“Imagine that this chance is within his reach and he desperately wants to make love to her, but he’s still dithering.”
“What about?”
“This woman has given him a shadow dance, something which he’ll never forget, and maybe the movie would have a more poetic ending if he leaves it at that and takes this memory home with him instead of consummating his desire. Naturally, this leading man is an idiot.”
“You’ve lost me. What’s the question then?”
“If you were the scriptwriter and director, which of the two endings would you choose for him?”
“Well, that’s easy. I’d give the idiot a night of pleasure.”
Happiness Lies Beyond the Clouds
I can remember very little about what happened on the futon—and even then I have to make an effort. And that’s a shame. The only time in your life you go to bed with a modern geisha you’d surely want to remember every moment and every inch of her body. But if life’s imperfect, your memory of life is even more so.
My first recollection is of going up to my room in the ryokan after the receptionist had implored us not to make any noise as everyone was asleep. Once inside, Mizuki let her floral dress drop to the floor and, wearing only orange lingerie, lay down on the futon.
That was a very unusual color for underclothes, and the exact shade has remained engraved on my mind. I’d stripped down to my underpants by then, and we lay there talking for quite a while about things I no longer remember.
A second fragment I’ve retained is the moment when I felt her tongue on mine as I struggled to undo her bra. I’ve always been clumsy in these matters. That memory ends with the moment when I felt her breasts against my skin as her hand pushed its way into my underpants.
The third scene consists of a close-up of her face on the pillow, just as I entered her the first time. Her expression was not yet one of pleasure. It was more like—surprise, or even shock, as if to say,How on earth did this happen?
Marshaling those fragmentary memories, now with broad daylight shining down on the bed, I felt aroused again. But Mizuki wasn’t lying next to me.
When I stood up, I discovered to my relief that I didn’t feel too bad. I was slightly woozy, but that was all. Maybe Bryan Ferry was right when he said that love is the drug.
Breakfast time was long over, so I went directly down to the onsen where I took up an underwater seat next to a fat man who wanted to practice his rudimentary English. After asking me where I was from, he came out with the classic question: “Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure.” I was surprised to hear myself pronouncing the word.
Later, when I was about to go out, the tiny woman at the reception desk greeted me with a bow and held out an envelope for me. I carefully opened it and pulled out two sheets of beautiful writing paper folded into quarters. The first sheet was a letter.
Dear Samuel,
Thank you for these fantastic days and nights I’ve spent with you and, in particular, for giving me strength when I thought I’d lost everything.
You’ve helped me cross a bridge I could never have crossed by myself.
This morning, when I saw you sleeping after we’d made love, I decided that the time has come for me to go back to San Francisco and face up to things as they really are. By the time you read this, I’ll be at the airport waiting to board my flight.
There’s one thing I didn’t tell you about Richard. The night after he found out that I’d cheated on him he died in a car accident. The autopsy showed that he was drunk. Now do you understand why I can’t go back to him?
If I’ve been frivolous and not very well mannered these last few days, this is the reason. I was trying to forget.
Now I know that’s impossible.
Yours, yesterday,
Mizuki
PS. I hope you like the gift I’ve enclosed with this letter. It took me quite a while to translate it.
I look up when I walk
So the tears won’t fall
Remembering those happy spring days
