The New Samurai (25 page)

“Hey, Yoshi,” he shouted into his friend’s ear. “You know what we were talking about before?” Yoshi looked embarrassed and nodded quickly. “Now’s a good time to practise.”

Sam jerked his head towards the dance floor.

Yoshi looked tentative. “You think is good idea, Sam-san?”

“Sure, why not?”

Sam stood up and picked the girl who was giggling the least, which wasn’t saying much. Her friends stared with amazement and not a little jealousy. She nodded happily, giggled, of course, and took Sam’s hand.

Yoshi was more formal, offering himself to Miho with a bow; she looked as surprised as everyone else. Even Isamu interrupted his brooding to watch Yoshi lay down some moves, his eyes opening wide with surprise.

At first Yoshi was a little stiff-backed, holding Miho as if he were about to whisk her into a foxtrot, but after a while he loosened up and started to let himself go. Miho, too, looked pleased and chatted animatedly as they twirled around the floor.

Sam’s partner, on the other hand, had gone from a non-stop giggle to being mute. Stripped of her friends, she seemed unable to utter a sound, no matter what Sam tried to say to her. It seemed laughable that Yoshi had thought him successful with women when he couldn’t even get his partner to speak a word. In the end he gave up trying to talk and just enjoyed the music. He danced until the song finished.

He had planned on sitting down but Yumi’s friends were now lined up to take their turn with the handsome gaijin. Yoshi continued to dance with Miho in a way that made Sam wonder if something more permanent than a dance partner was in the air.

Finally the party broke up when Yoshi declared that it was time to leave. It wasn’t late and Sam was relieved that they’d be going back to the farm while there was still some daylight. Despite Yoshi’s confidence, Sam preferred their first attempt at biking to be before nightfall.

They strolled out into the cool evening air, followed by the passel of giggling girls.

Masao showed Sam where his ‘herumetto’ was stored in the top box, along with a padded leather jacket in one of the side panniers. He waved away Sam’s thanks and proceeded to point out all the other things Sam needed to know about the bike; unfortunately it was all in technical Japanese so Sam had to guess at about 60% of what Masao was trying to tell him. He was amazingly casual about lending his ¥350,000 bike to a stranger and a gaijin to boot; there was no mention of insurance or driving licences.

Sam shook hands with Masao, thanking him again. Masao thumped him on the back and gave him a happy thumbs-up.

Sam climbed on and started the engine, feeling the weight of the machine and the power thrumming through the accelerator. He made a slow circuit around the car park, feeling how the bike pulled in the turns, then kicked it up a notch as he headed for the main street. A quick sprint up and down the road, and Sam felt fairly confident that he wasn’t going to end up as an organ donor – not unless Yumi’s driving managed to tip the odds.

Yoshi was still stationary and Sam got the impression he was showing off to Miho ever so slightly.

Sam lifted his visor. “You good to go, Yoshi?”

“Sure thing, Sam-san,” said Yoshi, confidently.

He kick-started the machine, over-revved and released the throttle too quickly. The bike bucked once and fell silent. Yoshi flushed red, perturbed by the serious loss of face as Yumi’s friends giggled loudly.

“Nice and easy, Yoshi,” said Sam, in a low voice.

Yoshi nodded quickly and tried again. This time he managed to wobble around the car park without incident.

As unobtrusively as possible, Sam made his way to stand by Yumi. He hoped she was as sensible and serious as she claimed to be.

“Yumi-san, will you follow us home? Slowly?”

She tilted her head in silent acknowledgement, her eyes watching Sam carefully as he remounted his bike.

“Follow me, Sam-san!” Yoshi yelled suddenly, and took off through the car park in a series of kangaroo hops. Even Isamu looked a little perturbed as his investment of hundreds of thousands of yen bounced around the flat tarmac.

Dear God. Sam couldn’t help shaking his head. He really didn’t fancy being the one who would have to tell Yoshi’s parents that he’d been mashed into a tree on the four mile journey back to the farm.

There was a blaring of horns as Yoshi exited the car park without indicating, but he made it through the first set of traffic lights without falling off.

Sam followed a short distance behind and saw in his wing mirrors that Yumi was tailing them at a safe distance.

