ornaments. The makeover took a good three quarters of an hour and even
so it was a rush job.
As the sashes and cords and cinches got ever tighter and more
suffocating, she remembered what wearing a kimono can do to your
psyche. The _obi _seemed designed to demolish breasts, the multiple
waist sashes and cords to totally immobilize the torso from rib cage to
thigh. When Ken finally escorted her onto the elevator she felt like a
walking mummy . . . this, she remembered, is why a lifelong kimono
wearer minces along in short, pigeon-toed steps that suggest she's been
shackled at the knees.
Downstairs the kitchen had been placed on war footing, and what awaited
when they entered the _tatami _banquet room was the tableau for a full-
scale feast. The lacquer table was dotted with delicate rice-straw
mats, on which was marshaled an array of ancient stoneware plates and
cups--rugged black Raku, creamy white Shino, green-tipped Oribe. The
_kakemono _picture-scroll hanging in the _tokonoma_ was a severe
monochrome landscape in the angular ink style of the great master
Sesshu. Was it authentic? she wondered. Where'd they get it?
After a few minutes' wait the stately man she'd first seen on TV
appeared in the doorway and began removing his shoes, surprisingly
relaxed and informal despite the Household guards standing just outside
for security. While everybody bowed to the floor, he greeted Noda--
apparently they'd met when Noda presented the sword--and exchanged a few
pleasantries. His speech was now ordinary Japanese, not the archaic
court dialect of the news conference. This was the real man. Noda bowed
politely from time to time, then turned and introduced his party.
The Emperor of Japan, Tam noticed, seemed to have an eye for the
ladies. When her turn came, he was all easy smiles, saying something
about how pleasant it was to meet such a charming American, since he
rarely had the honor. He then complimented her kimono.
After that, His Majesty took the place of highest status, his back to
the _tokonoma_ alcove (traditionally the safest spot to be, since it
was the one location in a room sure to be backed by a solid wall), and
motioned for Noda to sit next to him on the left, the second-highest
place of honor.
Then he nodded toward Tam, calling her his honorable foreign guest, and
asked if she would indulge him by sitting on
his right. She bowed back and took her place. Mori, whose own kimono
was a pattern of delicately shaded autumn leaves, was seated alongside
Noda, while Ken was placed next to Tam. As he was settling everybody,
an important ritual of prestige, the Emperor kept repeating how
delighted he was to meet a real American--his exposure to the outside
world these days apparently consisted mainly of television.
He started things off by toasting Dai Nippon, International with a
saucer of sake, after which he asked Noda to repeat for him again
exactly how the sword had been recovered. Since his late father had
been an ardent marine biologist, he loved the part about the
computerized magnetometer and pressed for all the details.
Finally the banquet got underway, course after course of a little
sliver of local seafood and an ornamental portion of seasonal
vegetable, everything on some unexpected serving piece. It was a feast
of sight as much as taste. A delicacy called _mukozuke _came in a black
lacquer bowl, _hassun_ on a bamboo tray, _hashiarai _in a brown Raku
cup, _konomono _in a weathered earthen dish, _yakimono_ on a gray Oribe
platter tipped with green. The sake pot was cast-iron, sixteenth-
century, with a pale turquoise porcelain top. They all drank from
saucers of crusty white Shino ware--the Emperor's tipped in gold.
By then Tam's legs had begun to ache. She knew that sitting in formal
Japanese style, on the heels, can eventually induce what seems like
semi-paralysis of the lower extremities. As she glanced around, she
decided that only Ken, who'd told her he was accustomed to kneeling
traditional style for hours practicing the tea ceremony, actually
seemed comfortable.
Finally the table was cleared for the famous specialty of the spa,
which His Majesty had specifically requested. It was an ornate
_yosenabe_, a lusty Japanese bouillabaisse of artfully sculptured
components, each of which signified some episode in the fateful battle
of Dan-no-ura--in fact, the very engagement in which the sword was lost.
That was eight hundred years ago, Tam reminded herself, yet you'd think
it was only last week.
They were just concluding the meal with the traditional serving of
_gohan_ or rice when the manager of the spa entered and announced that
their special entertainer was now ready. He apologized that, although
he could offer nothing truly worthy of His Majesty, his humble spa had
brought from Kyoto a performer he hoped would not be judged too
harshly. He then ordered more sake sent in.
