finished his second drink. The waitress reappeared. Now Garin looked her over. He spoke a few words to her and she blushed immediately.
Good lord, Annja thought. Tell me I’m not witnessing a seduction here.
Garin stood. “Be careful, Annja. That’s all I’m saying.” He strode out of the restaurant toward the elevator bank. The waitress dutifully followed behind him.
Annja gulped down the rest of her orange juice and then looked down at the table at the tiny slip of paper that had somehow materialized when she wasn’t looking.
Garin hadn’t paid the bill.
7
Annja spent the rest of the day exploring the small shops that surrounded the hotel. While the majority of Tokyo seemed encased in steel and glass, Annja was glad to see that there were still some small stores that carried all sorts of gifts ranging from handmade wooden combs to antique books and scrolls and everything in between. The toughest part of the day was trying to make use of the little bit of the language she knew to make herself understood. As it was, she still came away from her excursion laden with several bags full of unusual souvenirs.
As she jostled the bags and tried to maneuver the crowded streets, Annja couldn’t help feeling that someone was watching her. Twice, she felt the feeling strongly enough to actually turn around and search the crowd for a familiar face. But doing so proved futile. The sea of faces that greeted her held no one she recognized.
“It’s probably Garin,” she told herself. Once he’d finished with the waitress, he’d probably decided it might be amusing to stalk Annja for a while.
Annja frowned and continued her journey.
She grabbed a quick lunch at a noodle stand located by the train station. She’d heard that these small four-seat eateries could serve some of the best buckwheat-noodle soups in Japan and she wasn’t disappointed. Fortunately, she had no trouble explaining what she wanted because the proprietor had taken the time to have an illustrated menu printed up. Annja merely pointed at the appropriate pictures and said thank-you when she was done. The piping-hot soup was served with a cold Asahi beer, which complimented the dish wonderfully.
When she arrived back at the hotel, the ever polite desk clerk bowed and then informed her that she had a message. Annja expected a piece of paper but was instead directed to a small phone in the lobby and told to press several buttons. Ken’s voice purred in her ear.
“Please be in the lobby at six o’clock. Bring your training clothes.”
Annja saw the large clock on the wall behind the reception desk read 5:40. She hung up the phone, raced upstairs and got changed. She hoped that Ken was taking her to see some authentic ninjitsu training.
At 5:58 she strolled off the elevator with her small carry bag. The hotel laundry had cleaned Annja’s sweaty gear. Annja reminded herself to leave a decent tip for the maid service.
Ken leaned against one side of the lobby doors when she exited the elevator. He was dressed simply in jeans and a thin black nylon windbreaker with a T-shirt underneath. He smiled when Annja approached. “Good evening.”
Annja smiled. “Hi.”
“I trust you’ve had a nice day?”
Annja’s eyes narrowed. Had Ken been the one following her? Was that what she’d felt? It would have been relatively easy for him to do so, especially in light of what he’d told her last night.
“Very nice,” she said. No sense confronting him early on and ruining her chance to see the ninjitsu training. She noticed Ken’s small bag at his feet and pointed. “Is that your stuff?”
He glanced down. “Hmm? Oh, yes. It will come in handy for where we’re going.”
Annja grinned. “Which is where?”
His eyes bounced back to hers. “Exactly where you think we’re going. Please follow me.”
He led her outside the hotel. The evening commute was still in full effect. Office workers streamed past while schoolgirls in uniforms that seemed to include microminiskirts hiked too far north to be anything but obscene giggled into cell phones and tossed their dyed hair in the direction of anyone who might notice.
Ken seemed to melt into the flow of people and Annja felt him take her hand, pulling her through the turbulent sea. His hand felt smooth but hard, like polished cool white marble, she decided. When they finally reached the train station, Ken let her hand go and Annja found herself wishing that he had held on to it.
Ken stood in front of the ticket machine and plunked several coins into it. The machine spit out two tickets and he handed one to Annja. “Come with me. Our train is downstairs and should be leaving soon.”
They descended the stairs, passing more people. Ken led them onto an almost deserted train car. Two boys in their school uniforms and hair tousled into rat’s nests slept in their seats.
Ken nodded at them. “They’ve been in school for many more hours than in America. After regular classes, they go to special after classes that are designed to help them get into college. Maybe they’ve been going for the better part of sixteen hours.”
Annja frowned. “That must take a toll on them.”
“It’s all about getting into college over here. High school is the real grind. Once they get into college, they can relax somewhat. College is for making contacts that will help them the rest of their lives. But the competition to get in is fierce. Some kids, they don’t make it. Every year there are a few suicides over it.”
“Suicide?”
Ken shrugged. “It’s not as bad as when I was growing up, but it can still get pretty crazy.”
Annja shook her head. “But I saw schoolgirls earlier who looked like they didn’t have a care in the world.”
Ken smiled. “You saw some schoolgirls. There are plenty who stress just like these guys. But there are also plenty of other schoolgirls who don’t. Some are actually prostitutes—some just don’t care. Even the ones who graduate high school, if they’ve got the looks, can go get jobs with the airlines or marry a rich guy.”
“Nice bit of equality over here.” Annja frowned at the thought of wasting her life like that.
“Japan doesn’t claim to be equal. Japan just is. That’s what screws up so many foreigners who come here. They think they know what Japan is, what the society defines itself as. They take great steps to try to become Japanese, but it can never be.”
“Why not?” Annja asked.
“Because Japan simply doesn’t care. Our society is such that it take no pains to explain itself. It’s as if the culture is one massive ball of who-cares-what-other-people-think. Japan couldn’t care less if foreigners understand what makes us tick. We are enigmas unto ourselves. And Japan hides its true nature even from itself. The best way to survive in such a place is not to try to figure it out, but to simply accept. And if possible, manipulate that acceptance so you prosper.”
“Manipulate it?” Annja shook her head trying to imagine how that might
