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carefully folded his handkerchief over and dabbed his forehead a few times. The Japanese don’t seem to have any sweat glands. I know that sounds like a gross generalization, but it’s true. I was sweating like the proverbial pig, beads dripping from my eyebrows, my shirt plastered to my back like a really bad job of wallpapering, and yet this elderly man needed only a few token dabs to mop his brow. As usual, I had forgotten to bring a handkerchief. He offered me one of his spares and I wiped my face and neck and forearms, stopping just short of my armpits. We both agreed that it was very hot out. His wife nodded deeply at my astute observations regarding current weather conditions (hot), and I knew that I had been adopted. I wrung out the handkerchief and then reached out to shake their hands. They seemed to hesitate.
    “I am Professor Takasugi of Tokyo University,” he said and then paused. When I didn’t react, he repeated his introduction. “Tokyo University,” he said, and I realized that I was meant to be impressed by this, so I said, ‘Ah, yes, Tōdai, a great university.”
    He smiled modestly, “Thank you. My wife, Saori. She is also my assistant. We are in Kyushu for research. We are studying the social life of wild plates.”
    “Wild plates?”
    “Not plates, monkeys.“
    “Ah, yes,” I said. “That would make more sense.”
    The words for plate (sara) and monkey (saru) sound similar in Japanese, and for some reason I can never keep them straight. Another combination that gives me trouble is “human” (ningen) and “carrot” (ninjin) which once caused a lot of puzzled looks during a speech I gave in Tokyo on the merits of internationalization, when I passionately declared that “I am a carrot. You are a carrot. We are all carrots. As long as we always remember our common carrotness, we will be fine.”
    On another occasion I scared a little girl by telling her that my favorite nighttime snack was raw humans and dip.
    Once Professor Takasugi and I got the wild plate thing sorted out, he explained that he and his wife were planning to travel south, toward Cape Toi, to visit a remote wild monkey island. They invited me along, and even though I was originally headed north, I accepted their invitation. After all, how often is it that you get to see plates in their natural habitat?
     

8
     
    THE PROFESSOR’S CAR was cluttered with academic detritus. We had to move several boxes filled with loose papers to make a space for me in the back. All the while his wife was nodding with that painfully polite smile that many uninitiated Westerners mistake as being a sign of friendship. It is actually a sign of extreme unease.
    Her husband slipped into his professor posture. “The social life of monkeys is very revealing,” he said, with the air of a man who has spent his life studying something to the point where he has lost all perspective on its importance. (University does that to you.) “Japanese monkeys,” he assured me, “are a unique breed.”
    He eased his car out of the parking lot. Did I know that Japanese monkeys were the most northerly in the world? No? Did I ever see monkeys in the wild before? No? Well, this would be a very interesting trip for a foreigner such as myself.
    I tried to get the Professor to perform a monkey call for me, but he wouldn’t take the bait. “I study the social life of monkeys, not communication,“ he said, so I did my own call and asked him if I was close. His wife giggled behind her hand.
    The Professor was clearly an expert in his field. His wife showed me a book he had written and nodded in deep agreement whenever I complimented him, shutting her eyes as she did so. She wasn’t so much a wife as a fan. Unfortunately, I just can’t take any bald man seriously when he oils his hair and combs it over, in long mutant strands, across his head. I was in the backseat as well, which didn’t help, because I had this hardboiled-egg view of things. Instead of paying