by Easton, Don
“There,” said Lee, “is a private location for a man and a woman. Popular with honeymooners, but perhaps we can reserve some time for the both of you.”
“I would really like that,” said Jack, ignoring Laura’s heel as she stepped on his toes.
At the top of the incline, the limo parked in front of a four-storey mansion built in traditional Japanese style with an intricate gabled roof and tiled ends.
“This is the home of Mister Fukushima,” said Lee. “He owns the onsen that you see down the hill. He is the man we refer to secretly as The Shaman.”
“And how should I address Mister Fukushima?” asked Jack.
“You should refer to him as Fukushima-san.
“I have heard of the title sensei following a name in regard to a teacher,” said Laura, “or someone teaching karate simply being referred to as sensei. I am not familiar with San.”
“San is used in Japan to show respect,” replied Lee. “Sort of like Mister or Missus, except with the Japanese it can also be used after either the first or last name. San is not gender specific. You are also right about sensei being used in regard to someone like a teacher or perhaps a lawyer. Actually Fukushima-san is a master of kenjutsu, a form of Japanese martial art involving sword fighting. He does not teach kenjutsu, so the use of sensei with his name would be inappropriate.”
“Handy guy to have in the kitchen,” suggested Jack.
“Be careful, Jack,” warned Lee. “He is familiar with Western culture, but he is old school when it comes to honour and respect. What may be humour in your culture, may be considered a slap in the face here. If you insult Fukushima-san it would be a … fatal mistake.”
They were ushered inside into an elevator and brought directly to a bedroom on the third floor. Here, two futons were laid out on bamboo mats, and there were two silk kimonos and slippers at the entranceway. An ensuite off the bedroom offered a bath and shower.
“When do we meet Fukushima-san?” asked Jack.
“At twelve-thirty for lunch, after you have bathed and had a chance to rest,” replied Lee. “Leave your clothes by the door and they will be taken and cleaned. It will be appropriate to wear the kimonos around the building. Laura, the pale green kimono is yours. Jack, the blue.”
“Our cellphones?” asked Laura.
“I am sorry. They will be provided to you later, after you meet with Fukushima-san. Should you need anything, there will be two attendants outside your door.”
Jack smiled and gave a short bow to the squat, burly-looking attendants wearing kimonos who stood in the hallway. They politely bowed back and Jack caught a partial glimpse of tattoos rising toward the backs of their necks as they bowed. He noticed one of the men was missing his little finger, as was their chauffeur earlier. A self-mutilation he knew, made by some of the Japanese mafia, or the yakuza as they are called in Japan, as a symbol of their loyalty. Tattoos are generally seen as anti-social in Japan and are also strongly associated with the yakuza. Attendants my ass. Thugs is what you mean.
As soon as they were alone, Laura sat on one of the futons and said, “Ouch, I think a bug bit me.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” said Jack, nodding in agreement. “You should get out of those clothes. Lots of bugs in Thailand. Hope you didn’t bring any hitchhikers.”
Laura then went to the washroom and closed the door.
“It will certainly be nice to meet Fukushima-san,” said Jack, loud enough, ostensibly for Laura to hear. “From what I have seen, I am suitably impressed with what he has accomplished. I am looking forward to doing business with him.”
“That’s nice, honey, but I’d respect him a lot more if we could use a phone. I promised my sister I would call her last night. She’ll be worried.”
“You’re right,” replied Jack. “Rose isn’t the type to sit back and wait. She’s liable to end up calling the authorities. Hopefully this afternoon we can rectify that.”
Jack walked to a window and looked out. Directly on the ground below, another “attendant” sat staring back at him on a small bench amongst a clump of cherry trees.
Jack retreated back into the room and looked around. He saw a phone jack, but no phone. Rose will be freaked out. Sammy and his crew will be tearing Koh Samui apart looking for us. Too bad they’re looking on the wrong island, let alone the wrong country.
