The New Samurai (16 page)

He ran up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time, Paul trailing behind him. An envelope was taped to his door. He tore it open and scanned the contents: it was indeed a message requiring him to see Frau Brandt in the morning.

Paul looked morose. “What time is your meeting scheduled for?”

“Ten. You, too?”

Paul sighed. “At least she’s seeing us together.”

“Has anyone else had a letter?” said Sam.

“Naw. The ladies are fine. I asked Tara. It’s just us, buddy.”

Sam dropped his backpack on the floor and tugged off his tie, balling it up to throw in a heap his desk.

Paul hesitated in the doorway.

“Sorry, buddy,” he muttered.

Sam turned round and grinned at him. “Don’t worry about it: I’ve had worse.” He looked at his wristwatch. “You know what, I think it’s beer o’clock.”

“You’re sure speaking my language!” said Paul.

The next morning Sam and Paul presented themselves at Frau Brandt’s office. Both wore their formal work clothes: white shirts and dark ties, and Paul had dredged up a suit jacket from somewhere. It made him look like a Mafiosi; all he needed was a pair of Aviator sunglasses and a stick of gum.

Sam looked at Paul and took a deep breath. He knocked on the office door.

“Come!”

Frau Brandt barked out the order. Sam opened the door and walked in, Paul hot on his heels.

“Gentlemen,” said Frau Brandt, peering over her half-moon glasses at them. She didn’t offer them chairs. “I have had complaints from both of your employers. From looking at you it is apparent that you turned up for work with facial bruising, indicating that you have been in a fight. Is this correct?”

“No!” said Paul, lying blandly. “We just went to Ueno to see the cherry blossom and we were playing football. We just… er… collided. That’s all.”

He smiled hopefully but she glared back.

“Hmm. I do not like receiving complaints. Mr Martelli: you will not return to work for the rest of the week, until your injury is healed. I will dock your pay, plus an additional day as a fine for bringing the school’s name into disrepute. Mr Patterson: I will also be docking you a day’s pay as a fine – and you will take steps to cover up that bruise before you go to work this evening.”

Paul glanced at Sam, but Sam was staring at the wall directly above Frau Brandt’s head. From the look on her face he had the feeling they’d got off lightly. Her next words confirmed his thoughts.

“Should there be any further complaints,
whatever the cause
, I will have no hesitation in terminating your contracts forthwith. Do you have any questions?”

“But…” Paul started to speak and Sam kicked him on the shin.

“No. No questions,” said Paul, and Sam shook his head.

“Good day, gentlemen,” said Frau Brandt.

They turned and slunk out of the office. It reminded Sam of the time his Headmaster had caught him putting clingfilm over the school toilets when he was 14.

“That sucks!” said Paul, echoing Sam’s thoughts. “It’s a goddam liberty, that’s what it is. I’ll lose a whole week’s pay!”

“Yeah,” said Sam, “but at least you won’t have to wear make-up to work.”

“Huh?” said Paul, looking confused.

“Didn’t you hear Herr Brandt tell me to cover up this bruise?” he pointed to his cheek. “What did you think she meant! Paint?”

Paul smiled. “Good point, buddy.”

He clapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “Let’s go get a drink. Aw, come on! Just one!”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time you had just one drink?”

Paul wa,s silent then he grinned broadly, “Probably Communion, but buy me a beer and I’m sure it’ll come to me.”

Sam rolled his eyes and followed Paul out into the street.

Chapter 7 – June

It had been another long week – well, long fortnight – with all the language school teachers working 11 days out of the previous 12. Plus it was the rainy season and dull, leaden skies boxed in the city’s heat, which was beginning to soar into the early thirties with the start of summer.

The hostel wasn’t the only building limiting its use of air-conditioning. Ever since the Fukushima disaster, Tokyo and other cities had demonstrated both their civic duty and solidarity by attempting to reduce power consumption. Hence the increasing humidity that made some days uncomfortably moist.

Sam wasn’t the only one who had taken to rising earlier to enjoy a few quiet laps of the basement pool before it got too busy. Helen, in particular, had been sleeping badly.

“It’s the one thing I don’t like about Tokyo,” she said, moodily. “The bloody humidity: and it’s going to get worse. Last summer, July and August were a nightmare.” She shook her head. “You don’t get humidity like this in Swansea.”

“You know what we should do,” said Tara, “we should get out of the city. Why don’t we go over to the Ōedo onsen on Odaiba tomorrow?”

