Warrior Spirit

“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.”