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eased himself into the hot water, sighing happily as he settled back and
relaxed. “There actually used to be many more co-ed sento
than there are today. Thank you for allowing me to stay. I come here
often, but I have never shared the tub with an American woman before.”
I adjusted the little towel to make sure it adequately covered me.
“As I said before, it’s not a question of allowing you to stay.
It’s a co-ed sento. I
am quite impressed with your English.
You must have spent some time in America.” “Yes, I did. I went
to undergraduate school at Harvard, and I visit America on business now
and then. Sumimasen-excuse me.
My name is Kenji Tanaka.” He
introduced himself using the American way of first name, last name. If he
were speaking to a Japanese person, he would have said Tanaka, Kenji. I
thought it was further evidence of his familiarity with English that he
could adjust his thinking so quickly to accommodate me. For some reason I
held back from telling him I was fluent in Japanese.
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“My
name is Page Queenan. I come
from Massachusetts, so I know Harvard very well. It’s funny to think we
were both in the same state at the same time.”
“Are you visiting Kyoto on vacation?” he asked. “No, I live
here.” I told him about my
education in Japanese Studies and how I had come to Kyoto to teach
English. I mentioned the name of the corporation I worked for, but let him
assume I simply taught English there. Now and then I was called on to
instruct some executives at the company, so I didn’t feel a need to
elaborate about my translation services. “What do you do for work?” I
asked Kenji. “My family owns an import/export company in Tokyo. I run
the Kyoto office. It’s nice to be able to take off when I want now and
then since I run the business.” “That
must be a fascinating business,” I said. “Do you specialize in any
Japanese items in particular?” “No, we handle many different Japanese
collectibles. My own favorite is netsuke. Do you know netsuke?”
he asked. “Yes, I am familiar with what they are,” I answered, “but
I don’t know a lot about them.” Kenji
went on to explain about netsuke.
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 He
told me that netsuke were miniature sculptures that had been developed
over three hundred years in Japan. Because the kimono, which both men and
women wore, had no pockets, men needed a way to keep items like money
pouches, or pipes from slipping off the silk cords that held them. The
items were called sagemono or inro
and were often beautifully carved out of ivory, wood or precious metals.
The silk cord hung from the obi, the sash went around the middle of the
kimono, and the netsuke acted to keep the sagemono
from slipping through the obi. There was a sliding bead-ojime-on
the cord that could loosen or tighten the opening. Today people collect sagemono, inro, ojime,
and netsuke because they are so beautiful.
“I
had no idea it there was so much involved in netsuke,” I said.
“Do you collect them?” I asked.
“Yes, I do. I mainly collect those from the Meiji period that are
made of ivory. Some people prefer contemporary netsuke, but I like the
antique.”
“Would
you have a coffee with me?” Kenji asked suddenly. “I fear I am keeping
you in this tub too long with all my talking. You have been so polite to
listen. Please let me take you out for a drink so you can tell me more
about yourself,” he said. “O.K.” I agreed.
“But only if you get out first and meet me outside after you’re
dressed.” “That sounds
fair,” he said with a grin. “I will meet you in ten minutes. Is that
enough time for you?” he asked. “Yes, that’s fine,” I said.
Kenji
stood up and left the tub. I could not help staring at his backside as he
sauntered off. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe because I was so aroused
by this man. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to me
since I had come to Kyoto. I had dated a few
men, both Japanese and
American, in the last two years, but nothing had come of any of the dates.
They were usually someone I had been “fixed up” with by a friend, and
although they were pleasant enough, not one of them had made me feel the
way this chance encounter with Kenji did.
As I got out of the tub and covered myself with the miniscule
towel, I glanced around to make sure he was not watching me. I almost wished he were. I had felt so comfortable talking
with him in the tub that I had to fight the urge to tell him how attracted
I was to him.
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