He heard the shower running as Laura got in, but her voice still carried, “Jack, would you be a dear and bring me my kimono? I’m all wet and don’t want to come out.”
Jack found Laura standing in the shower stall with her head sticking out the sliding door. She had a towel wrapped around herself and the shower head was pointed at the wall.
“Here you go, hon,” he said, before flushing the toilet.
“Make it quick,” he whispered.
“What are we going to do?”
“Meet the boss and get details on the shipment.”
“He’ll want money.”
“At that point he’ll have incriminated himself. I’ll tell him I need to use a phone to make plans to get the money. When I do, I’ll call Rose. She can trace the call back to us. I’ll also demand to see the dope put on a ship before the final transfer of funds. When that happens, if we haven’t already been rescued, we’re bound to be in a public place. We escape the first chance we get and call the cavalry. In the meantime, we’ll show respect, but we want him to respect us, as well. Maybe keep him a little off balance.”
“Good idea, as long as he isn’t insulted and decides to kill us.”
The sound of the toilet died down and Jack said, “Here, honey, let me soap your back.”
Laura slammed the door shut and smiled when Jack left the bathroom. They often used humour to relieve stress. Right now she could use a truckload of it.
Both Jack and Laura felt a little refreshed from their showers and each put on the kimonos and slippers that had been supplied.
At twelve-thirty, Lee came to their room. “Laura, you look great. Jack, you should have the left side of your kimono overlapping on top of the right side. The way you are wearing it is how it would be worn if you were dead.”
I might be, soon.
Lee saw Laura with a tissue in her hand, about to shove it inside the sash holding her kimono. “And Laura, kimonos do have pockets inside the sleeves.”
Jack and Laura each held an arm up and realized that the large drooping sleeves were sewn in a fashion to form pockets, easily accessible by the opposite hand.
“Everything okay?” asked Lee, as Jack rearranged his kimono.
“Fine,” replied Jack, “except for the slippers.”
Lee nodded when he saw Jack’s heels extending well beyond the length of the slip-on slippers. “Not made for Westerners,” he said. “Come, follow me. Fukushima-san is prepared to meet you. We will then have lunch, after which he would like to visit with you in private.”
“You mean, talk business?” asked Jack.
“Yes, after he gets to know you a little.”
They were brought back down to the first floor where Lee led them to a double set of doors comprised of thin, dark wooden slats forming squares of wood over rice paper. Two more attendants stood outside, but both bowed and one opened the door.
They stepped inside and Lee immediately bowed deeply to a man standing inside the room, wearing a black silk kimono. It was emblazoned with five family crests. Jack and Laura took their cue from Lee and also bowed slightly.
“Fukushima-san,” said Lee, solemnly, while automatically avoiding direct eye contact with his master. “This is —”
“Jack and Laura,” said Jack, maintaining his best poker face as he stared brazenly at the man and held his hand out. He guessed Fukushima to be in his early fifties and presumed that his straight, black, collar-length hair had been dyed. He was shorter than Jack, with the top of his head about as high as Jack’s chin.
“It is okay,” said Fukushima, walking forward and extending his hand. “I went to university in Los
Angeles when I was a young man. I am somewhat familiar with your Western culture.”
Jack accepted his firm grip and noted that Fukushima moved gracefully as he walked. From behind, Fukushima could have passed for a man in his thirties. It was his rugged face that betrayed his real age. He appeared gentle, but Jack knew appearances were deceptive. The reality is that he finds killing to be an amusing pastime.
“Have either of you been to an onsen before?” asked Fukushima.
“Never,” replied Jack and Laura.
“I think you will enjoy it. After lunch, I will give you a tour and introduce you to the pleasure of soaking in the hot springs. I think you will find it relaxing. We will then talk.” Fukushima glanced toward the door and said, “Oh, let me introduce you to Sayomoi-san, my personal attendant. Khlot-san, I believe, you have already met.”
