“Please, Kojiro. Mr. Nanaka said it was very beautiful.”
“Only a sentimental Japanese man would say it is beautiful. The poem is very sad, about lovers who are parted by death.” Kojiro sounded annoyed by the delay, his voice strained.
Libby twined her arms around Kojiro’s waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “Please, read it to me.”
Kojiro sighed in defeat. “Alas, while our ways of love we still kept secret … ” He shook his head. “I don’t know the English words.”
“Go on.”
“Secret as pool sheltered in warm rocks, my world a sunless waste became, and clouds snuffed out the moon that lit my heaven. My girl would lay with me/Young and beautiful … /We lay together only a few/Glorious nights before … ”
He hesitated, reluctant to continue.
“I was forced to part with her. For she, my love-as graceful as deep kelp fronds …
“The next lines are not clear. It is confusing … ”
“I want to know how it ends.”
Kojiro cleared his throat. “Japanese poems about love always end in sorrow,” he snapped.
“Please … ”
“For she, my love has faded from my days like autumn’s glory. Such is the news the running messenger brings, like the clang of the bow-string on a white-wood bow they hit my ear but I find no word to answer or means to offer solace, any words are aching pain. Though I crave her and try to remember/I cannot picture/Her flowing kimono sleeves./The sun has fled the sky./The darkness lowers./I thought I was a warrior./But my armor is wet with tears.”
“Mr. Nanaka was right. It is lovely,” Libby said, moved by the poet’s poignant words. “Thank you for reading it to me, Kojiro. When we get back, would you write out the words for me? I don’t want to forget them.”
Kojiro picked up her bag and headed for the door. “The words are easy to remember,” he said.
It took several hours to reach their destination in the Hakkoda mountains. The two-lane road jack-knifed up a steep grade, between solid walls of snow, to the isolated village.
There was one ryokan to accommodate guests, a rustic wooden structure with a steep snow-covered thatched roof, nestled in a pine forest. The trees rose to majestic heights sheltering the outdoor baths from the wind. In the summer, the popular resort was crowded with visitors, but only the hardiest ventured there in the winter so Libby and Kojiro had the ryokan almost all to themselves.
“It’s such a beautiful place,” Libby exclaimed as they were ushered into their room by a wizened old woman in a quilted gray kimono. After welcoming them with a cup of bitter green tea and rice crackers, she gave them specific instructions on bathing and mealtimes before taking her leave. The room itself was small and almost completely devoid of furniture and decoration save for a painted scroll hanging in a recessed alcove. The floor was covered with the fragrant tatami matting and the windows and doorway by sliding shoji screens that filtered the light through a grid of opaque white paper.
“I am glad you like it,” Kojiro said. “It is difficult to find such an old-fashioned place in modern Japan. Most of the hot springs have become very commercial and very few allow mixed bathing.”
“Mixed bathing?” Libby blushed. “Is that what you have in mind?”
Kojiro shrugged. “Before Japan became Westernized, men and women bathed together. The missionaries who came here after Commodore Perry sailed his Black Ships into Yokohama Harbor were shocked by such behavior and the custom died out.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Once. I arranged a visit for General Sato and some government officials. As you can imagine, I did not have much time to enjoy the baths with so many important men to look after.”
“Well I promise not to make too many demands on your time, Major Yoshida,” Libby laughed.
Kojiro smiled. “I can’t imagine objecting to any of your demands.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” she said as she continued to explore her surroundings, opening and closing the spacious cupboards where the bedding was stored during the day, checking the contents of a small, cleverly disguised refrigerator stocked with miniature cans of soda and sake.
“Everything is in perfect proportion,” she said. “Except for me. I always feel out of place in a traditional Japanese room. I’m the wrong size, the wrong shape, the wrong color.”
“You must not say something so absurd,” Kojiro said, reaching out and stroking her cheek. “The simplicity of this room enhances your beauty.”
