‘Well, if you would like to meet her, she’s up by the swimming pool.’
They accompanied Charles to the swimming pool and no me. More questions.
‘Is there anyone who has seen your wife in the last four days?’
‘Yes. I have.’
‘Besides yourself, sir?’ They asked quietly.
‘Well, we have kept to ourselves mostly, that’s why we came on a cruise, to be alone. Anything unusual about that?’
‘You haven’t had a meal in the dining room since you boarded, and the only meal that has been delivered to your rooms was breakfast, and that was only for one. Is that all you’ve both eaten in four days, sir?’
‘No, of course not. We have a mid-afternoon meal up on the deck. The waiter can tell you my wife is alive and well. He’s seen her every day.’
Unfortunately our waiter was one of the drink waiters from the lounge, and when the men lined up all the food waiters, our special one was sadly lacking. Charles was very close to losing his temper but the two men were now convinced he had murdered me.
‘Look, as soon as my wife comes back I’ll present her to you and this whole silly affair will be settled once and for all!’
‘I’m afraid we’ll have to stay with you until then.’
Meanwhile I had decided to have my hair set, thus keeping me away for another hour. At four o’clock the two men accompanied Charles to our special eating spot, and there was our waiter setting up the table. Charles was very pleased to see him and asked him to tell the two men that he had served me a meal there every day.
The two men started to question the waiter. All the time we were with the waiter Charles had jokingly told him that I was his girlfriend. And, as the waiter put it, ‘they certainly didn’t act like a married couple’. Also, to the best of his knowledge, he had never heard Charles call me by my name, only ‘Darling’. The men asked Charles to come with them to the office.
I arrived at our dinner spot and the waiter told me my husband was being held on suspicion of murder. I hurried down to the office and walked in all smiles. Charles leapt to his feet.
‘Darling, at last, tell these men who you are for heaven’s sake, and get this silly thing over with.’
‘Why of course, darling.’ I turned to the men. ‘I’m his girlfriend.’
‘Sara!’ threatened Charles.
On our arrival in Tokyo, Charles had many business appointments, but he promised that when that was over, we would spend the rest of the week together. I was to busy myself shopping.
The first morning while I was dressing, Charles casually asked if I would like some shopping money. I readily accepted. I was not exactly up on the current exchange rate, so when Charles asked me, ‘Will two and a half thousand be enough?’ I nearly collapsed. He threw me a stack of Japanese money that would choke a horse, gave me a long kiss and departed. I gathered myself and the money and tried to work things out. That’s it, it’s counterfeit. No, he wouldn’t. I might end up in jail. Why on earth would he give me all this money?
I finally decided he was in a sane state when he gave it to me so it was mine to spend!
Feeling on top of the world, I started out for a marvellous day. It didn’t last long. I had decided one of the first things I would buy was Japanese pearls for Mum. Breezing into a jeweller’s in the hotel’s arcade, I came back to earth with a thud. There in the showcase before me was displayed a beautiful single strand of pearls, and the price tag: 85,000 yen.
He had done it again. As the shop assistant kindly informed me, the total extent of my shopping wealth was $25. I stormed out, leaving a very bewildered shop assistant.
Mad wasn’t the word for it. Some way, some day, I would get even. I spent my fortune on a few souvenirs in about two seconds flat, so I had all day to think up some devious revenge.
Charles arrived back at about five. He’d forgotten all about the morning’s episode. I sulked, he apologised, we went out and had a delicious Japanese dinner and he promised me more shopping money in the morning. I never did think up any devious revenge, not then, or at any other time in the following years, but I sure was practised and successful in the sulking department.
The next day I was to meet Charles and a client for lunch at a small restaurant in the Ginza. When I say small, I mean small. You couldn’t swing a cat without being cruel. Our host ruled supreme as he owned the restaurant. We were waited on hand and foot and served fabulous food. By this time my stomach was completely broken in and I enjoyed whatever was set before me, from raw fish to smoked octopus. Our host was a monster of a man, in size, I mean. It is unusual for a Japanese man to be six foot two inches tall. I later learned he was half American.
Four of us sat at the table, but only three of us spoke. I hesitated to speak in case I upset the applecart. He was Japanese in every way and I didn’t want to spoil Charles’s business negotiation by being a talkative wife. But the host kept bringing me back into the conversation. It became clear that, as a European woman, I was allowed to speak, but the cute little Japanese girl with us was not.
She wasn’t a day over sixteen and was in full traditional dress with rice flour on her face. He was fifty-eight. I had a few words to say to Charles on the subject on the way back to the hotel. He told me not to interfere with the customs of the country.
Dinner brought more surprises. This time we dined with his delightful wife, who was the same age as himself and the mother of his seven children. The unnerving thing about it all was that the lunchtime companion sat off in one of the corners of whatever room we happened to adjourn to. This confused me terribly. I didn’t know whether to ignore the young one and only speak to the older one, or the other way around, or speak to both. I decided that the best policy was to sit and smile, as they did, and wait to be spoken to. This procedure was praised by our host, who said that my husband was most fortunate to have other than the usual babbling western wife. Charles’s response was to burst into loud laughter. It was then arranged that we would spend the weekend at his mountain retreat.