Yoshi managed to stall his bike twice more before they left the limits of Furano but by the time they hit the main road, his former confidence had been restored.

Then Yoshi let out the throttle and crouched over the handle bars as he zoomed up the highway. Sam kept pace with him, although more than 50 yards behind. He was still half-expecting Yoshi to lose control. Luckily the traffic at that time of the evening was light.

But when Yoshi turned off the main road, the dirt track up to the farm presented more of a challenge. The pot holes were frequent, hard to see in the failing light, hard to avoid and difficult to manoeuvre round.

Sam slowed to a crawl, navigating around the holes as best as he could, trying to stop the wheels from spinning out in the mud or the weight of the bike pull him over.

They were nearly at the farm buildings when Yoshi’s front wheel rim hit the edge of one of the larger holes and Sam saw him go into a slow speed crash. The bike slid limply to one side and Yoshi was on his back in the dirt.

Sam snapped his bike’s stand down and left it in the road as he ran up to his friend.

“You okay, Yoshi?” he said, anxiously.

“Oh, yes, Sam-san,” said Yoshi, looking flustered. “Everything is good.”

Sam helped him to his feet and inspected the damage. One of the side panniers was scratched and slightly dented but the bike was otherwise unscathed. So was Yoshi: only his pride was hurt.

Sam could see that Yumi was rocking with laughter, her shoulders shaking silently behind the windscreen. He positioned himself so Yoshi wouldn’t see.

At last they managed to ride the bikes into the barn, leaving Yumi to park in the yard. Yoshi’s fall from grace wasn’t mentioned again.

If he was still upset with himself, Yoshi hid it well, and spent the next few minutes pulling out the camping equipment: tent, sleeping bags, torches and a small stove for boiling water. He also had two miniature cow bells.

“We must wear these on backpacks,” he said, “to scare away bears.”

Sam would have preferred a rifle or maybe a hand grenade. He wasn’t sure how useful a bell would be if a bear charged. Perhaps he was just supposed to use harsh language instead.

The rest of the evening was spent drinking tea with Yoshi’s parents, with Sam answering questions about his life in London, about Fiona and Rosa, and about his work as a teacher. Mr Sato also wanted to tease out some details of whether Yoshi’s business ideas for a B&B were realistic. He seemed satisfied with Sam’s assertion that English people liked and used B&Bs frequently. Yoshi grinned happily.

Sam woke early, feeling rested for the first time in several days. The coolness of the night had been a huge relief after the heat and humidity of Tokyo. He could understand why Hokkaido was the holiday destination of choice for urbanites.

The Satos didn’t have a western shower, only a traditional Japanese bathroom. Instead of a shower tray there was a small area where one washed and rinsed, followed by a square hip bath full of clean water with a lid, on it which would be used by the entire family that morning. It seemed very alien to Sam, who had seen Yoshi become agitated when washing up was done without utensils being rinsed under running water. Sam made a mental note to tell Yoshi that even though English tourists would want an ‘authentic’ Japanese experience, they would also want a shower.

Breakfast was also traditional and Mrs Sato packed them each a bento box of seafood and rice for their lunch. She hugged Sam like a second son and Yumi waved a handkerchief from the porch – probably as a result of having seen too many Hollywood romances. Sam was glad they were leaving; he didn’t want Yoshi’s little sister having a crush on him. His life was already complicated enough.

And then they were off, heading east into the wilderness of the national park.

It felt good to be on the move, racing along unknown roads, higher and higher. As they headed into the mountains the scenery changed from lush, rolling hills to a rockier, wilder landscape. Then emerging from a gorge, the hills were suddenly swathed in red and gold flowers, glowing in the morning sun. It was stunning and they were alone – not a tourist in sight.

Carefully Yoshi steered his bike to the road’s edge and cut the engine. In complete silence they simply looked, drinking in the summer colours and the clear, unpolluted air.

They stopped once more that morning, resting by the side of a glassy lake to eat their lunch. Small plumes of sulphurous steam erupted with soft hisses behind them, reminding Sam that the park, like most of Japan, was an area of volcanic activity.

Slowly they wound their way ever eastwards, finally turning towards the north in the dying hours of the afternoon. Their destination was a prosperous-looking campsite and hotel with onsen attached.

