The Salaryman's Wife(9)
“The shower on the left has the best spray. Come quickly, you are surely frozen!” Yuki Ikeda, her face flushed pink, was up to her shoulders in hot water.
“What about your husband?” I couldn’t believe they weren’t enjoying the bath together.
“Sleeping like a big pile of garbage!” She rolled her eyes, making me laugh.
The warm shower was a joy, but slipping into the steamy bath was heaven. I took the side opposite my new friend, who politely looked at the ceiling as I laid my towel aside.
“Why are you up so early?” I asked in Japanese since there was no bossy husband around to insist on English practice.
“It’s crazy! Taro and I wanted to have a romantic bath yesterday evening, but there was a WOMEN ONLY sign on all night. I tried to check the dressing room, but the door was locked.”
“It was jammed with a scrap of paper. I had trouble this morning, too, but it’s fixed now.”
Yuki shook her head. “To be frank, I think this place is getting a little sloppy. When I came this morning, the bathroom was very messy. The bath covers—” she pointed to the three hard plastic sections neatly stacked by the side—“were all over the floor. So the water was a bit cooler than it should be.”
The bath had reached the right temperature for me, but I made a properly downcast face.
“I hope there wasn’t any foreigner using soap in the water. I know that Americans and English use soap in baths. Maybe they don’t understand our custom of washing in the shower first.”
She was giving me uncomfortable flashbacks to the times I’d been called upon to translate for my American mother, a process that humiliated her and made me extremely defensive. I changed the subject.
“Thanks for last night.”
“No, it was my pleasure! Did you enjoy it?”
“Very much.” It had been worth going, although the walk I’d hoped would be private had been interrupted by Mr. Nakamura and Yamamoto, who turned up halfway along the route. Judging from their breathing, I guessed they’d started out some time after us and had run to catch up.
At the temple, I had nearly dropped my camera when I saw a group of young men wearing short cotton jackets and loincloths ringing the bell. I’d seen skimpy male attire at religious festivals in the summer, but never in ten-degree weather. I turned my head away, which had sent Yuki into a giggling fit.
“This is part of the New Year’s tradition, Rei-san! To wear such light clothing shows their strength.”
“It’s too cold for that.” My feet were going numb inside two pairs of socks and hiking boots.
“Those boys are very warm from alcohol,” Taro had reassured me. “Don’t worry about them.”
When the youths were through, everyone cheered and lined up to try bell-ringing themselves. The act was more complicated than I’d expected; it involved tugging a cord that moved a dowel that in turn, knocked against the huge bronze bell. Mr. Nakamura went first and struggled, issuing an awkward half-note. Too much beer. He made a joke about it and passed the cord to young Mr. Yamamoto, who swung easily with powerful arms, then looked abashed and said no doubt the wind had helped him. Taro and Yuki performed respectably. When it was my turn, I found the rope slightly unwieldy but surprised myself by producing a satisfyingly mellow ring. I prayed for world peace because I couldn’t think of anything personal that needed tending.
“Tremendous! You must be a baseball player.” Hugh Glendinning had showed up after all. His casual step into the orderly line caused some sniping among the others waiting their turn.
“No. I done similar things before.” I walked off.
“What’s that?” Hugh was refusing to go away.
I explained about my visits to the Sunday flea markets held on the grounds of Tokyo’s Shinto shrines. Once there, I was always drawn toward altars rich in gold leaf and bronze. Even though Buddhism and Shintoism were different religions, they both used magnificent bells.
“Interesting,” he said, but by the way he was staring over my head, I could tell he was hardly listening. “It’s a shame Setsuko didn’t come. She had a headache.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Even though she hadn’t wanted to make the climb after her long, relaxing bath, she was with us in spirit: bad spirits.
“Are you?”
“Who cares?” I sounded juvenile but couldn’t help it this time. As I stalked off to join the others, I realized Hugh had neatly crafted a love triangle in his own mind. Five days of stupid insinuation lay ahead if I didn’t separate myself from the situation fast.
It was better to stick closely to women like Mrs. Chapman and Yuki. I watched surreptitiously as my new friend climbed out of the tub. She was my height, but about fifteen pounds lighter. In America, she might have been suspected of harboring an eating disorder. In reality, she just had slim Japanese bones.