Tam was headed east in the black Nissan limo, listening to the talk. And thinking. Seated alongside was Kenji Asano, wearing a light tan suit and gold cufflinks, while the space opposite was occupied by two individuals who made her very uneasy. One was the instantly famous Matsuo Noda, the other his niece, talk-show economist Akira Mori. Noda was wearing a black three-piece banker's suit, the perfect accompaniment to his silver hair, and small wireless spectacles that magnified his penetrating eyes. Mori, in designer beige, looked as if she'd just stepped from the NHK studios, which in fact she had only a few hours earlier.
Three days had passed since Noda's Imperial press conference, four counting today, with this sudden trip being only the latest in a series of unexpected events. The major new twist: getting her interviews rolling was turning out to be a lot harder than it should have been. Before leaving New York, she'd arranged for a day with Dr. Noburu Matsugami of the Electrotechnical Institute at Tsukuba Science City to go over the latest progress of MITI's Advanced Robot Technology Project, now the world leader, the undisputed state of the art in robotics. Matsugami had even volunteered to supply introductions to the other MITI labs at Tsukuba. Everything was set.
Except now it wasn't. When she called Friday to confirm their meeting, Dr. Matsugami advised her that some unexpected schedule conflicts had come up. Most apologetic. Perhaps they could try again week after next.
What's more, that was her last call for the day, because immediately afterward her hotel phone had gone dead for five hours. Management was strangely evasive about the problem. When a temporary line was finally installed, it had a curious whine that made conversation all but impossible.
My luck, she thought. Japanese technology, the best in the world, breaks down on me.
Consequently it was almost a relief to get out of town. Not the least of reasons being Tokyo still had a hangover from all the sword celebrations. Its streets were strewn with debris, and services remained haphazard. As planned, she and Ken departed the next afternoon on the Shinkansen bullet train- first class, where the porters wear white gloves and bow after making an announcement to the car. The only way to travel. Finally some peace and quiet after the madness of Tokyo, she'd told herself. It felt like the Concorde, except with legroom. She leaned back to watch as the white peak of Mt. Fuji flashed by at a hundred and forty miles per hour and chatted with Ken, who was sitting next to her, glancing through some MITI memos he'd brought along.
The trip down, zipping through industrial Nagoya, had helped to settle her mind. Kyoto. For her there was nowhere else quite like it in the world. If you knew the byways, it could be a universe away from the mania of Tokyo. Time to lighten up. At least she had no reason to suspect Ken was giving her the runaround. He'd seemed genuinely disturbed when she told him about Matsugami's polite refusal to talk. Didn't say much: just frowned, was strangely silent for a moment, then declared he'd make a few phone calls and check into it when there was time.
Kenji Asano, she noticed, seemed to have a split personality: one for her and one for the rest of the world. In public he was all Japanese, striding ahead and ostentatiously barking opinions. But that, she knew, was merely for appearances; he'd have been the object of silent derision by elders if he'd displayed the slightest consideration for his female companion. (She recalled that famous Japanese proverb: The man who falls in love with his wife merely spoils his mother's servant.) Okay, she told herself as she trailed along, when in Rome… Japanese men need to strut and bully their women in public; it's the only chance they get. Everybody knows the obedient little helpmate dutifully pacing behind garnishees his paycheck and doles back whatever she likes.
Ken's stern, traditional public face, however, was merely one of his many personas. Alone with her he could be as Western as any Japanese man would permit himself. For a Japanese, of course, "Western" doesn't mean all the glad-handing bonhomie of an American; there's always an element of reserve. Just the same, he was nothing like the typical sexless, oblique Japanese businessman. He had a superb body, taut and athletic, which he knew better than to bury in some cheap off-the-rack Japanese suit. No polyester; strictly silk and finest wool. He had a sense of style: the power look. And he really was a widower, whose wife had died in a freak auto crash soon after their marriage.
In short, Kenji Asano was complex, not easy to categorize.
The same went for Matsuo Noda. As she and Ken were coming down on the train, a porter had come through the car announcing "denwa," a call for Dr. Asano. When he returned, he reported that Matsuo Noda needed to make a quick trip down to the famous Shinto shrine at Ise tomorrow morning, to review the site for the new museum Dai Nippon, International would build to house the sword, and wanted him to come along, a good time to discuss their mutual interests.
"He always seems to know everything that goes on." Ken smiled wistfully. "He also 'suggested' that perhaps my visiting American colleague would like to make the trip too."
Oh, Tam thought, why me? That's not the way Japanese executives go about things. Women aren't part of their high-level conferences.
"I don't understand this, Ken." She'd been half dozing, but now she was coming awake very rapidly. "Seems a little strange, don't you think?"
Asano shrugged. "He just said he'd like to meet you."
"But why? What did you tell him about me?"