“Oh, Kojiro,” she sighed. She wished he would take her in his arms and hold her but he seemed reluctant to get too close, constrained perhaps by the etiquette imposed in the ryokan or the hushed voices of other guests walking by in the corridor. The anonymity of the hotel in Sapporo had made things easier between them than this warm, intimate little room and they changed out of their clothes and into the comfortable blue and white cotton yukatas in embarrassed silence.
Dinner, consisting of fish stew, boiled mountain greens, vegetables, rice, and miso soup, was served promptly at 6:00 P.M. in the communal dining room. Kojiro and Libby made their way through the maze of tables to their appointed place in the dimly lighted room. Libby, self-conscious wearing the yukata and wooden geta, tried to ignore the stares from the other diners as she seated herself on the cushion opposite Kojiro. Despite her excitement at spending the weekend away with him, she felt like an outsider in the ryokan, an imposter, dressed up for a costume party and pretending she was someone else. She didn’t even know how to fasten her yukata correctly. Kojiro had to adjust the collar and the hemline — in Japan nothing was left to chance — so she (or perhaps he) wouldn’t be embarrassed by her ignorance when she left their room.
In Sapporo they had come together as equals but here, in spite of the romantic surroundings, Libby felt diminished and uncertain, her attempts at trying to imitate the Japanese, and to even learn their language, pathetic and self-serving.
If only Kojiro looked a little happier, she thought as she gazed across the table at him, but he, too, seemed to find the dinner tedious, despite several cups of sake. All the alcohol had done was heighten the color of his complexion. He acted as tense and reserved as he had when he picked her up in the morning and just about as uncommunicative.
Eventually the dinner ended, the tables were cleared and guests gathered up their bathing paraphernalia in a furoshiki and headed to the bathhouse — the men in one direction, the women in another.
There were several outdoor pools nestled among the outcropping of huge boulders, but before submerging into the steaming water, the bathers were required to attend to their personal ablutions in the bathhouse — a ritual as ancient and regimented as the custom of communal bathing itself.
Libby had long since gotten used to being stared at when she went to the local ofuro in Misawa so she was able to ignore the attention of the other women when she drew up a wooden stool and proceeded to lather her body with soap and wash her hair. She took her time — that was also part of the ritual — and because she was reluctant to leave the warm bathhouse and venture into the frigid outdoors to bathe in a steaming hot spring with Kojiro.
It was not as if they hadn’t seen one another naked. Libby could not think of a single inch of her anatomy that he hadn’t observed close at hand and lovingly caressed; but the thought of blithely disrobing in front of other men left her a little unnerved. If only she wasn’t so tall, or so blonde or so fair complexioned, she could slip into the water unnoticed. She glanced at the petite, dark-haired women crouched around her on their stools and wondered what had ever given her the idea that she belonged among them or could ever be a part of Kojiro’s life. And yet the two of them had come this far together and had reached some kind of unspoken understanding. The cultural divide separating them had been breached. They might be standing on shaky g
round, but at least they were standing there together.
After gathering up her things and depositing them in a basket, Libby donned the crisp yukata, and over that a haori — a warm, quilted topcoat — slipped her bare feet into wooden clogs and, with as much optimism as she could summon, walked resolutely out of the bathhouse into the clear, frosty night. Kojiro was waiting for her by the path leading to the pools, dressed identically in a blue and white figured yukata, brown haori, and clogs. Tonight was the first time she had ever seen him in traditional Japanese clothes and it struck her suddenly, how at ease he looked in his native dress, how noble and proud. And how foreign.
“Libby.” Her fears were temporarily allayed by the tenderness in his voice and she smiled shyly, as he took her arm and guided her down the steep path.
“It’s freezing,” she laughed.
“I will make you warm,” he said, drawing her closer. She could feel the heat from his body radiating through the thin cotton and she shivered but whether from excitement or the intense cold she wasn’t quite certain. It felt so good to have his arms around her again even if he was concentrating on navigating the icy terrain.