Although drinking more sake after a banquet's closing round of _gohan_
is normally judged impolite, His Majesty just smiled and thanked their
flustered host. Around went the small flagons once more, maids scraping
the _tatami _with their foreheads as they refilled the Emperor's gold-
trimmed saucer.
Then the _fusuma_ parted and the evening's surprise swept into the
room, wearing an austere autumn kimono of finest silk and holding a
_shamisen_, a three-stringed instrument with a cat-skin face and gold
fittings. Her lips were vermilion, her lacquered wig coal-black, her
face chalk. As she bowed low before His Majesty, only one visage in the
room was paler than hers.
She was, Ken whispered to Tam with great delight, none other than
Matsuo Noda's former "protegee," Koriko.
After she had bowed low before the Emperor, she greeted the president
and CEO of Dai Nippon as though he were merely another guest. He nodded
and mumbled back a reply both curt and incomprehensible. Next she
tossed a mildly flirtatious acknowledgment to Ken, who returned her
wink and toasted her with his sake saucer.
That ended the formalities, since she treated the women in the room as
though they were composed of thin air. Their presence violated all
tradition, an embarrassment that could be papered over, Japanese style,
simply by pretending they didn't exist. Tam could have cared less,
while the pained face of Akira Mori indicated she was positively
relieved.
Koriko took immediate command of the room with an easy poise that
confirmed her professionalism. Tam guessed she was pushing forty but
knew that aficionados of geisha prefer talent over youth. Using a large
ivory plectrum, Koriko strummed her _shamisen_ twice, its wound-silk
strings piercing and whiny, then began a high-pitched song from her
ancient repertoire. Tam couldn't follow the words and doubted if
anybody else could either. However, she knew it was the convention that
counted. Then at a dramatic moment two more geisha entered with a
flourish and began a classical dance, all fans and rustling silk. It
was a stunning floor show for those who appreciate slow-motion poses
and flirtatiously exposed napes of neck. Between dances Koriko urged
more sake on the men, joked with His Majesty and with Ken, and induced
them both to sing a racy song. Noda, who sat there glaring, was
diplomatically ignored.
For her own part, Tam was finding this traditional "geisha party"
extremely juvenile and silly. Was this what supposedly intelligent
Japanese businessmen consider the height of refined amusement, all this
fake flattery and cajoling, mixed with not a few ribald double
entendres? How depressing.
After a few more songs and dances Koriko and her ensemble began
preparing to depart, whereupon His Majesty presented her with a small
gift, or perhaps an honorarium, wrapped in gold paper and tied with an
elaborate purple bow. In keeping with etiquette she didn't open it,
merely thanked him graciously and tucked it into her obi. She then
caressed the ivory pegs of her shamisen with reverence, saying she
would treasure it forever as the unworthy instrument that had solaced
the ears of His Imperial Majesty.
With a final bow to Noda, never hinting she knew him, she backed out
the door and was gone, followed by the others. His look of relief
reminded Tam of a man who'd just walked away from a collapsing
building.
Whatever may have been Tam's, or Matsuo Noda's, secret thoughts about
Koriko, the Emperor clearly had had a rollicking time. Presumably he
didn't have all that many occasions to flirt with geisha. Now slightly
the worse for sake, he began to wax pensive, turning to his American
guest and offering to provide an account of the battle of Dan-no-ura.
It was a definite switch of mood, but Koriko's traditional songs seemed
to have struck a nostalgic nerve. Or perhaps the sword had brought him
a new enthusiasm for the past he wanted to share. As he started
recounting the battle, Tam smiled to think it was like having the Queen
herself brief you on that family squabble of yesteryear called the War
of the Roses.
"That battle, Richardson-san, between the Heike and Genji clans, was a
turning point in the long history of our country; it represented the
rise to power of the warriors. The shogunate." He smiled politely. "I'm
afraid the monarchy never quite recovered.
"In fact, today the crabs in the Inland Sea have a mark on the back of
their shells that people say is like the insignia of the Heike, that
they represent the fallen banners of the Heike nobles." He paused while
a maid topped off his tiny cup with more hot sake. "I suppose you've
seen them?"