"Nothing, really…" He glanced away.
"Curious." She was fully alert now. "Then how did he…?"
"Tam, don't be naive. Matsuo Noda knows who you are, believe me." He shot her an admiring glance. "Why are you frowning? It's true. He knows all about your work. He practically demanded you come along. He called you-what was it?-'that brilliant American professor.'"
"You know, something about this doesn't add up." She was having her first experience of Matsuo Noda's long arm, and she found it unsettling.
"Why not? Tamara, you of all people should know we Japanese have a national tradition of honoring guests. Noda-san is old school, through and through." He leaned back. "Besides, he's bringing somebody else along to meet you. Could be very interesting."
"Who?"
He told her.
So here they were in the Dai Nippon limo, a stretch, with acres of room and green tea that flowed till she thought she would burst. What was that old line about the roomful of zaibatsu negotiators: the one with the toughest bladder prevails.
Seeing Matsuo Noda in person confirmed everything she'd sensed about him on the TV. He was a genius. Still, something about him told you that when you sat down to cards with this man, you'd do well to cut the deck. What really took her aback, though, was the woman alongside him, Akira Mori.
Could be it was just her style. Tam was definitely overwhelmed. For the trip she'd worn her softly tailored Calvin Klein suit (her only one), in shades of pale, warm gray, and set it off with some simple, stark silver picked up on a trip to Morocco. Perfect pitch. She looked smashing, feminine yet all business, and Ken had told her so at least three times. All the same she wasn't prepared for Mori's ostentatious fashion statement.
When the DNI limo appeared at their hotel, the International, Japan's favorite TV money guru was wearing one of her severe Rei Kawakubo ensembles, a small ransom in gold accessories, and enough makeup for a haute couture ramp model. It turned out she'd taped an early morning interview show at NHK's Tokyo studios for broadcast that night, then come down directly on the Shinkansen. She greeted Tam and Ken with scarcely more than a frosty nod. Tam found this standoffish manner puzzling.
On the other hand it did fit perfectly with Ken's quick morning briefing on Noda's famous niece. Quite a story. According to him, her father, Dr. Toshi Noda, had been a celebrated figure in years past. An honors graduate of Tokyo University, he'd been the star mathematics professor of Kyoto University when he was summarily conscripted by Prime Minister Tojo to take charge of wartime cryptography, codes. Tojo wanted the best, and he got it. Consequently mild-mannered Toshi Noda had been one of the minds behind the famous Purple Machine, used for Japanese ciphers during the early part of the war.
Eventually, however, the project became redundant. After a time Tojo ceased to trust the Purple Machine and decided to replace it with that famous Nazi invention, the Enigma Machine. (On that one, Ken had added with a touch of irony, Toshi Noda was well vindicated. The Enigma Machine code had already been cracked by the Allies long before Hitler-declaring it unbreakable-delivered it to Tokyo.)
Toshi Noda resembled his older brother Matsuo physically, but he differed radically in outlook, being a devout Buddhist and a pacifist. After the stunning Japanese bloodbath at Saipan, which demonstrated the war was clearly lost, he'd been one of those imprudent citizens who'd spoken out publicly for peace. Not surprisingly, he was immediately placed under surveillance by the Kempei Tai, Japan's secret police, and shortly thereafter jailed.
After three months' internment he was released a broken man. A week later he committed ritual seppuku, disemboweling himself for the crime of having disgraced the family.
Toshi Noda's diaries, published posthumously and read widely in Japan, revealed his deep repugnance for the wartime government. He believed that Prime Minister Tojo had become, in effect, a neo-shogun. Although the shogunate supposedly had been abolished when Emperor Meiji took control and opened Japan in 1867, Toshi Noda saw it restored with Tojo, another "shogun" who had come along and isolated the country once again. Nonetheless, he'd been a man of few words. His death poem, written only moments before he put the knife to his stomach, was as simple and intense as his life. Darkness upon Yamato, Land of the gods, Awaits the new dawn- Ten-no-Heika.
That last was a traditional phrase that, simply translated, meant "son of heaven." For a Japanese, though, the overtones are more; they say "the way of the emperor."
Subsequent history proved him prescient on several points-the main one being that militarism was a disaster for Japan. Also, he had rightly feared that the monarchy would become an empty symbol in the ruins of Tojo's hopeless war. Although he hadn't lived to see Tojo tried and hanged as a criminal, he had predicted the outcome of the war unerringly-and he'd insisted that his infant daughter be evacuated to Sasayama just before the Allies moved in for the kill. Because of his foresight she escaped the first firebombing of Tokyo, which converted the city into a giant death oven for eighty thousand innocent Japanese civilians too old or young to escape. America's pragmatic "final solution": Auschwitz with airborne incendiaries. The rest of Toshi Noda's family was burned alive.