A lighted path led the way to the natural rock pool, secluded behind a screen of tall pine trees, their graceful branches heavily laden with a frosting of new snow. Stone lanterns placed discreetly out of sight illuminated the steaming water and the immediate surroundings with an eerie phosphorescence.
There was no time for formalities. Libby was so cold she quickly shed her garments, tossed them on a nearby rock and sank into the thermal waters. One minute she was standing naked, on the edge of the pool, like some mythical earth goddess, large breasted and broad hipped, and the next she had disappeared completely in the clouds of vapor.
“Hurry,” she said. “The water is absolutely wonderful.” Libby raised her arms out of the water and beckoned to Kojiro.
He did not seem to be in as much of a hurry to disrobe as Libby had been, but neither did he seem to be as perturbed by the bitter cold. He looked as impervious to the weather as a statue carved of stone and as solid and unyielding.
“Kojiro.” She wasn’t even aware she had spoken his name aloud until he looked down and smiled. Then he slowly untied the tassels on his haori, shrugged it off his shoulders and laid it neatly aside. The yukata came off with the same slow, deliberate movements. Through the fog rising off the surface of the water she could see his bronze, lean body poised on the rock, the broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and slim, muscular hips. Her heart swelled with emotion and she looked away, lest someone notice her staring so blatantly and with such unabashed desire at Kojiro.
And then he was beside her, but not too close, for there were others in the pool, a stout middle-aged man — a doctor from Sendai — and a slender young woman. His girlfriend, Libby wondered, spending a clandestine weekend far away from family and friends? And an elderly couple that reminded her of Nakane-san and his wife.
“Ah, there is nothing like relaxing in a hot spring, out of doors, in the middle of winter,” Kojiro said, taking her hand and leading her over to a ledge where they could stretch out under the water. Her leg accidentally brushed his and she moved away in an effort to keep a respectable distance between them.
“It is beautiful,” she sighed. Overhead stars gilded the dark sky. A sickle-moon, a sliver of silver, hung suspended like a Christmas ornament in the top of one of the trees. “And so peaceful.”
All of Libby’s anxieties, the tension she had perceived in Kojiro seemed to dissolve once they were in the water and they talked easily together about all kinds of things, their childhood, hobbies, ambitions. They both were on the soccer team in high school, both played in the band — Libby the French horn and Kojiro the saxophone.
“The sax is a very sexy instrument,” she teased.
Kojiro cocked his head in puzzlement. The saxophone sexy? He had never thought of it in those terms before. But suddenly all the hours spent practicing, the long, grueling lessons, and tiresome rehearsals looked upon in that light seemed well worth it.
“Ah, very sexy,” he agreed with a smile.
Libby sketched in pastels in her free time and was worried about making major early, “below the zone.” Kojiro collected stamps and wanted to be a general.
“Of course, you’ll make it,” he said to reassure her.
“And you’ll be a general!” But talk of the future, when Libby was no longer a part of his life, depressed Kojiro and after a while, he fell silent.
Across the pool, barely visible through the clouds of steam, the other couples sat in companionable silence. But eventually the old man and his wife returned to the ryokan and, following close on their heels, the jovial doctor and his youthful companion, leaving Kojiro and Libby alone.
“I thought they would never go,” Kojiro said. “I am very selfish. I wanted you all to myself.”
Libby sighed and moving a little closer, sought his hand, entwining her fingers between his. The hot water had made them both sleepy and lethargic and they closed their eyes, savoring the blissful stillness that enveloped them like the thin mist hovering over the water.
“Perhaps we should go back,” she murmured sleepily.
“Are you bored?”
“Of course not. I just thought … since we have to go back in the morning … ” she stammered.
“You thought I should get a good night’s sleep? Is that it?” Kojiro asked with mock seriousness.
“Well, not exactly.”
