Читать книгу Warrior Spirit - Alex Archer - Страница 10

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 even be possible. “How?”

But Ken only smiled some more. “Well, that takes a bit of practice. But if you look at how we emerged from the ashes of World War II saddled with the strict regulations imposed by the Allies, and rose to become an economic powerhouse, that’s one glimpse into how our leaders were able to do it.”

“I thought Japan’s economy was in trouble,” Annja said.

“It is,” Ken replied. “I think someone tried to figure us out and ruined what we had. But I’m not concerned. Something will happen to bring us around again.”

The train chimed twice and the doors slid shut. Annja looked at Ken. “Where are we headed?”

“Out of the city. We’re going to a small town about twenty minutes outside of Kashiwa.”

The train streamed out of the station, and Annja marveled at the smoothness of the ride. She felt a curious sensation; her buttocks were warm. She shifted once and then looked at Ken who smiled.

“They heat the seat here,” he said.

Annja raised her eyebrows. “No wonder those guys are asleep.”

Ken nodded. “It does seem to promote that, doesn’t it?”

“I might fall asleep myself if I’m not careful.”

“I’ll wake you if you do. Don’t worry.”

But Annja had no intention of falling asleep. The city disappeared and an urbanized sort of suburb followed. Open fields clogged with rusted bits of farm machinery shot past her window. Smaller wooden homes replaced the high-rise apartment buildings.

Eventually, Ken nudged Annja, who jolted. “Huh?”

“You started to doze. Come on, this is our stop.”

Annja followed Ken off the train, and her nostrils were immediately assaulted by a strange scent that seemed somehow familiar. “What is this smell?”

“Soy sauce. There’s a big factory—one of the world’s biggest companies—just on the other side of town. The air here is forever stained by it. You get used to it pretty quick, but I’ve been kind of turned off to soy sauce ever since I started coming here.”

They ducked out of the station and turned left. Ken crossed the train tracks they just rode across and then turned left again. Annja saw a sea of bicycles parked in neat lines.

“Is this common?”

“Sure. People park them here all the time and ride the train into Tokyo proper.”

Annja pointed. “But none of them are locked up.”

Ken shook his head. “No one’s going to steal them. There’s no point to it.”

Ken threaded his way through the small passage between the bike wheels and Annja twisted to do the same. She spotted some pimped-out bicycles and couldn’t help but think that in America, these would have been stolen in no time flat.

They cleared the bicycle labyrinth and walked on. Ken smiled at Annja. “Tonight is likely to be very busy.”

“Busy?”

“The dojo is small. Real estate prices being what they are, it was almost impossible for the grandmaster to find anything affordable that would still serve well as a dojo. Some of his senior students pitched in to help him buy this place. But it’s still small by Western standards. Ordinarily, the size wouldn’t be an issue but people journey here from all over the world. Numbers add up.”

An open field that had recently been mowed sat on their left. Ken nodded at it. “This used to be full of tall reeds. We had a saying that we’d dump the bodies of annoying Americans into the swamp and let them rot there.”

Annja didn’t know if he was serious or not. “Did you ever really do that?”

“Of course not.” Ken chuckled but then stopped. “Well, actually, there was this obnoxious fool named Pritchard Magoof. For him, we made an exception. He came over here as the student of a very accomplished teacher in America. And of course, he promptly let his ego explode and became rank hungry without having one ounce of technical skill. Now he mostly hangs around the dojo looking like a little puppy dog. We humor him, but he’ll never amount to anything.”

“Sounds like a real prize.”

Ken’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe if he’s there tonight we’ll let you train with him.” He laughed. “Now that’d be entertaining.”

Annja shook her head. “I’m not here to be anyone’s entertainment.”

“True, true. We have more important things to do than beat Magoof into smithereens. He’ll do that himself anyway. Rumor is it’s only a matter of time before he gets thrown out for being such an idiot.”

They passed a ramshackle hotel. Ken pointed it out. “This is where the rowdy foreigners stay when they’re over here making asses of themselves.”

Annja frowned. “Forgive me for saying so, but it seems like you don’t think too much of the non-Japanese who train with you.”

Ken shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t. Most of the people who come here to learn this art are too full of themselves to ever become truly good at it. There are exceptions and certain dojos that produce decent people. They are, unfortunately, the rarity rather than the norm.”

“Is it really that bad?” Annja wasn’t sure she was going to fit in with this crowd.

“Worse, actually. There are hotels in Tokyo that refuse to host foreigners associated with this dojo because in the past, those who stayed there trashed their rooms and partied and destroyed furniture. Maybe they’d never been away from home before—maybe they’re simply immature fools. But whatever the case, they have marred the reputation of the school.”

“And the grandmaster? What does he do about it?” Annja had images of this wizened old man beating the snot out of people who disgraced his name and style.

Ken smiled. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Ken stopped. “Annja, you have to realize that this art is ninjitsu . Ninjitsu is something entirely Japanese but at the same time it is something wholly un-Japanese. By virtue of its very nature, the art can seem to contradict itself constantly. What is expected is what never occurs. And the unexpected is routine. Only by accepting that you’ll never know what to expect will you be able to glimpse what the art can truly accomplish.”

“Expect the unexpected, then. Is that it?”

“Maybe. But it’s more like don’t expect anything. Because there’s no rhyme or reason to any of what happens inside the dojo. Or for that matter, outside of it, either.”

“That’s a terribly confusing way to go through life,” Annja said.

Ken nodded. “Remember, this is a martial art. Ninjitsu teaches you to be prepared for warfare. And there’s nothing sacred in war. The moment you think you’ve got it figured out or that you know what’s coming, a good enemy will use that against you and kill you.”

“Good point.”

“The grandmaster believes that it’s his responsibility to convey that as best he can to those who wish to study with him. So he deliberately does things that seem completely bizarre. For those who get it, the lessons are priceless. For those who don’t…well, who really cares about them?”

Annja smiled. “You’re going to tell me that most of these people don’t get it, right?”

“Yes. For the majority, this is just a fun way to show off. What they don’t realize is they are showing off exactly how little they truly know.”

“And the grandmaster’s not concerned about them leaving with this information?”

“Nope. He knows that when he’s gone, these fools will fade away. They’ve got no real skill to fall back on. The few who do sincerely study will know how to carry on. That’s it,” Ken said.

“It all seems rather Darwin.”

“It is. Because it has to be. Ninjitsu has survived for so long, much of that time in secret, solely because it was carried on by the sincere. The idiots were disposed of long before they ever got close to being a threat.”

“Buried in the swamp reeds, I suppose,” Annja said.

Ken’s smile twitched and he chuckled. “Exactly. Now come on, let’s introduce you to the real art of ninjitsu .”