Kyoto Connection

Chapter 1

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the relaxing warmth of the hot tub. I had adopted the Japanese custom of bathing in communal hot tubs, since my tiny apartment had a shower, but no bathtub. This was the first time I had come to this particular sento, and I was the only bather there that afternoon. It was late May in Kyoto, and I was enjoying a rare afternoon off from my job as an English translator for the HMT Corporation. When I first came to Kyoto over two years ago, I had just completed a graduate program in Japanese studies. I was twenty-six, unmarried and was getting over a breakup with a boyfriend, so the prospect of seeing the country I had studied for so long, was very appealing to me. My close-knit family was sad to see me leave, but they were supportive of my decision. They could not have anticipated the degree to which I would embrace my new home.

I spoke Japanese from my years of studying it in high school and college, as well as from speaking with the Japanese exchange students my family hosted, but I found that even my extensive knowledge of the language did not fully prepare me for my experience of living in Kyoto. I grew used to people being shocked that I could speak the language at all, since I was gaijin-foreigner, but my fluency increased quickly as I grew accustomed to the Kyoto dialect.

I had accepted a job teaching English in one the Big Three language schools in order to obtain a work visa. I spent a year teaching, and through my contacts with some of the men who attended night classes, I was able to secure a job as a translator in a company that had dealings in America.

During the year I spent teaching English, I made several good friends who were also Americans teaching there, and I continued to socialize with them. None of them spoke much Japanese, so they enjoyed being able to go out with me knowing I could actually read a menu. I had made some Japanese friends as well, and I was very happy with my life in Kyoto. I spent my free time visiting temples and shopping at the many markets and stores Kyoto had to offer. In my more than two years there, I had managed to visit a few places outside Kyoto like Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka, Nara, but I always returned to Kyoto with the feeling that I was coming home. I could not explain this feeling to my friends and family, but I loved Kyoto and felt more at home there than I had ever felt anywhere.

As I lay there in the tub, I thought back to last month when the cherry blossoms had been in full bloom-sakura , and I remembered how much fun the parties celebrating spring had been. There were so many festivals in Kyoto for each season, but certainly sakura time was one of my favorites. Summer would bring my favorite-Gion Matsuri with its beautiful floats, then Obon in August with the massive bonfires visible from the mountains at night. People always praised autumn in Kyoto where omiji-gari-autumn color viewing, made people flock to the temples and the hills of Arashiyama to see the vibrant colors of the leaves. I had spent my life in New England, so leaf peeping was no novelty to me. Still I enjoyed the season and even found winter more to my liking than the snowy, cold New England winters of my past. Kyoto winters were very cold, but they didn’t get too much snow or ice.

Excuse me. Do you mind if I join you in the tub? asked a naked Japanese man who was holding a small towel below his waist to cover himself. I opened my eyes in shock at both the naked man and the fact that he was speaking fluent English to me. I was so surprised that I didn’t immediately think to cover my naked breasts until I noticed him staring intently at them with a smile on his face. I grabbed the small towel that the sento provided, and quickly covered myself.

I had never been to this place before, but I knew it was a co-ed bathhouse. I thought no one would show up in the afternoon, so I took a chance that I would be alone there. I stared at his face and thought he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His thick, dark hair was cut short in the current trendy clip that accentuated his chiseled good looks. My eyes traveled down his body, and I was amazed at how athletic and muscular his body was. I realized I was staring, and yet he made no effort to sit. Please sit down, I said to him. "I know you have as much right to be here as I do, but I’d be more comfortable if you sat. I actually felt more comfortable staying under the water than I would if I had to get up and walk away naked. Besides, it had been a long time since I had spoken English to such an attractive companion.

He eased himself into the hot water, sighing happily as he settled back and relaxed. "There actually used to be many more co-ed sento than there are today. Thank you for allowing me to stay. I come here often, but I have never shared the tub with an American woman before. I adjusted the little towel to make sure it adequately covered me. As I said before, it’s not a question of allowing you to stay. It’s a co-ed sento. I am quite impressed with your English. You must have spent some time in America. Yes, I did. I went to undergraduate school at Harvard, and I visit America on business now and then. Sumimasen-excuse me. My name is Kenji Tanaka." He introduced himself using the American way of first name, last name. If he were speaking to a Japanese person, he would have said Tanaka, Kenji. I thought it was further evidence of his familiarity with English that he could adjust his thinking so quickly to accommodate me. For some reason I held back from telling him I was fluent in Japanese.