Saturday was a beautiful day with a clear blue sky, and our drive through the country and up the mountain was breathtaking. We visited all the sightseeing spots along the way, much to Charles’s disgust, and arrived at the mountain establishment at about mid-morning. We were greeted by four great danes of magnificent proportions and a lovely Japanese girl of about twenty-eight, in traditional dress minus the rice powder. She ushered us into a large house which, in traditional Japanese style, consisted of numerous sliding screens.
We spent a pleasant afternoon looking at the beautiful gardens and finished the day with a perfect meal cooked by number three, who appeared to be mountain or high altitude wife. As usual, she went through the entire meal without uttering a word and sat in the corner or shuffled in and out of the room.
Dinner was long and all business talk, so I shuffled over and tried to ask ‘Silent’ to teach me some of the arts of the Japanese wife. She smiled and immediately started to instruct me in various Japanese cooking secrets. I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t hear the men leave. After a while she beckoned to me to follow her and led me into another room, opened one of the hundreds of screens and there in front of me was a beautifully furnished living room, western style.
Charles and our host were sitting there enjoying drinks. The screen closed behind me and she disappeared. My host gave me a scotch and dry and I sat patting the four great danes in rotation while the business droned on. The screen opened again and there stood number three, this time in full western rig. The biggest surprise was yet to come. She was a university graduate, spoke four languages, including English, fluently, and was one of Japan’s top woman golfers. The host imparted all this information with a satisfied grin. He said he always invited business clients and their wives here for the weekend before he signed a contract, just to see what they were like as people. And number three was his little bait and trap combined, although he didn’t say this.
I had the dis
tinction of being the only western wife to ask to be taught the arts of the Japanese wife, and to not tell the Japanese wife to rebel. This, according to him, indicated Charles was in command of his household, and would therefore be a good man to deal with in business. This time I wanted to laugh, but contained myself. Charles was speechless. I had won the contract for him on, I might say, completely false pretences. I was all for a woman standing up for her rights. The only reason I hadn’t voiced my opinion was because I was still in a state of shock. It was the first time I had ever met a man who had a wife or mistress for every thousand feet of altitude.
The weekend passed pleasantly. I continued to play the role of meek and dutiful wife and Charles acted as if I had never been any other way. We left number three at three thousand feet on Monday morning, picked up number two around two thousand feet, and lunched, hit sea level late in the afternoon, and dined with number one that night. A most confusing day.
Two days later Charles’s business was complete. We left the hotel early in the morning and had a pleasant drive out to a little inn. Having received the impression that Charles could do everything, I was quite sure he could speak Japanese. He couldn’t.
‘Why on earth did you book into an inn where no one can speak English?’
‘Actually, I didn’t think of that. I just thought it would be nice to stay at an authentic Japanese inn, off the beaten track.’
‘Well, this is a nice cup of tea. Between us we can say, “rice”, “thank you”, “good morning”, and “good night”! That’s not going to get us far.’
‘Now don’t get upset, everything will be just fine.’
A pint-size of Japanese femininity shuffled up to us and after a tremendous game of charades, we discovered we were to follow her. We ended up in a charming suite of little rooms with hundreds of sliding screens. Our problems started right there. Charles requested champagne and strawberries and the bedding to start the holiday. This entailed many, many more charades, but I didn’t dare laugh as he was on the brink of exploding. I quickly ushered the girl from the room and started to investigate the inn with her in tow.
I soon found the liquor and the champagne was under control; we then came across the kitchen and the strawberries became a reality. The bedding was more difficult. After going around the inn several times, I was just about to give up when I picked up a magazine and there was an ad for sheets, with a girl asleep. I showed her the picture and presto, we found the bedding, behind one of the screens in the hall near our suite.
I triumphantly returned to our room with our little waitress and displayed my achievements to Charles.
The bedding was arranged and the champagne and strawberries deposited on a low table nearby. The afternoon passed very pleasantly with fresh orders of champagne and strawberries appearing regularly with a little food here and there. Our waitress had the message and, right or wrong, she was going to keep the champagne and strawberries coming. Around sunset, Charles tried to convince her we didn’t want any more, but once she had an idea, it seemed she would not let go. The snacks continued till the kitchen closed, and the champagne and strawberries, till the bar closed.
The constant interruptions then ceased and after a pleasant few hours, we drifted into a restful sleep, very grateful that the hotel did not provide twenty-four-hour room service.
Unfortunately, it was not to last. Charles developed indigestion. I struggled out of my sleepiness to try and remember which suitcase contained the indigestion tablets.
‘I think it’s the small blue suitcase in the closet, darling.’ And turned over and snuggled down again. I couldn’t sleep. Charles was tugging and pushing and swearing in the dark.
‘Please be quiet, darling, you’ll wake everyone in the inn. These walls are very thin.’