“Oh, yeah!” said Paul, who up until that point had been happy to sit on the edge of the pool and watch Tara swim. “I’ve been wanting to try out one of those hot spas. Yoshi, you in, buddy?”

“Sure thing, Paul-san,” said Yoshi, grinning. “You will enjoy onsen experience very much.”

Which left Sam. He was still swimming lengths, oblivious to the conversation going on around him.

“Hey, aqua-boy!” called Tara. “You up for some onsen action?”

“Do what?” said Sam, his head breaking the water.

“We’re all going to the onsen on Odaiba tomorrow,” explained Helen. “Coming?”

“I don’t know,” said Sam. “I was planning on having a long day of doing nothing. I’m knackered.”

“Don’t be a conch!” snorted Tara. “You get all the sleep you need when you’re dead. Come and have some fun for a change. You look like you need it.”

“Yes,” agreed Helen. “They’ve been working us all hours. Take a break!”

“Okay, okay! I’ll come,” he said, laughing. “God preserve me from bossy women!”

“I think they heard you, buddy,” said Paul, in a mock whisper.

“Yeah and we all know he loves it!” said Helen, with a wink.

The monorail whisked them across Rainbow Bridge, an elegant and modern suspension bridge that divided mainland Tokyo from the artificial island of Odaiba. The sun made a rare appearance and the water sparkled, lifting their spirits.

Yoshi was bouncing up and down in his seat and doing his best to offer a tour-guide commentary, even though he had never been to this part of Tokyo before.

“You will notice,” he said, “that towers of suspension bridge are white: this is to harmonise with skyline when seen from Odaiba.”

“No kidding,” said Paul, a tolerant smile on his face. “You are one crazy guy, Yoshi!”

“Ha! Ha! Yes, crazy like a fox!”

Sam shook his head, smiling. Where on earth did Yoshi come up with this stuff?

The entrance to the onsen looked more like a temple than anything, the sweeping roof giving the impression of both strength and grace.

The entrance hall was like the set of a TV period drama, complete with a variety of food stalls decked out to look like a street fair, and vendors in costume.

They paid their entrance fee, just a few hundred Yen, and were given thin, cotton yukata dressing gowns to wear, and one small towel each, about the size of a large flannel.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” said Paul, puzzled.

“Is your towel, Paul-san,” said Yoshi, his face serious.

“Yeah, this isn’t really going to hide my blushes,” said Tara, holding up the scrap of material. Oh well, see you guys later.”

“Huh?” said Paul. “Where are they going?”

“To women’s area,” said Yoshi.

“Oh, right. Of course,” he muttered. “See you later!” he called after them.

Yoshi led the way to the men’s changing rooms and quickly stripped off his clothes and pulled on the colourful yukata. Sam and Paul did the same, stashing their clothes in lockers.

“You won’t need those,” said Sam, looking at the swimming trunks that Paul was wearing under his robe.

“Huh?”

Yoshi looked horrified.

“No, no, Paul-san. No bathing suits in onsen – is very bad protocol.”

Paul looked mystified.

Sam explained. “It’s nude bathing, mate,” he said, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break out at the look of horror on Paul’s face. “That’s what onsen are – a place to have a bath; they’re not swimming pools.”

“Sam-san is correct,” said Yoshi. “First we wash in bathing area, then when clean, we soak in onsen.”

“Aw, hell!” said Paul. “No-one told me!”

Sam shrugged. Nudity wasn’t a big deal when you’d spent half your life in post-rugby match communal baths or open showers. But it was clearly a big deal for Paul.

“You’ve got to be joking me, man! This sucks!”

Sam laughed and Yoshi looked bemused.

“Is there problem, Sam-san?” he whispered, glancing worriedly towards Paul.

“Er… it’s just that Paul didn’t know the… er… protocol,” said Sam. “They don’t go in for this sort of thing in America.”

Then something else occurred to Sam. “It’s not mixed bathing, Paul. Helen and Tara will be in the women’s area.”

“Oh,” said Paul, breathing more easily. “Well, I guess that’s okay, then. For a minute I was worried…”

Sam smirked. “I thought you were all hot and eager for Tara to see your wedding tackle?”

“Sure! But I wasn’t imagining an audience when I did it,” grunted Paul.

Sam grinned at his mortified expression.

As they entered the bathing area, Sam’s attention was drawn to a Kanji that he thought he recognised.