Jack turned to see Da Khlot, wearing a black kimono, entering the room with a strikingly beautiful Japanese woman beside him. Her black hair hung halfway to her waist and she was wearing a red silk kimono that contrasted with a pattern of branches adorned with cherry blossoms. She was in her late twenties and, unlike other Japanese women he had seen, she held her head high and had no qualms about maintaining direct eye contact. She gave the impression and air of confidence, of having been raised in a wealthy family. Her smile, Jack decided, looked contemptuous, particularly when she stared at Laura.
Introductions to Sayomi were made and Fukushima said, “Laura, I understand that you and Sayomi-san have something in common. Sayomi-san has achieved a black belt in karate and kick-boxing.”
“Black belt?” said Laura, with a smile. “Sorry, my achievement in the sport was limited to yellow. Only one step up from white.”
“I see,” replied Fukushima. “Perhaps on some occasion Sayomi-san would be willing to teach you so that your level of skill will improve.”
“It would be a pleasure,” added Sayomi. “I have taught many older women.”
Jack looked at Laura and thought, Sayomi, you are going to pay for that one.
Minutes later they were led to another room through another double set of sliding rice-paper doors. The room was large and spacious, with a large, rectangular black marble table in the middle, which was low to the floor. The table was prepared with six table settings placed upon bamboo-thatched mats. A variety of multicoloured silk cushions scattered around the table on the floor substituted as chairs.
Jack was glad to see that a rectangular pit under the table had been made to allow room to put in his legs so that in effect, although he was sitting on the floor it was like sitting on a bench once he put his feet under the table. The Japanese were raised since children to sit on the floor with their legs tucked under them while resting their body on their ankles. Most Westerners found the practice too uncomfortable.
They were each directed to a seat, with Jack, Laura, and Lee on one side opposite Fukushima, Sayomi, and Da Khlot on the other. Two attendants stood quietly at the door while servants appeared, first with hot towels for everyone at the table to wash their hands.
Laura was pleased to see that her setting lacked chopsticks and had been replaced by a fork and tablespoon.
“Thai style, as you prefer,” winked Lee.
Laura smiled, but found the knowledge of how close they had been observed a little unnerving.
Their courses consisted of several entrees, including miso soup, rice with prawns, crab cakes, noodles, sea urchin, and tofu dishes. Later, bowls of ice cream were brought, along with a bowl of mandarin oranges, apples, and bananas for everyone to share.
A cultural tradition that Jack and Laura each discovered was that you did not fill your own glass of refreshment. To show respect for each other, it was the responsibility of the person you were dining with to fill your glass for you. They soon realized that when they had enough sake, they had to leave their glasses half full. Any less than that invited someone to replenish it.
Despite leaving the sea urchin on her plate, Laura complimented Fukushima on the fine cuisine.
“Thank you,” he replied. “Dining to me is a delight that I feel should enrich one’s life and not merely be something one does to survive. In Osaka, I own, amongst other things, a catering business that employs one of Japan’s top chefs. I am pleased that you have enjoyed the meal.”
Jack glanced around the room. Across from him, behind Fukushima, were the double set of doors and rice-paper wall, where he could see the shadows of the servants come and go as they entered and left the room. Beside and behind him, two more rice-paper walls enclosed the room, while the wall at the far end of the room was made of wood, painted a flat black. There, a potted bonsai tree was in each corner, but a focal point on the black wall was a rack containing two samurai swords, both in bamboo scabbards.
“They are my prized possessions,” said Fukushima, realizing what Jack was looking at. “I will show you one of them. Please, remain seated.”
Fukushima brought one samurai sword over and held it for Jack and Laura to see more closely. On the scabbard was an intricately carved design of a dragon with its tail wrapped around the scabbard while its mouth breathed fire toward the sword handle.
“Note the craftsmanship on the tsuba,” said Fukushima, pointing to the hand guard between the handle and the blade. The flat, donut-shaped metal guard consisted of an open design of a miniature samurai soldier in combat with a dragon. “It was made during the Edo period, likely in the early 1800s, by a master swordsmith named Suishinshi Masahide.”