"_Hai, miraremashita_." Of course, she nodded, stretching
out her vowels to maximum politeness. She wasn't sure she had actually,
but this was no time to appear like a dumb _gaijin_.
"Well, after many years of fighting, the Heike nobles and the boy
emperor they were defending fled to an island across the Inland Sea.
But the Genji forces pursued them and eventually they were forced to
take to their boats once more. Finally the battle was joined. Since the
Heike were experienced sailors, they assumed they would prevail in a
naval encounter, and thus their commander unwisely elected to make his
stand in the straits, where the riptide was as quick and treacherous
then as it is today. At first he had the tide in his favor and they
held the enemy, but around noon the tide changed and was against them.
Gradually the forces of the Genji surrounded the ship bearing the
emperor and the court."
His voice faltered slightly, and she realized the story was still as
fresh for him as if it had happened yesterday. Finally he continued.
"As the sad story is told in the Heike Monogatari, the court nobles saw
a school of dolphins coming toward them. They said, 'If these turn
back, the Genji will be destroyed and we will triumph. If they proceed,
it will be a bad omen.' When the dolphins continued on, even diving
under their ships, the Heike realized they were lost. And sure enough,
at that moment the Genji ships began closing in.
"Now the tragic part. The nurse of the boy emperor-- Antoku was only
eight--resolved what she would do. She donned a double outer dress of
dark gray, the color of mourning, tucked up the long skirts of her
heavy silk _hakama _robe, and wrapped the sacred sword in her girdle.
Then, taking young Antoku in her arms, she moved to the gunwale of the
vessel and looked down at the waves. Finally she said to the men of the
court, Though I am only a woman, I will not surrender myself to our
enemies. I will accompany our Sovereign Emperor on his journey.'
"At that moment little Antoku looked up, his long black hair streaming
down his back, and asked, 'Where are you taking me?'
"Tears began to flow down her cheeks. She said to him, 'Bow to the east
and bid your farewell to the Great Shrine at Ise. Our capital will no
longer be Kyoto but a place beneath the seas, where there is no
sorrow.'
"So the young Antoku, his white robes the color of the
dove, bowed east to Ise--whereupon the nurse, holding him in one arm and
the sacred sword in the other, leapt into the waves.
"Next, another woman tried to jump overboard with the casket holding
the sacred mirror, but an arrow pinned her _hakama_ to the gunwales,
and the Genji soldiers retrieved it. All we know of what happened next
is the dispatch they sent back to the new rulers in Kyoto, which
declared, 'The former emperor is at the bottom of the sea, and the
sacred mirror has been recovered. But the sword is lost and a search is
being made.'" He turned and nodded toward Noda. "Only tonight, eight
centuries later, can the rest be told. At last, the sword has been
restored to Us."
Noda bowed low and offered a toast to the Imperial line.
It was then that Akira Mori first spoke. Although she addressed her
words to Tam, they were obviously meant for His Majesty. "Richardson-
san, recovering the sword is a more important historical event than
many realize. Its loss coincided with the end of Imperial power in
Japan. After that, the emperor became a figurehead, a captive of the
shoguns." She shot a quick glance at Noda. "If the sword means nothing
else, it should remind us all that no shogun must ever be allowed to
rise again."
What's she driving at? Tam wondered.
"Of course." His Majesty took up the theme. "Although there was a time
in this century when the militarists once again made a tool of the
emperor of Japan, I agree it was wrong." He looked at Mori with
admiration. "The respect your words show for the Imperial house of
Yamato touches me deeply."
While she bowed in acknowledgment, he turned to Noda. "In the same
manner, Noda-san, Japan's important place in the modern world brings
special respect to Us as well. For that We must thank you and all those
helping to fashion the new Japan,"
Tam watched Noda, puzzling. Something was going on, some kind of coded
cross-talk she didn't fully comprehend. Shogun. Emperor. What was
everybody's unspoken agenda?
At that point His Majesty rose unsteadily and announced he had a heavy
day ahead, whereupon he summarily bade everyone good evening and
exited, Imperial Household guards in attendance. Tam noticed that Mori
watched his departure with a wistful . . . worshipful, gaze.
After he was gone, a reverent stillness settled around them. Even Ken,
normally talkative, was subdued. What's going on here? she puzzled. One
thing was sure: Japan was like a magical onion, with layers to be
peeled away slowly. Each time you learn something new, yet you never
really get to the core.