“Yoshi, what does that sign mean? Is it something about not taking pictures?”

“You are getting more skilled, Sam-san,” said Yoshi, approvingly. “But it is not about photographs: this character-radical means ‘image’ and together it is compound word that means no tattoos.” He frowned. “You have tattoos, Sam-san, Paul-san?”

“No,” said Sam. “None. Why?”

“Tattoos are forbidden in onsen,” said Yoshi. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “In Japan, only Yakuza gangsters have tattoos.”

“Aw, hell!” said Paul, again. “Now you tell me!”

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo, Paul,” said Sam. “And I’ve seen you swimming.” He grinned. “Where
exactly
is your tattoo?”

Paul’s face was a dull beetroot.

“Come on,” scoffed Sam. “It can’t be that bad!”

“It’s on my ass, okay!” said Paul, exasperated.

Sam burst out laughing. “Oh, right!”

“Maybe we can put sticking plaster over it,” suggested Yoshi, helpfully, “if it not big tattoo.”

“It’s not big,” muttered Paul.

“Then no problem, Paul-san,” said Yoshi. “I will ask at reception.”

He trotted off, his yukata flapping, and Paul threw Sam a vicious look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah!” grinned Sam. “I’m finding the whole onsen experience… very entertaining.”

“You bastard!” snarled Paul. “Payback’s gonna be a bitch.”

“Hey!” said Sam, still smiling, “I’m an innocent bystander.”

“Innocent, my ass!” said Paul.

“You said it!” agreed Sam.

Yoshi came back with a handful of sticking plasters.

“Bend over,” said Sam. “Which cheek?”

Swearing under his breath, Paul pulled down his trunks. Tattooed on his right buttock was the word ‘rare’.

Sam collapsed, laughing; Yoshi just looked puzzled.

“Rare?” gasped Sam.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” said Paul, in a surly tone. “It was my cousin’s bachelor party; we all got them.”

“The perils of strong drink, my friend,” said Sam wisely.

Yoshi stuck on the plaster. “Now you all stuck up, Paul-san,” he said. “We can go in.”

“Stop laughing!” snarled Paul to Sam.

Like that was even possible.

Yoshi led the way to the bathing area. Liquid soap, shampoo and other toiletries were laid out for customers to use.

Following Yoshi’s lead, they each sat on one of the low, wooden stools and scrubbed themselves clean, despite the fact they’d all showered earlier in the day. It was chilly in the bathing area and the granite floor was uncomfortably cold.

Sam and Paul copied Yoshi as he placed a small cup into a bucket and used it to rinse himself down, the point being to be clean and soap-free before soaking in the hot mineral waters of the spa, the same rituals that had been followed throughout Japan for a thousand years.

“Now we go,” said Yoshi.

If Paul was still struggling with the notion of so much public nudity in the bathhouse, his jaw nearly hit the floor when they got to the onsen. Some thirty or forty men were sitting around in the hot, slightly sulphurous water, without a stitch of clothing in sight. Despite Paul’s painful astonishment and unusual hairiness, neither he nor Sam occasioned more than a second glance by the other patrons; for the most part they were roundly ignored.

Paul used his tiny towel to preserve some modesty and scooted into the steamy water.

“Ah! Oh! Man, this water is
hot
!” he gasped.

“You must get in slowly, Paul-san,” said Yoshi, giggling.

He sat on the edge, dangling his feet into the water, scooping up handfuls to pour down his body, letting his skin acclimatise to the sudden increase in temperature.

Slowly Sam eased himself into the hot water. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift away, only half-listening to Paul’s continuing complaints.

After a while, even Paul began to relax and enjoy the onsen experience. Sam opened one eye at the sudden silence and Yoshi grinned at him happily.

“Is very soothing, Sam-san?”

“Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.”

“In my village in Hokkaido, in north, we have very lovely onsen,” said Yoshi, leaning back. “In winter you can enjoy views of mountains from outdoor onsen. The snow falls and melts on your face. Is very contemplative moment. You would like very much, I think, Sam-san.”

“My cousin has an outdoor hot-tub – in New Hampshire,” said Paul. “Once when I was there, we were having a few beers and a deer walked up and looked us right in the eye. That was pretty cool.”

Sam didn’t think his rugby bath stories would add to the feeling of peaceful nostalgia, so instead he let the natural mineral waters do their job and listened as Paul and Sam chatted quietly.