My name is Page Queenan. I come from Massachusetts, so I know Harvard very well. It’s funny to think we were both in the same state at the same time. Are you visiting Kyoto on vacation? he asked. No, I live here. I told him about my education in Japanese Studies and how I had come to Kyoto to teach English. I mentioned the name of the corporation I worked for, but let him assume I simply taught English there. Now and then I was called on to instruct some executives at the company, so I didn’t feel a need to elaborate about my translation services. What do you do for work? I asked Kenji. My family owns an import/export company in Tokyo. I run the Kyoto office. It’s nice to be able to take off when I want now and then since I run the business. That must be a fascinating business, I said. Do you specialize in any Japanese items in particular? No, we handle many different Japanese collectibles. My own favorite is netsuke. Do you know netsuke? he asked. Yes, I am familiar with what they are, I answered, but I don’t know a lot about them. Kenji went on to explain about netsuke.

He told me that netsuke were miniature sculptures that had been developed over three hundred years in Japan. Because the kimono, which both men and women wore, had no pockets, men needed a way to keep items like money pouches, or pipes from slipping off the silk cords that held them. The items were called sagemono or inro and were often beautifully carved out of ivory, wood or precious metals. The silk cord hung from the obi, the sash went around the middle of the kimono, and the netsuke acted to keep the sagemono from slipping through the obi. There was a sliding bead-ojime-on the cord that could loosen or tighten the opening. Today people collect sagemono, inro, ojime, and netsuke because they are so beautiful.

I had no idea it there was so much involved in netsuke, I said. Do you collect them? I asked. Yes, I do. I mainly collect those from the Meiji period that are made of ivory. Some people prefer contemporary netsuke, but I like the antique.

Would you have a coffee with me? Kenji asked suddenly. I fear I am keeping you in this tub too long with all my talking. You have been so polite to listen. Please let me take you out for a drink so you can tell me more about yourself, he said. O.K. I agreed. But only if you get out first and meet me outside after you’re dressed. That sounds fair, he said with a grin. I will meet you in ten minutes. Is that enough time for you? he asked. Yes, that’s fine, I said.

Kenji stood up and left the tub. I could not help staring at his backside as he sauntered off. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe because I was so aroused by this man. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to me since I had come to Kyoto. I had dated a few men, both Japanese and American, in the last two years, but nothing had come of any of the dates. They were usually someone I had been fixed up with by a friend, and although they were pleasant enough, not one of them had made me feel the way this chance encounter with Kenji did. As I got out of the tub and covered myself with the miniscule towel, I glanced around to make sure he was not watching me. I almost wished he were. I had felt so comfortable talking with him in the tub that I had to fight the urge to tell him how attracted I was to him.

I changed quickly into the pretty floral dress I had worn to work that morning. I stared into the mirror as I brushed my chin length blonde hair into place. The ends were damp from the tub, but would dry soon in the warm spring air. I applied some mascara to my green eyes and took extra care with my lipstick. I didn’t generally wear much makeup. For years as a teenager I had longed for the tanned look of a California girl with straight blonde hair, but eventually I grew comfortable with my fair Irish skin, green eyes, and wavy hair. I grabbed my bag and went out to meet Kenji.

Chapter 2

When I went outside, I found Kenji waiting. He was dressed in a beautiful gray suit, white shirt and a tie, which he had loosened. Wow, I said, you look great with clothes on! So do you! Kenji replied. We both laughed at how surprising that sounded. Kenji said he knew of a good little kissaten-coffee shop nearby, and asked if I would rather walk or drive to it. I was surprised that he had a car, since the people I normally associated with did not have one. Please leave your car parked if you were lucky enough to find a space. I love to walk.

The coffee shop, Inoda ,was not crowded on this late Thursday afternoon, and we found a quiet table to sit at. We both ordered café latte iced coffee at the same time, and Kenji laughed. What is that American expression about the length of waves? he asked. You mean we are both on the same wavelength? Hai-yes exactly! Kenji told me about some of his experiences in America as a college student. Unlike many of his fellow foreign students, Kenji spent summers in Japan since his family was able to afford for him to go back and forth. When he graduated, he went to the prestigious Tokyo University for his graduate work in business and Japanese art. I asked why he was still single. He laughed out loud causing the few other patrons in the coffee house to look at them. That’s what I love about Americans. If you want to know an answer, you ask the question. I know many Japanese would consider it rude to ask that question, but I enjoy your candid questions. I have not married because I have not found a woman I want to marry. I know my parents would be happier if I were married, but I am thirty years old, and I do as I please. They have often introduced me to women who would be suitable in their opinion, but not in mine. Sometimes I dread going home to visit, because I know they will have someone waiting to meet me over dinner at a restaurant.

Now I laughed at his candor. Well, you are quite a catch, I said. Handsome, Harvard educated…. I imagine you have left a bunch of broken hearts behind you! Now you are making fun of me, Kenji said. Maybe just a little!