Afterward Matsuo Noda had complied with another of Toshi Noda's wishes and made certain his daughter received a first-class education. Since she had a natural instinct for economics he'd encouraged her, rightly foreseeing it as a discipline vital to Japan in the twenty-first century. She had excelled beyond his fondest expectations; she was in fact brilliant. As a result he grew to dote on her, to an extent that eventually grew almost obsessive. He'd even made her his heir, since he had none of his own. His fortune was rumored to be in the tens of millions.
Probably the most important thing to keep in mind about Akira Mori, Ken had concluded, was that she merely looked avant-garde. Inside she lived in another age. In fact he suspected the reason she'd never married had something to do with the fact she was already wed: to the vision of Japan's powerful, sacred Imperial past.
On the trip down to Ise, Mori had silently sipped her green tea while Noda chatted with Asano about the costs and timing of commercializing the intelligent machines that would come out of the Fifth Generation Project. Although Noda stuck to generalities, it was clear he was totally conversant with the latest developments in the field. In fact, Tam found herself thinking, he seemed to know anything there was to know about just about everything. He displayed the same obsession with Japan's technological future that the old-time shoguns must have had about the goings-on of their vassals.
She also sensed that he and Asano were doing a lot of their communicating in a verbal shorthand, enough so that she began to suspect they had worked together before: they were like father and son, each anticipating the other's thoughts and conclusions.
By the time they reached Ise it was already late afternoon, but Noda's driver had phoned ahead from the car and arranged rooms for the night at the local spa, so they wouldn't have to go back late. She noticed there hadn't been any talk about the famous Sword, but she figured maybe he was saving that for dinner.
The museum Noda planned was to be built outside the shrine proper, just before you crossed the wide, arched Uji Bridge spanning the Isuzu River that separated Shinto's holy ground from the ordinary world. The shrine itself, a collection of thatched-roof buildings in severe traditional style, was hidden down a long trail among giant cryptomeria trees that towered hundreds of feet into the pale afternoon sky.
Attesting to the speed with which things can happen in Japan when there's the go-ahead from above, the location had already been staked and the trees cleared. Excavation for the foundation merely awaited Noda's approval. While everybody else stood around and waited, he consulted with the site engineer, checked over the plans, and made a few final changes. All the while, onlookers were bowing to him right and left. He'd become, overnight, an authentic Japanese legend.
After finishing with the engineer, he suggested they stroll on down to pay respects at the shrine itself, since they'd come all this way. Their burly chauffeur suddenly became a bodyguard, clearing the path ahead. Noda was expansive now, presumably confident his niche in history was secure. As they were crossing the wooden bridge, he casually asked Tam what she knew about the Sword.
A one-of-a-kind historical find, she replied. Important and fascinating. She'd seen the Emperor on TV…
"I assumed you would understand its significance." He was leading the way down the path. "Perhaps then you'll indulge me a moment for an ancient tale about it."
By now the entire shrine had been cleared of tourists and they were surrounded only by bowing and smiling priests in white robes: the VIP treatment. "The Imperial sword harkens back in a way to our version of Adam and Eve. Except, according to our own creation story, they were also the ones who created Japan; they were the original kami."
"The original Japanese gods."
"Well, perhaps 'god' is too strong a term, Dr. Richardson. I prefer to think of our kami as merely spirits of life." Noda shrugged, then continued. "According to the myth, the first male and female kami stirred the sea with a long spear, then lifted it, and the brine that dropped from its tip piled up and became Japan."
She caught herself smiling. "I've always wondered what Freud would have thought of that."
Mori glared at her in a way that suggested some offense at her irreverence, while MIT-educated Ken merely stifled a grin. Noda, however, took the quip in stride.
"Freud? Ah, yes, your philosopher. I seem to recall he's the one who regarded almost everything as some manifestation of our sexual appetite. Well, these are primitive stories, Dr. Richardson, that describe the beginning of life. I suppose they should be somewhat earthy, wouldn't you agree?" He chuckled. "Nonetheless, according to our early tales, the Sun Goddess-whose shrine this is-was created out of the left eye, the side of honor, of the first male kami, and the Moon God was created out of his right. Then they ascended into the skies."
She glanced up. The Sun Goddess appeared to be headed for bed, the sky itself barely light through the cryptomeria. The air was beginning to grow slightly crisp.
"Now we come to the sword. When the Sun Goddess finally sent her grandson down to rule over the mortals below, he brought with him the three items that became the emblems of Imperial rule. They were the sacred mirror, signifying purity, a curved bead necklace, used to ward off evil spirits, and the sword, standing for courage. The great grandson of that first earthbound immortal extended his dominion over all of Japan and became the first emperor. We are told his name was Jimmu, and the legends say that was around 660 B.C."
