cop with a cauliflower ear, probably from judo, looked him over. On his rusty three-speed bicycle he looked quaint enough, but he could break your arm for you. Ransom gave him a nod, which was returned almost imperceptibly.
The sky opened up as he approached the Kamo river, the swampy smell reaching him before he could see it. Kites hung in the sky over the trees along the outer levee. He jumped the first levee and ran across the broad, grassy flood plain. The kite flyers were scattered along the river bank, facing north. In the keen light the strings were invisible; it appeared that some cult had gathered to worship, hands clasped as if in prayer, eyes raised to the northern sky. To the northeast was Mt. Hiei, the highest in the horseshoe-shaped ridge of peaks that nearly enclosed the city. In the ninth century, to protect the new capital, the Emperor Kwannon sponsored a monastery on the peak, with monks on duty twenty-four hours a day to watch for evil spirits coming down from the northeast, the sector from which evil spirits were known to descend. They were to ring a large gong if they spotted anythingsuspicious. Ransom wasnât sure what was supposed to happen next. The monks eventually tired of the vigil and began periodically descending the mountain to rape, pillage and burn, incidentally confirming Kwannonâs conviction about the direction from which trouble comes. Today a thin banner of cloud flew from the southern face, like a shred from a passing spiritâs robe. Ransom thought it fortunate that from here you could not see the fantasy-amusement park which had been built beside the temple grounds.
He picked up the hundred-yard cinder track along the riverâs edge and ran downstream. Standing on the bank, two fishermen were trying to conjure something out of the water with long bamboo wands. Ransom always wondered if these anglers ate their catch, a thought that made him queasy. From its source the river drained fields and paddies heavily fertilized with petrochemicals and manure. Closer in, the Kyoto silk dyers dumped their rinse tanks. The white herons that fished the shallows had purple plumage one day, green the nextâweeks in advance of the women who bought the kimono silk in the shops downtown.
The cinders from the track pricked his insteps. He came up on a volleyball gameâschoolgirls in uniform gym suits. The team facing him dissolved in giggles as he passed, trading the word
gaijin
among themselves like a dirty joke. One of them, a girl in yellow sweats with a thin, aristocratic face, definitely sparked his interest. He thought of the seduction line one of his students had taught him recently:
Asita asa, kohi nomimasu-ka?
Will you have coffee with me in the morning? This one, though, wasabout thirteen years old, and would be until she suddenly turned thirty.
He crossed the river at the Imadegawa Bridge and started up the other side, running in the shade of the trees along the levee. The cherry trees were budded and ready to blossom; in Tokyo they had already come and gone. Ransom passed two men in kendo helmets and breast plates, dueling with bamboo staves. Fellow budo-ka, followers of the Martial Way. He had thought about studying kendo, but he didnât like the idea of all that equipment. Further on, a young man in a beret was blowing an alto sax out over the river, eyes closed, head thrown back. Certainly he was very far away, Ransom imagined, from the three-room apartment he shared with his parents and sister, dreaming of Greenwich Village.
As the notes of âTake the A Trainâ faded behind him, Ransom heard a high whine that sounded like cicadas. A radio-operated model airplane appeared above the trees upriver, banked and then dove at him, pulling up sharply just as he was about to bat it away. The plane swept out over the river and came back around, buzzing him and again pulling away just short of his reach, then cruised north before disappearing over the
The sky opened up as he approached the Kamo river, the swampy smell reaching him before he could see it. Kites hung in the sky over the trees along the outer levee. He jumped the first levee and ran across the broad, grassy flood plain. The kite flyers were scattered along the river bank, facing north. In the keen light the strings were invisible; it appeared that some cult had gathered to worship, hands clasped as if in prayer, eyes raised to the northern sky. To the northeast was Mt. Hiei, the highest in the horseshoe-shaped ridge of peaks that nearly enclosed the city. In the ninth century, to protect the new capital, the Emperor Kwannon sponsored a monastery on the peak, with monks on duty twenty-four hours a day to watch for evil spirits coming down from the northeast, the sector from which evil spirits were known to descend. They were to ring a large gong if they spotted anythingsuspicious. Ransom wasnât sure what was supposed to happen next. The monks eventually tired of the vigil and began periodically descending the mountain to rape, pillage and burn, incidentally confirming Kwannonâs conviction about the direction from which trouble comes. Today a thin banner of cloud flew from the southern face, like a shred from a passing spiritâs robe. Ransom thought it fortunate that from here you could not see the fantasy-amusement park which had been built beside the temple grounds.
He picked up the hundred-yard cinder track along the riverâs edge and ran downstream. Standing on the bank, two fishermen were trying to conjure something out of the water with long bamboo wands. Ransom always wondered if these anglers ate their catch, a thought that made him queasy. From its source the river drained fields and paddies heavily fertilized with petrochemicals and manure. Closer in, the Kyoto silk dyers dumped their rinse tanks. The white herons that fished the shallows had purple plumage one day, green the nextâweeks in advance of the women who bought the kimono silk in the shops downtown.
The cinders from the track pricked his insteps. He came up on a volleyball gameâschoolgirls in uniform gym suits. The team facing him dissolved in giggles as he passed, trading the word
gaijin
among themselves like a dirty joke. One of them, a girl in yellow sweats with a thin, aristocratic face, definitely sparked his interest. He thought of the seduction line one of his students had taught him recently:
Asita asa, kohi nomimasu-ka?
Will you have coffee with me in the morning? This one, though, wasabout thirteen years old, and would be until she suddenly turned thirty.
He crossed the river at the Imadegawa Bridge and started up the other side, running in the shade of the trees along the levee. The cherry trees were budded and ready to blossom; in Tokyo they had already come and gone. Ransom passed two men in kendo helmets and breast plates, dueling with bamboo staves. Fellow budo-ka, followers of the Martial Way. He had thought about studying kendo, but he didnât like the idea of all that equipment. Further on, a young man in a beret was blowing an alto sax out over the river, eyes closed, head thrown back. Certainly he was very far away, Ransom imagined, from the three-room apartment he shared with his parents and sister, dreaming of Greenwich Village.
As the notes of âTake the A Trainâ faded behind him, Ransom heard a high whine that sounded like cicadas. A radio-operated model airplane appeared above the trees upriver, banked and then dove at him, pulling up sharply just as he was about to bat it away. The plane swept out over the river and came back around, buzzing him and again pulling away just short of his reach, then cruised north before disappearing over the
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