possibly want, except the most important—having someone to play with.” I thought about how I’d been taken everywhere by my parents, who taught me all about restaurant and museum manners but nothing about playground sports. Having spent time with Angus, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t want a brother, but I would have loved an older sister who could have shown me how to climb across the jungle gym. Someone like Akemi.

“There’s nothing worse than having someone forced into your life. Kazuhito came to live with us when we were both twelve. Suddenly he was getting the best pieces of fish at dinner, fantastic gifts, the best position near my father in the temple.”

“How are things these days?”

“We coexist,” Akemi said tightly.

I listened to a siren ringing in the distance and wondered what would happen to her after her father died. Would she be forced to abandon the spacious house for a small apartment? What inheritance could she carry with her?

“Does Kazuhito work at the temple now?” I asked.

“He’s the vice abbot, which means he oversees the temple’s business, our collection of antiquities, and the cultural programs like foreigners’ outreach. I don’t know why, given that he hardly speaks a word of English—”

“You could do that,” I said. “Your English is excellent!”

“Like I said, my sex precludes me from ever being a priest. I could only marry one, but turning into someone like my mother would be like death.”

Akemi was getting wound up, and I wanted to keep talking. Too bad it was time for me to leave. I sighed and said, “I have to go to the main hall to pick up Hugh’s beloved brother. The foreigners’ orientation must be over by now.”

“Don’t you want to shower first?” Akemi looked at me with concern.

“No! I didn’t bring towels or a change of clothing.” I’d been in communal showers and baths before, but the prospect of being naked with Akemi made me nervous. She had already commented on my legs; I didn’t want to hear more.

“You must not enter a temple dirty. It’s against Buddhist etiquette,” she said.

“I’ll stand outside. I’m sure Angus will be waiting.”

“Whatever you want.” She wrinkled her nose, making her opinion clear.

“On Saturday I’m having my party. You’re still coming, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Maybe. It depends on my schedule.”

Her schedule seemed pretty freewheeling to me, but I didn’t press her. After all, I’d chickened out about the shower.

Angus was standing on the wooden hallway that ran around the exterior of the main hall, deep in conversation with a Japanese man wearing long indigo robes. The priest looked ageless, given his smooth, shaved head and lively eyes. To my horror, he noticed me and beckoned.

“Shimura-san, please come up! This young man explained you have been exercising my daughter!”

The priest speaking good English was undoubtedly Akemi’s father, the abbot and owner of the temple itself. If he told his wife I was on the grounds, she’d be furious.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you like this,” I said, unlacing my running shoes and hoping my socks wouldn’t leave damp marks on the smooth cedar steps leading up to the temple.

“We had an emergency!” Angus was looking more excited than I’d ever seen him. “Our priest conked out during the meditation.”

“He is talking about my nephew. Angus-san saved his life,” Abbot Mihori said.

“Yeah, it was utter madness,” Angus rattled on. “We were all sitting cross-legged and staring into our souls or something. It had gotten pretty quiet and I guess all the others were in a trance, because when the priest fell over, I was the only one who noticed. At first I wondered if it was part of, you know, the temple routine.”

“Fortunately, Angus-san used his eyes and his common sense. He left the meditation group to summon help,” Mr. Mihori said.

So Angus was a hero. I’d congratulate him later; at the moment I was more concerned about Kazuhito’s health. Now I realized the siren I’d heard had been for him.

“What happened?” I asked.

“My son had one of the occasional diabetic fainting spells he’s suffered since his teens. I keep a special high-sugar drink in my office, and after I administered it, he regained consciousness. The paramedics took him to the hospital. I’m on my way to find my daughter to drive me there.”

Diabetes was serious. I thought of Nomu Ideta, the old man lying miserably in bed in Denen-Chofu. Abbot Mihori seemed extremely calm for someone who’d just seen his heir collapse.

“They want me to come back for a wild festival.” Angus interrupted my troubled thoughts.

“The Tanabata festival,” Abbot Mihori clarified. “Kamakura’s celebration is not as big as those celebrated elsewhere, but I think the atmosphere is considerably more scenic. We have a parade of floats along the sea, and archery and dancing at the Hachiman Shrine. . . .”

“Sounds okay, as long as there’s not too much religious mumbo-jumbo,” Angus commented.

I blushed, embarrassed at what he was saying, but Abbot Mihori took it in stride. “You will be happy that the festival is secular, a mix of Japanese and Chinese legends. It’s the story of two star lovers—”

“Do you mean star-crossed lovers?” Angus interrupted.

“That too,” Mr. Mihori said, smiling. “The story begins with the Princess Orihime, who lived on a star, where she worked as a weaver. Her father, the emperor of the heavens, arranged for her to meet a handsome cowherd who lived on a different star in the west coast of the Milky Way. When the two met, they fell so deeply in love that Princess Orihime neglected her weaving. The emperor was furious and did not let them see each other again. The exception is once a year, on the night of July seventh, when birds form a bridge over the river of heaven so the lovers can meet. But you will learn more about that on the festival evening. Will you stay with your brother in Tokyo through that time?”