"So desu," Miss Mori interjected abruptly, startling even Ken. She seemed to be lecturing directly to Tam. "We all know our Emperor today is directly descended from him. In fact, he is precisely the one hundred and twenty-fourth emperor after Jimmu. Japan and the Imperial line were born simultaneously, and every Japanese is related to him. We are a monoracial state."
Tam glanced at her. By God, she wasn't kidding.
"Well, it's possible the traditional account has reworked historical facts a trifle," Noda continued smoothly. "Actually the peoples who became our modern Japanese seem to have made their way here to the main island from somewhere in the South Pacific and settled in this area around Ise. Near here we still find burial mounds that contain replicas of their early symbols of Imperial authority-mirrors, gems, swords."
"But the sword you found? Did it really come down from on high?" Tam asked, half hoping to rankle Akira Mori.
"You mean was it that very first one?" Noda shrugged. "Who could locate the original Garden of Eden? Please, we all must allow for a certain element of poetic license in our myths. But it is unquestionably the sword referred to in the ancient chronicles such as the Heite Monogatari, which dates from the Heian era, the ninth through twelfth centuries. That sword was lost in 1185, and now it's been recovered. That's all we know for sure."
Mori, walking along in her quick, Japanese-woman pace, obviously was not satisfied with Noda's rationalist version of history.
"Dr. Richardson," she cut in again, "what the recovery of the sword has achieved is to remind the Japanese people that we are unique. We Japanese have a special soul, a Yamato minzoku of pure blood and spiritual unity. All Japanese are related to each other and to the Emperor, so there is a oneness of spirit, a blood-and-soul relation, between the Emperor and his people. Yamatoists believe, rightly, that a temporary eclipse of our Japanese minzoku was brought about by the American occupation, whose imposed constitution and educational system were acts of racial revenge against Japan. Our postwar identity crisis, our negative image of ourselves, was created by Americans. But that time is over. Although we have no single God, as in the Judeo-Christian tradition, we have something even more powerful. Through our Emperor we have a line of descent that harkens back to the beginning of our world. Perhaps we no longer choose to claim he is divine, but that makes him no less an embodiment of Japan's special place."
Akira Mori, Tam suddenly realized, was a closet Yamatoist, those new right-wing racist firebrands of modern Japan. Time to give her a little heat.
"Surely nobody today seriously thinks the Emperor's forefather came down from the skies?" She turned back to Noda. "You don't believe it, do you?"
He shrugged. "Ours is a skeptical world, Dr. Richardson. Is your pope really infallible, or did he acquire his right to be divine spokesman by winning a small election? Nonetheless, popes and kings are like ancient tribal leaders. Despite all our modern democracy, we still yearn for a figure to embody our identity. For the Japanese to have an emperor who, if only in legend, has blood kinship with the gods who created our homeland-what could be more important?"
About that time Tam glanced up and realized they were passing under a large torii gate, entryway to a place that seemingly had nothing to do with the real world. Just beyond were the shrines, reminding her somewhat of a sanitized tropical village as imagined by Hollywood. Each of the cypress-wood buildings, set above the ground on stilts, was architecture at its most primal, a study in simplicity. Their polished wood was untouched by a speck of paint, while the foot-thick blanket of woven straw comprising their roofs had a creamy texture that looked like cheesecake. There was nothing in the world to compare.
What really made them unique, though, was something else entirely. Although the shrines were merely straw and natural wood, possessing none of the centuries-old authority of the cathedrals of Europe, in a curious way they were actually older, for they had been rebuilt anew every twenty years since time immemorial.
Suddenly the real significance of that struck her. What other people had kept alive such a powerful symbol of their common heritage for centuries and centuries? Westerners had difficulty grasping the continuity this shrine represented. Little wonder Noda could galvanize his clan with some powerful new reminder of who they were. Shinto wasn't a religion; there were few rules and no payoff in the sky. Instead it was the mortar binding a race.
"The main shrines over there," he continued, pointing to a collection of buildings in an area enclosed by a high wooden fence, "are off limits to all save the Emperor himself and certain of the priests. That ground is the sacred link between our Emperor living now and those of times past. Even photographs are forbidden."
Tam noticed that many of the gables of the buildings were tipped in gold, burning amber when an occasional shaft of late sunlight reflected off them. Dusk was starting to settle in, and the evening birds and crickets had begun to add their eerie sound effects. She found herself deeply touched. What was it about the place that inspired such reverence? Was it the serenity? The purity?
Yes, this Shinto holy of holies possessed a secret power, the unassailable strength of nature. It moved her; how could it not? Somewhere inside she felt envy of them all, felt a yearning to share their absolute sense of' who they were.
While she reflected on that, surrounded by the white gravel and golden woods, she found herself looking anew at Ken. Being here with him at Ise made her question once again whether in his world, his austere yet deeply passionate world, she could never be anything but a gaijin, an outsider.