It was almost dark when they reached the spa, one of those vast
Japanese resort hotels catering to the middle class. It had a fake-
traditional exterior and hundreds of rooms inside, as though the Temple
of the Golden Pavilion had somehow been hollowed out and enlarged to
encompass a health club. Strangely, though, it had been completely
cleared, guests sent on their way; it was totally, absolutely empty.
The parking lot was cordoned off, and gardeners were busily clipping
and manicuring the grounds. Tam was impressed. Dai Nippon must have
plenty of clout, she told herself, to be able to commandeer an entire
hotel.
The manager came out to meet Noda, deferentially bowing and sucking in
his breath, after which their few bags were summarily swept away. When
Noda returned he said nothing, merely smiled and suggested they all
retire to the big public baths on the lower level. Since the hotel was
a vacation retreat, the basement was almost entirely devoted to the one
universal love of the Japanese public--scalding water.
Down they went through the concrete hallways, attendants and staff
bobbing. The sauna-like baths, like the hotel, seemed to be theirs
alone. While Noda and Ken retired to the men's section down the
corridor, Tam and Mori entered the women's side, a cavernous tile-
floored room with a steaming pool at one end. Local women in white
head-kerchiefs immediately appeared and began to fuss over their
guests, scrubbing and rinsing them while praising the famous Noda-sama.
Then, as Mori's towel dropped away, Tam looked her over.
Good figure. She had always believed that, judged by Western standards,
Japanese women tended to be somewhat flat-chested and to have shortish
calves, characteristics the high-waisted kimono was well designed to
disguise--which also explained why a Western woman wearing one could
easily look like a buxom stork. Mori, however, had a lithe, well-
proportioned shape, and her breasts were positively generous.
The intimacy of the bath didn't noticeably humanize her however. While
they soaked and steamed, she volunteered nothing beyond a few routine
pleasantries. No more tirades about Yamatoism and American treachery,
but no informal talk either. After a polite interval Tam excused
herself to go upstairs to her room and freshen up for dinner. Mori's
agenda clearly differed from Noda's; this woman, she concluded, had a
game plan all her own. But what?
Not long afterward she heard Ken tapping lightly on the door. Just as
she'd hoped. After the hot, steamy bath, he couldn't have been more
welcome. In fact she took one look at him, pristine and elegant in his
blue silk _yukata_, and briefly considered undressing him right there
in the doorway--with her teeth.
He was a wonderful lover, by turns gentle and forceful, as though their
being together was some exquisite ceremony. Their lovemaking always had
a particularly Japanese quality, a heightened appreciation of the
erotic, derived no doubt from a tradition that values subtlety and
sensual satisfaction. Afterward they shared a brief soak in the little
redwood tub there in her room, then he headed down the hall to change.
Well, she told herself, coming down to Ise has been well worth the
trip. Matsuo Noda is definitely eccentric, but all the same he's a
Renaissance man by any gauge. Still, why did he want to meet me? Just
to tell me ancient fables? No, that's some kind of prelude. The real
theme is yet to be announced.
As she started putting her hair up in some quick curlers to try and
recover from the steam, she pushed aside her misgivings. Although she
only had the suit she'd worn down, intended for business, she decided
it didn't matter. Surely tonight would be informal.
She was just finishing up with her hair when she heard a frantic
pounding on the door. Very un-Japanese. Puzzling, she cracked it open.
Ken was standing there, no slippers, still in his _yukata_, which he
hadn't bothered to tie, all the color gone from his face. Behind him
were two uniformed hotel maids, bearing what was surely the most
gorgeous kimono she had ever seen, heavy silk with a hand-painted
landscape, edged in gold brocade.
"Tamara, I had no idea, honestly. Noda-sama only found out when we got
here, and he couldn't say anything. It was all top secret, heavy
security. They only just arrived a few minutes ago, and he's asked Noda
to dine with him." He paused for breath. "We're invited too."
"Who's just arrived?"
Asano was so nonplussed he didn't hear her. "Apparently he wanted to
review the site plans personally, tomorrow, to see where the museum
will be. I hear the Imperial Household was set against it, but he
insisted."
"Who, for God's sake?" The impossible answer was rapidly dawning.
Abruptly he paused, embarrassed by his own mental disarray.
"His Majesty. Tam, we're about to meet the Emperor of Japan."
In marched the bowing maids, lots of long-vowel honorifics--they
apparently assumed the honorable Richardson-san must be America's First
Lady--and took over.
Tam knew full well that donning a formal kimono was no small
undertaking, but she'd forgotten what a major task it really could be.
First came the undergarments: cotton vest and silk under-kimono,
secured twice, once with a cord and then with an under-sash. Next was
the kimono itself, right side folded under the left and then bound at
the waist with a cord, the excess length being pulled up and folded
over so that the hem just cleared the toes. That fold was in turn
secured by another waist cord, after which came yet another under-sash.
Now it was ready for the all-important outer sash, the _obi_, a heavy
silk strip wound around the waist twice, cinched hard, and knotted at
the back, long end up, short end down. Then the long end was folded
into a sort of cloth _origami_, this one a butterfly, after which it
was rolled into a makeshift tube, into which the short end was stuffed.
Finally this _obi _sculpture was secured with yet another waist cord,
knotted in front.
It was all done with minute precision, including the rakish display of
a prescribed few millimeters of silk under kimono at the neck, an
erotic touch for traditionalists. Finally she put on special _tabi_
stockings, bifurcated at the big toe to accommodate her thonged
slippers.