“I’ll be here as long as Rei puts up with me.”

“Ah so desu ka?”
Is that so? Mr. Mihori’s wise eyes studied me. I wondered how much Angus had told him about our communal living situation—and whether he’d approve of my exercising his daughter after all.

On the train ride home I rested against the door, watching Angus sandwich himself between two pretty coeds from Sophia University who had been practicing English together. Within minutes they were telling Angus how fascinating he was, a world traveler who looked like Harrison Ford and the lead singer of Simply Red combined. Did he know that band? Did he know Tokyo nightlife?

“Simply Red’s a naff band,” Angus grumbled, but moved closer to get a look down their halter tops. I wasn’t surprised that when we reached Roppongi, Angus foisted his backpack on me and headed off with his new friends for what I guessed would be a night of revelry. I walked home, sweating and brooding. Passing a newsstand on Roppongi-dori, I was jarred by a tabloid with a front-page photograph of Jun Kuroi. Or rather, photographs. A montage had been made from various snapshots of Jun as a young high school graduate, as a smiling salesman at the Toyota dealership, and finally in a T-shirt and black leather jacket, his Elvis drag. I bought one and scanned the article for my name, one of the few Japanese things I could read.

Blessedly, my name was not there. But I was worried about Jun. What did the story say about him? Was he the victim of circumstances, as I’d insisted to Hugh? Or could Jun be tied to Nao Sakai in some other way? After all, both men were from Hita. They could have known each other and had a relationship that I knew nothing about.

In the apartment, I kept worrying about the situation. I started dinner, and the rice was just beginning to steam when Hugh arrived around seven.

“Where’s my brother?” Hugh asked when he found me in the kitchen alone.

“I took him to Kamakura, and on the way back he met two college girls. I’m surprised that he made Japanese friends so quickly.” I paused. “Maybe it’s a good sign. He’s the apple of Abbot Mihori’s eye—you will never believe what happened at the temple!”

“How long do you expect he’ll be out?” Hugh seemed uninterested in Horin-ji.

“I don’t know. It’s happy hour for a few hours longer, and then who knows? He might want to go dancing. I hope he can find his way home.”

“For a few hours, who cares?” Hugh kissed my neck, and I knew instantly what was on his mind. It had been too long. Maybe this was why we had been bickering so much. Since Angus had arrived, we had been too paranoid to do anything in the bedroom but whisper.

In the bedroom, door firmly locked against any potential intruders, I turned up the air-conditioning and started unbuttoning Hugh’s shirt. His skin was still peeling and required careful navigation. I wasn’t that aroused to begin with, but there was something about the way we fit together that made pleasure unavoidable. I adored him, I really did.

Afterward I lay against Hugh’s warm, broad back, thinking that the rice would be perfectly done by now. If only I had the energy to get up and put a tray together for us, maybe with some leftover vegetables from the night before.

The telephone rang imperiously on Hugh’s bedside table.

“Ignore it,” Hugh murmured, half asleep.

“It could be a client,” I said, grabbing it swiftly and answering with my name. It wasn’t any of my ladies, though, but a Japanese man who spoke English so fast and slangily I had to ask his identity twice before recognizing him as Kozo, Hugh’s favorite bartender in days past. Kozo was telling me he’d moved from the late, great English Pub to Club Isn’t It. He was telephoning because a customer refusing to pay his bill had asked for Hugh Glendinning.

“Hugh cannot take criminal cases, especially in Japan. All he does are corporate contracts,” I said firmly.

“But his brother says—”

“His brother?” I repeated.

Hugh wrestled the phone from my grip, and I got up to dress. I had made sure Angus had five thousand yen when I’d left him at the station. Kozo had said something about Angus trying to walk out on an eleven-thousand-yen tab. Even with the price of drinks in Tokyo, that was something. I didn’t want to calculate how much he’d drunk.

Club Isn’t It was squeezed into an upper floor of a small high-rise nightclub building typical for Roppongi. We rode up a tiny elevator with a pack of Japanese girls wearing ankle-length dresses with five-inch platform shoes. It was hard to tell who was more out of place, myself in a midthigh-length cotton sundress or Hugh in his classy but corporate Paul Smith suit.

Three burly Americans who looked like marines, save for the earrings, inspected Hugh’s leather brief-case for weapons and contraband before letting us in. Admission was free, but every beverage sold cost one thousand yen. Scam, Isn’t It? would have been a better name for the place. I pushed my way through a group of green-haired kids gyrating to Prince. I remembered reading in
Tokyo Journal
about a series of drug busts in the place.