He asked me if I had visited any other parts of Japan, and I shared some of the highlights of my trips with him. He laughed when I told him I went to Tokyo Disneyland. I said I thought Tokyo was just too big and crowded for me, and I tried to explain to him how I felt about Kyoto. I told him I had met several Kyotoites who didn’t seem to like living in Kyoto, but I couldn’t understand why. To me it seemed to offer the perfect blend of ancient and modern. I loved the busy streets like Kawaramachi, but I also loved the ancient temples where you could leave the city far behind without ever being far from the busy streets.

Whenever I went to Ginkaku-ji, the Temple of the Silver Pavillion, I could sit and enjoy the simple quiet beauty. One of my favorite places was Kiyomizu dera where I would climb way up and enjoy the view of Kyoto far below. One time I happened upon a ceremony that was taking place at Kiyomizu, and although I didn’t know what the occasion was, the beautiful silk gowns of the women, and the soft music playing mesmerized me.

I told Kenji about my favorite things in Kyoto, like eating grilled mochi (pounded rice with a teriyaki sauce on a stick) from a street vendor near Yasaka shrine. I had tried one and walked away eating it. Before I had finished eating it, I wanted another one! Kenji shook his head in surprise. Are there any other strange addictions you have? he asked. "Well I truly love umeboshi more than anything, I said, referring to the pickled ume plum peculiar to Japan. I eat them all the time. I love ume onigiri, too. Onigiri is a sushi rice ball that has an ume in the middle of it and sesame seeds on the outside. I think maybe you are more Japanese than a Japanese!" said Kenji. I told him I still didn’t like sashimi, the raw fish so popular there, Í do love to go to Nishiki Market. I love seeing all the unusual things they have for sale there. I buy my green tea there.

I thought Americans were coffee drinkers, Kenji said. "Not me. I will drink iced coffee, but I hate hot coffee. Inoda was becoming more crowded, and Kenji suggested we go somewhere for dinner. I was enjoying myself so much I agreed without hesitation.

The streets of Kyoto are laid out in a grid pattern, with broad avenues and narrow streets. I remembered my first experience in a taxi coming from Kyoto Station. I couldn’t believe a car could fit down some of those streets, let alone travel at the speed they did while negotiating the narrow streets filled with pedestrians and countless bicycles. Once I had settled in, I had walked all over the city, rarely getting lost due to the way the streets were laid out. Many streets crossing Kawaramachidori and Karasumadori were all named after numbers. Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi, etc became Ichijo, Nijo, Sanjo, Shichijo, etc. I found it easy to get around, and since Kyoto also has a good though not extensive subway system as well as a good extensive bus system, I rarely used taxis. They were just too expensive on my limited budget.

The coffee shop was on Sanjodori that was a very busy street. The big depato-department stores Takashimaya, Hankyu and Daimaru were all located on the next street down, Shijodori.. The sento where we had met was not far from there.

Chapter 3

We decided to go eat okonomiyaki-a kind of Japanese omelette that you can create yourself at the table. I often went out with my friends to eat this food that was vaguely reminiscent of an American breakfast favorite. I liked the fact that I put in only what I wanted. My Japanese friends always insisted on squid, but I declined offers to eat that. The restaurant was busy, but we found a seat and ordered. As we talked, I couldn’t help feeling more and more attracted to Kenji. I was always the sensible one in any crowd. I was the one who was shocked when my girlfriends told me about their love lives. Yet here I was entertaining thoughts of inviting him home on our first date!

Although the coffee shop had been nearly deserted, I had noticed a man sitting in a corner who seemed to be listening to Kenji and me. We spoke English so I assumed he was curious to know what we were discussing. Now as we sat in the restaurant, I could have sworn the same man was sitting nearby. I do not believe that all Japanese look alike as many Americans think they do, but I also couldn’t imagine why that same man would be at the same restaurant. Maybe my imagination was working overtime. It was such a rare treat to be dining out on a Thursday night. I was really enjoying the dining and the company. We finished our meal and our Kirin beers, and left.

It was after nine o’clock, and I knew I should suggest that it was time to go home. We both had to work tomorrow, but I felt reluctant to leave him. My proper New England upbringing won out over my desire, and I told him I should go home. He didn’t protest, which made me feel a little depressed, but we walked back to the sento where he had parked. I thanked him for dinner, and said I going to take the subway home. He said he would not hear of it, and he insisted on driving me home. That sounded more appealing than waiting for a subway, so after I protested feebly, I agreed.

The traffic wasn’t too bad, so it only took about ten minutes to reach my apartment. It was in a building several blocks past the intersection of Kawaramachi and Oike. It was actually in a good location for me, because it was easily accessible to buses and trains,