When the last dishes had been cleared and nothing remained on their low
table except fresh kettles of sake, Noda leaned back and broke the
silence. She realized he was speaking to her. Matsuo Noda, it quickly
came to light, was fully familiar with her books.
But that was merely the beginning. Next, Akira Mori, who'd been quietly
waiting her turn, joined in.
"Were you moved by the story of the nurse who threw herself into the
waves, Richardson-san? The one who sacrificed her own life to honor her
ideals?"
"It was a very touching account." Tam looked at her, surprised by the
sudden friendliness. "I understand even more now why everybody's so
excited about the sword."
"Presumably you know," Mori continued evenly, "that the young emperor's
nurse was undoubtedly Fujiwara. Perhaps of low rank, but nonetheless a
member of the family that historically has been closest to the throne."
"Of course, the Fujiwara were always Imperial retainers--"
"Have you taken no interest in that family?" Mori continued, her face
still revealing nothing.
"I . . . no, not really?" Tam studied her.
"Perhaps you should, Dr. Richardson." She switched to flawless English.
"Are you aware that your own mother was Fujiwara? In fact, it is
possible that in your veins runs the same blood as the nurse who gave
her life for the emperor that April day eight hundred years ago."
Tam felt a numbness sweep over her. She'd never thought much about her
real mother, or father. Naturally there would have been no way of
tracing him, at least none she knew. But of course there'd be full
records of the woman who bore her, then put her up for adoption. For
some reason Mori--or was it Noda himself?--had had them looked up. They'd
uncovered something about her that she herself had never wanted, for
well-examined reasons, to explore. Her adoptive parents had been all
anybody could desire. Why stir up unknowns? Besides, she believed in
nurture, not nature.
"You both seem to know a great many things about me."
Her glance shifted back and forth between them. She was surprised, yes,
but if they'd assumed she'd be stunned, they were wrong. She'd decided
long ago not to let herself care.
"Although your true mother no longer lives, you are most certainly
Fujiwara," Mori went on. "You have blood ties with the family that once
stood ready to give its life for the emperor. Therefore you may even
have a connection with the sword itself."
Noda moved in. "We also believe, Dr. Richardson, that you, because of
your work, could have a vital role in the endeavor Dai Nippon will soon
undertake. That is the reason we want to speak with you tonight."
At last, Tam thought. I'm finally going to find out why Matsuo Noda
"accidentally" happened to ask me along.
"I've been waiting to hear this."
Since the _fusuma _sliding doors were drawn closed, shutting out the
serving women, Noda breached conventional etiquette and reached across
the table to pour more sake into Tam's tiny Shino dish himself. Ken
merely looked on silently as Mori took up Noda's theme.
"We would like you to be part of something that would do honor to your
Fujiwara heritage, Dr. Richardson, the noble family that so long served
the emperor."
"I may or may not be Fujiwara, Mori-san, but I already have my work."
"Dr. Richardson, do hear us out," Noda interjected, pressing. "We wish
to advise you that important, even potentially disruptive events, lie
ahead for America. Very soon. And we would like very much for someone
such as yourself, a pragmatist, to be involved. Especially since, in
addition to your professional skills, you are in a position to
understand the cultures, the attitudes, of both Americans and Japanese.
Your assistance could be invaluable."
"Invaluable for what purpose?"
"A worthy undertaking, we assure you. Think of it if you will as an
attempt to prevent Japan and the West from going to war with each other
again."
She looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to fathom
what they were driving at. Then Noda continued, revealing again that
nothing had happened by chance.
"We brought you here today to Ise to remind you of the importance of
your Japanese heritage. A heritage whose sole
purpose is, like Shinto itself, the peace and ordering of the world."
"What's this all about?" She looked at Ken, in a black silk kimono,
serenely sipping his sake and looking the essence of cultivated,
tantalizing otherness. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
He carefully set down his Shino dish and smoothed his long sleeve. "I
did have occasion to remind Noda-sama that you have a unique
combination of background and expertise, Tamara, that could be very
instrumental in the realization of his objectives."
"And what are his objectives?" She looked back at Noda. "Your
objectives?"