“Hmm … . Let me guess,” he said, as he slipped his arms around her waist, lifted her up, and cradled her on his knees. They shifted a little lower, so just their chins were grazing the surface of the pool. “You wanted me to touch you here,” he said, cupping her breasts. They were light and buoyant in the water and he kneaded the soft flesh in a fever of excitement. “And here,” he whispered into her ear. His fingers stippled playfully across her stomach and between her thighs. “And here … .”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
His touch was so gentle, yet so assured — the consummate lover leading her into an ever-expanding realm of self-discovery and fulfillment.
“Kojiro,” she sighed.
Unable to endure a moment longer the delicious tension coiled in the pit of her stomach, Libby twisted around and, straddling Kojiro’s hips with her knees, guided him deep inside her.
“Do you think this is allowed?” She sighed, gliding her hips provocatively back and forth.
“I’m sure it isn’t,” he laughed, overcome with such fervor and happiness he thought his heart would burst. “But if you are worried, I will call the attendant. Just to make sure.”
“Oh, Kojiro, I think it’s too late for that. I … .”
Kojiro grasped her roughly around the waist, tethering their bodies together, and then bracing his legs on the bottom of the pool, made one final thrust and exploded inside her. Their cry of release shattered the silence.
Afterwards, he helped her out of the water and into her clothes and they retraced their steps up the path to the ryokan and to their room. A single oil lantern cast seductive shadows on the walls of the small chamber. Two futons had been laid out, side by side, on the floor and were made up for sleeping with starched white sheets and quilted comforters. Discarding their yukatas, Libby and Kojiro sank gratefully on to the mattress and into one another’s arms.
Libby dozed fitfully, her head nestled snugly on Kojiro’s shoulder but he was too agitated to sleep. The thought of their impending separation was so agonizing he felt physically ill. A crushing weight bore down on his chest, suffocating him, extinguishing his joy. That was how his life was going to be from now on, without Libby. How would he be able to endure being apart from her? Never holding her, like he was holding her now, never making love to her? He was deluding himself if he thought he could
forget her, or believed being married to someone else would ease his pain. It would make it worse. And not just for him, but for poor Motoko, and for Libby. What a monster he was! And yet he could not see a way out of the awful conundrum.
Kojiro kissed Libby tenderly on the forehead and she smiled in her sleep and nestled closer and he cradled her in his arms and wept silently, his face buried in her hair.
Libby awoke with a start, to the sound of raucous singing coming from a room down the hall. The vocalists were in high spirits from having spent the evening comparing various brands of local sake and their discordant voices reverberated noisily in the stillness.
Kojiro, up and dressed in a fresh yukata, was standing by the window, staring down at her.
“Kojiro?” Libby murmured. He had turned the lamp down, and his face was in shadow. “Is something wrong? What time is it?”
“Nothing is wrong. I couldn’t sleep.”
Libby smiled. “They are rather loud,” she said, stretching her bare arms languorously overhead. The sheet slipped down, exposing her breasts, until she pulled the comforter up under her chin and snuggled contentedly under the warm covers.
“I’ve never slept on a futon before.”
“Do you like it?”
“I had no idea it could be so luxurious. I thought it would be hard and uncomfortable but I don’t think I’ve ever slept as soundly.”
“The thermal waters are very relaxing,” he said.
“Oh, very. I’ve never had such a gratifying experience. Ever,” Libby added on a more serious note.
“Nor have I,” he said gravely.
“In Japanese we have an expression: ‘Ki ga iku.’It refers to what happened to us tonight, Libby, in the pool, when we came together. Our two spirits were set free. It is a very good thing. What happened.”
Libby lay very still trying to decipher the meaning and significance of Kojiro’s words. Did they mean he loved her? She wondered. Or wanted to spend the rest of his life with her? Or were they simply a quaint Japanese euphemism for fantastic sex?
Heart to Heart Page 83