Fukushima drew the sword from the scabbard and pointed to some Japanese symbols on the blade and proudly said, “Here is his name, chiselled into the blade.”
“Exquisite,” commented Jack.
“You may remove it from the scabbard and hold it, if you like,” offered Fukushima.
Jack stood and slowly removed the sword while Fukushima held the scabbard. Jack noticed that both attendants, Da Khlot, and Sayomi quickly came around to his side of the table.
“It is held with both hands,” said Fukushima, as Jack held the sword awkwardly, away from his body.
“I have never held a sword,” said Jack, honestly. “I’m afraid my knowledge is limited to what I have seen in Hollywood movies.”
“There are several different styles of sword fighting,” said Fukushima. “The type I engage in is called kenjutsu. Unlike other types, such as iaijutsu, where the sword starts in the scabbard and incorporates the speed of the draw to defend oneself, kenjutsu is different. After the formal bow to show respect, you retrieve your sword and start the challenge with the sword already in your hand. The emphasis is more on attacking, as well as defence.”
“I’m afraid I prefer a rifle or a shotgun,” said Jack.
Fukushima laughed and said, “So little honour in using a gun, but I know your Western culture reflects that unfortunate trait.”
“And I understand your culture finds honour in falling on your sword,” said Jack. “What is it called? Hara-kiri? We call it suicide.”
“Hara-kiri is more of a slang expression,” replied Fukushima. “The proper term is seppuku. It is called oibara if it is performed because of the death of one’s master.”
“People would kill themselves because their boss died?” asked Jack.
“Loyalty is admired and respected.” Fukushima shrugged. “Either way, the ritual involves plunging the samurai sword into the left side of your abdomen and slicing through to the right side.”
“Oh, gross!” said Laura.
“Imagine the degree of honour one must have to perform such a ritual,” said Fukushima. “Historically, the samurai were renowned for their code of honour. The true samurai may be gone, but their legacy of honour and loyalty is very much a part of our culture.”
“I also believe in honour,” replied Jack. “A man’s word is extremely important to me, as well, but I must confess, I do not believe I would ever have the courage, or desire, to perform such an act.”
Fukushima smiled and said, “By th
at admission, it does show that you are honest. I believe that few Japanese people would also complete such a ritual. It would take tremendous courage.”
Or a complete lack of respect for your own life … “Please, I realize it is valuable … also very sharp,” said Jack, as he dangled the weapon with his fingers on the handle while gingerly passing it back to Fukushima.
“It is very sharp,” said Fukushima, while returning to the far end of the room, where he replaced the scabbard in the rack, but held the sword with both hands. “Khot-san! Lee-san! Demonstrate for our guests!”
Da Khlot and Lee each snatched an apple from the table and threw them simultaneously at Fukushima, who severed both apples in one single swoop of the sword. His speed, agility, and hand-eye coordination was nothing short of phenomenal.
“Holy Christ,” Jack muttered to himself. By Laura’s open mouth and wide eyes, he knew she was also stunned by the speed and skill of what they had just witnessed.
Lee turned to Jack and Laura and said, “Now you see why I told you he is a master in kenjutsu.”
Jack watched as a young man who had been serving them food quickly approached Fukushima and bowed with his hands held before him. Fukushima gave him the sword and the servant bowed again and left the room to clean it. Not a word had been spoken to the servant. There was little doubt Fukushima had performed the demonstration many times before.
After lunch, Fukushima said, “Come, I will show you what other pleasures you may enjoy while you are my guests.”
Next to the banquet room there was a steam room, with wide, cedar planks making up the walls, floor, and ceiling, along with a cedar bench. Opposite that was another door which led to the outside and a private patio used to cool down, if one should desire.
The next room down the hall was smaller, but contained two massage tables. Fukushima turned to Sayomi and said, “You and Laura will now enjoy a massage.” He looked at Jack, smiled, and added, “It is time for us to talk. Only the two of us. I have a private spa that the two of us can use. It will be more relaxing.”