‘For a thin door this one sure is stubborn.’
I turned over and switched on the light. He was not at the closet door. I looked around the room and there he was on the other side of the room, trying his best to slide part of the wall dividing us from the next room. I shouted a warning, but it was too late. Just as I uttered, ‘No, Charles, that’s not the closet!’ that section of the wall came away in his hands to reveal the couple in the next room holding the covers up to their eye balls. I also grabbed for a cover.
So the situation was thus: they were Japanese and, judging from the barrage of Japanese that was flying through the hole in the wall, couldn’t speak English; Charles was naked behind the screen; and the rest of us were naked in bed.
As it was our blunder, I decided the ball was in our court. I wrapped the cover around me, grabbed a bottle of champagne from our staggering stock, shuffled across the room past my bewildered husband, deposited the bottle on their bed and backed out bowing and uttering‘Sayōnara’. Once back in our suite, I moved the screen and Charles back in to position, turned out the light and listened. The chatting died down to whispering which was soon replaced by the popping of a cork, followed by giggles.
Charles put a large pot plant in front of the screen and it held. He congratulated me for being such a clever girl and after promising me not to open any more closets, returned to bed.
The next day dawned with our waitress popping through one of the screens with, you guessed it, champagne and strawberries!
‘Oh no, not again!’ said Charles. Then he paused, turned to me and said, ‘How in the hell do you act out “no”?’
‘How about shaking your head?’
He gave me a very disgusted look but proceeded to shake his head furiously and push her out of the room with tray intact.
We dressed, ate a suitable breakfast, and left for our day in the country. It was a perfect day. The inn had packed us a picnic lunch, obviously under the supervision of our girl because the champagne and strawberries were there in full force. We walked and talked and felt very relaxed. On a lovely hillside covered with wildflowers, under a magnificent old tree, we decided to have lunch. The lunch was fit for a king, and we spiced it liberally with champage and strawberries. After indulging ourselves lavishly, we stretched out in the sun and fell asleep.
The next thing I was aware of was waking up feeling very cold and wet. I opened my eyes and the friendly sky that had lulled us to sleep had changed drastically. It was now pitch black and raining very hard. We jumped up and huddled under the tree.
‘We can’t stay here, and it doesn’t look as if it’s going to let up.’ We looked around and all we could see through the downpour was that we were completely alone on a hillside.
‘Hang on, I’ll look over the other side of this hill.’
I sat there shivering while Charles dashed up the hill. ‘Come on, we’re in luck, I can see lights over there in the distance.’
I wrapped the blanket around me and started up the hill. Distance was the word for it, and the terrain wasn’t exactly flat. We fell into creeks, and after many stumbles, cuts and bruises, arrived at a farmhouse door. We were so cold that our teeth were dancing their own tango.
A darling little woman opened the door, took one look at us and ushered us in. At the same time she issued orders in the quietest tones to several children of various sizes. In no time at all we were plunged into steaming hot baths, fed soup, wrapped in kimonos and seated around the sunken fire in the middle of a large room. Again, they spoke only Japanese.
In the next few hours the rest of the family arrived and we settled down to a wonderful family dinner. I offered to help during the preparation and the women were happy to teach me.
After dinner, the whole family entertained us with many hours of songs and dances. At the end of a very pleasant evening, we bedded down to sleep. All together! Boards were put over the sunken fire and bed rolls laid out. Charles and I were given honoured position over the fire with the parents, so feet to feet we settled down for the night.
The next morning we were given a royal sendoff and started down the road back to the inn in the beautiful sunshine.
By now we had our waitress well trai
ned, and after a pleasant day shopping in the village, she served us a lovely dinner in bed. Hoping for an uninterrupted sleep, I snuggled up to Charles for another blissful night. But as usual, at around one o’clock in the morning he developed indigestion and had to go to the bathroom. I carefully directed him towards it and watched to make sure he made it. He did.
I was completely unprepared for what happened next. Charles staggered out of the bathroom still half asleep, tripped on the floor matting and crashed through the wall which had just been repaired. Being two hundred pounds, he just kept going straight and landed on the bed of our friends in the next room. Both lights went on and there we were again, only with one difference; this time they had my naked husband sprawled across their bed.
I quickly wrapped myself in the bedcover, grabbed a bottle and a sheet, shuffled in, threw Charles the sheet, handed them the champagne and backed out holding up the sheet so Charles wouldn’t trip again. Once through the hole, I hung some of the bedding over it, and turned out the light.
The next day the screen was repaired again.
It was our last night at the inn and we were very sad to be leaving. There was a full moon, so we sat in the garden till quite late and went to our room very sleepy. We undressed each other slowly and had just snuggled down into the fluffy bedding to enjoy the rest of the evening when there was a tremendous crash.
We jumped up, switched on the light, and there was our friend from the next room holding a large bottle of sake! He bowed, handed us the sake, and grabbed a bottle of our champagne. He then covered the hole with a screen and switched out the light. We heard the popping of the champagne cork.
From Strength to Strength Page 10