"You, Dr. Richardson, should appreciate this better than anyone." He
studied his sake saucer. "There are things the West excels at doing,
and there are areas, I trust it is not improper to say, in which we
Japanese have demonstrated aptitude. Why should we compete in each
other's spheres? It leads only to divisiveness. We open ourselves to
predators-- from the steppes of the Caucasus to the oil-rich deserts of
Araby. But if we join together, the peoples of Japan and America can
achieve insurmountable strength."
"You're talking about something that would more properly be in the
realm of diplomacy, Noda-san."
He laughed. "Pardon me, Dr. Richardson, but diplomacy is merely the
window dressing for reality. The world cares not a penny for diplomacy,
only for power. No one troubled about the Persian Gulf states until
they had OPEC and the rest of us had no petroleum. Then suddenly they
were toasted worldwide as men of great moment. That is the meaning of
'diplomacy.'
"The reason I knew you would understand the importance of Ise," he went
on, "is that, in your genes, you are part of us. You appreciate the
value of harmony, one of the first teachings of our philosophy. There
must be harmony between man and his world."
"What does that--?"
"Please, just allow me to finish. In like manner, there must also be
harmony between nations. Yet all we hear about today is friction.
Usually trade friction. Between our nations. But what can be done? The
solutions we hear talked of seem, for reasons political and otherwise,
impossible to implement. So what course does that leave? You speak of
diplomacy, but already diplomacy has been shown inadequate. Why, we
might ask, is that so? Because, as your Thomas Jefferson observed many
years ago, money is the principal exchange of civilized nations.
Diplomacy comes out of economic power. It was trade that estranged our
two nations once before in this century, leading to a conflict neither
of us desired, and it is money that creates these 'frictions' we hear
about so much today. Since diplomacy has failed, we must now find other
means to bring stability and thus harmony to both our nations."
She was tempted to ask him how all the right-wing, nationalistic fervor
he was churning up with the sword would contribute to this so-called
harmony, but instead she inquired what, specifically, he was proposing.
"The most pressing problem America has today, Dr. Richardson, is the
growing inability of your industries to compete. If I may be allowed to
generalize: America's strength has long been in innovation, but I think
it is reasonable to suggest that Japanese management has had a
commensurate share of success. So much so that we have been the subject
of a flurry of books in your country." He smiled. "Even, I should add,
several very insightful volumes written by you yourself. Also, Japanese
industry has already been part of a number of joint ventures,
instituting our management techniques in the service of America's
business."
"Well, unquestionably we do have problems in our industrial sector just
now," Tam interjected. "But Japan has plenty of difficulties of its
own."
"Most assuredly." He nodded. "However, as some might put it, 'the proof
is in the pudding.' I merely ask you to compare your, and our, balance
of trade, or productivity. Surely these both suggest there is truth in
what I say."
At that point Akira Mori abruptly seized the floor. "You know, Dr.
Richardson, there are those in your country who are now saying your
trade problems are caused by Japan. That we should work less, save
less, squander more, just as you do. Perhaps so we will self-destruct
economically as America is now doing and no longer be an embarrassment
to you."
"That is hardly--" Noda tried to break in, but she waved him aside.
"No, this needs to be said. I am tired of hearing Americans tell us to
follow their example." She turned back. "Your media
chastise us for our thrift and hard work, while your businessmen, who
are happy enough to grow rich retailing the superior goods we make,
refuse to invest their profits in modernizing their own factories.
Instead they give themselves bonuses and Japan lectures."
At that she wound down, to the obvious relief of Noda and Ken. The
outburst seemed to pass as quickly as it had come, but it succeeded in
reinforcing Tarn's reservations about Akira Mori.
"So what exactly do you have in mind?" She looked back at Noda.
"Dr. Richardson, no one in Japan desires to see America's industrial
base disintegrate. That is dangerous for the future, both yours and
ours. Yet joint ventures and management seminars are too little, too
late. We, and by 'we' I mean Dai Nippon, are determined to make a more
structured contribution."
As he laid out his plan, she realized that Matsuo Noda had decided to
play God. Still, in this world such things were possible; all it took
was enough financial clout. If anybody doubted that, just remember
OPEC.
But that was the last time around. Now Japan had the money. Maybe the
oil billionaires of years past had no good idea what to do with their
winnings, but Matsuo Noda had a very precise idea indeed.
The one remaining problem: he needed Tamara Richardson.