They were both a little stiff after hours of riding and a soak in the naturally hot water sounded perfect.

“Is most special place,” sighed Yoshi happily. “I came here as child and many times after. This place rotemburo – outside onsen. You will see, Sam-san.”

For once, Yoshi hadn’t exaggerated. Dropping their rented yukatas, they perched on the smooth, granite boulders at the water’s edge and sank slowly into the scalding hot water. The view stretched uninterrupted across the valley and to the greying peaks beyond.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned back. The natural minerals and the heat of the spa soothed away the stiffness, and a pleasant breeze blew across the surface of the water, stirring the wisps of steam, like dreamy ghosts.

It could have been a scene from the last thousand years, the centuries drifting away. But the deep peace was shattered suddenly when a large group of businessmen clattered out, noisy in wooden clogs, chattering like school girls.

Sam assumed they were on some sort of team-building exercise, so popular in Japanese companies.

He was surprised and then amused to realise that he could understand a good deal of what was being said. Several times he heard the words ‘akage no hito’ which meant ‘red-headed’ and he knew they were talking about him. It didn’t bother him as much as it had when he’d first arrived in the country and after their surprise at seeing him, the businessmen didn’t seem opposed to his presence. He was relieved, partly because from what others had told him at the hostel, he knew that some Japanese refused to share their onsen with gaijin, leaving the water immediately. He smiled at the feeling of acceptance and then, remembering the incident with Paul’s tattoo, was very glad he had resisted getting one. He didn’t want to be set further apart.

Yoshi’s gaze was far away and Sam felt himself drifting again, when one of the businessmen spoke to him in halting English. Sam replied in fair Japanese and the man’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Then he called to his friends in amazement and soon they were all keen to try chatting with the gaijin who, astoundingly, seemed to speak their language. Yoshi was called to enter the conversation and it ended with the pair of them being enthusiastically invited to join the men at dinner.

Accordingly, Sam and Yoshi pitched their tent and rolled out their sleeping bags before joining the noisiest table in the spa’s main restaurant. Their hosts were already merry with drink and welcomed them vociferously.

Sam soon saw that there was an ulterior motive to the dinner invitation: the men were determined to find the most outlandish dishes they could, to see if the gaijin would dare to eat them. Sam really wished Yoshi wasn’t quite so keen on translating and describing everything that arrived at the table – ignorance would have been bliss – or at least made things a little easier. But Yoshi happily pointed out the stuffed pigs ovaries; Shirako (the male genitalia of fish that, incredibly, still contained seminal fluid); shashimi slices of raw horsemeat; some sort of insects in a sweet soy sauce; and Hachinoko (crunchy bee larvae). Sam didn’t know how they made the larvae crunchy and was really keen not to find out. But the strangest, most stomach-churning thing on the menu was sake – complete with small transparent fish swimming in the glass that were to be eaten – or drunk –alive.

“They dance in your mouth when being eaten, Sam-san,” explained Yoshi cheerfully. “And they very good for cleaning gut. Very healthy.”

The whole table was staring at Sam with the expectation that he’d refuse the final hurdle. And he nearly did: except that he could see that to do so would be a loss of face for Yoshi, because Sam was his friend.

Without looking any more closely at the drink in his hand, Sam swallowed the concontion in one go, trying to ignore the odd tickling sensation in his throat as he did so – and choking back the bile that threatened to embarrass them both.

The men at the table cheered, the loudest of all being Yoshi. Most likely, cheering with relief.

Then a round of drinking games began at which point Sam bowed out, knowing instinctively that his stomach had had as much abuse as it could tolerate for one evening. Yoshi pretended he was sorry to leave, but to Sam, who had begun to know him well, it was clear that he also was relieved to be making an early night of it.

Yoshi was still in a talkative mood as they left the restaurant, so they built a small fire and sat outside the tent, their sleeping bags around their shoulders, and heated water to make tea.

Sam was just mixing some bitter macha tea powder into the boiling water when Yoshi surprised him – again.

“You are like samurai, Sam-san,” said Yoshi, thoughtfully.

Sam laughed. “I don’t think a samurai would be trying not to hurl after drinking sake with fish in it!”