I didn’t know about the frogs, but I did know the answer to this question.
I was the problem.
The Temple of the Dragon at Peace
I got dressed in my room and went downstairs. I was astonished to see Mizuki sitting in a chair next to the reception desk. She was now wearing a pretty floral dress and high-heeled shoes, which gave her a romantic, slightly Victorian look. Her hat and sunglasses suggested that the weather was good today.
I kissed her on each cheek, just as I would if meeting a Mediterranean girl.
“I thought you only went out at night,” I joked. “Though you did tell me that geisha do their errands in the morning. Where do you want me to go with you today?”
“I want to show you something that will give you some inspiration for your book. It’s not one of the most spectacular temples, but it is the most mysterious.”
She held out her hand, and we left the ryokan together. I’d read in my guidebook that Japanese couples never walk hand in hand or make physical displays of affection. But we weren’t really a couple. We weren’t even friends. What were we then? An intersection between two separate solitudes?
As we walked toward the nearest main road, I asked: “Do you feel more American or Japanese?”
“Culturally I’m Californian. I was ten when my parents moved there for professional reasons.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I’ve spent two thirds of my life in America, so I suppose I’m from there. But, spiritually, I feel Japanese.”
A taxi stopped before I could ask what she meant. After some rapid instructions to the driver, she got in and sat resting her hands on her knees.
The taxi made its way through Friday lunchtime traffic. I had no idea where we were going, but I wanted to know more about Mizuki, so I asked her to tell me about her life in California.
“I studied psychology at Berkeley, but I’ve never worked as a psychologist. I like art, like my uncle, so I married a man who owned an art gallery near Palo Alto. I ran the business.”
“Richard.”
“We started living together when I finished my master’s. I was twenty-five then. Five years, and we never had a single argument.”
Her voice wobbled slightly, but I couldn’t see the expression in her eyes behind the dark glasses.
“But if he was a good man and he loved you and you could do the kind of work you enjoyed, why did you leave him?”
“I don’t know.”
This laconic answer meant she didn’t want to talk about it, but I wasn’t about to give up now I’d got that far.
“The night we met, you told me you’d made the biggest mistake of your life. You said you’re still in love with Richard but now it’s impossible to go back. What did you mean?”
Mizuki’s face tensed.
“I slept with his best friend. Is your curiosity satisfied now?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“The guy had been desperate to get in bed with me for ages, and when it happened he made sure everybody knew about it, including Richard.” Her tone was harsh. “He was a total idiot: he thought he could get me that way. But he was wrong. It was all a terrible mess. Then I came to Kyoto. There’s no going back.”
The taxi drew up at the gates of Ryoan-ji Temple—whose name, according to my guidebook, meant “Temple of the Dragon at Peace.”
Knowing that I’d upset Mizuki, I tried to smooth things over with a typical gaijin comment.
“Isn’t this is the Zen temple with a very famous dry landscape garden?”
“It’s probably the most famouskare-sansuigarden in Japan. All Zen followers come to see it, but I doubt you’ll understand why.”
A Dry Landscape
Just as Mizuki had predicted, I failed to see the magic in that expanse of pebbles dotted with rocks. The Japanese visitors, however, stared at it in fascination, circling around endlessly and taking photographs.
