'If that's what you choose to call it。〃
'I do。 I have no trust。 Truly。 Can't you just accept me for what I am？ You can't make me over。〃
'It's not a question of that。 I want what I feel is inside you to have a chance to e out …'
^Oh； Nicholas' … she put her fingers against his cheek … 'why torture yourself by thinking about some future that will not e about。 Who knows？ I may be dead in a year …'
'Shut up；' he said quickly。 'I don't want to hear you talking like that； understand？'
'Yes；' she said； surprisingly meekly。 Her head dipped as if in penance and her thick hair slid across one side of her face like a midnight waterfall。 She was the model Japanese wife bowing before the inevitable authority of her husband's words。
'And anyway； who says you're not brave？' He wasn't used to this。 He wanted desperately to lean over the table and kiss her half…open shadowed lips； but lacked the nerve。 'Just think of what you've been through； growing up with that couple。 That took a lot of strength。'
'You think so？' A little girl now。
The waitress rustled in and knelt by the side of the low table； delivering more food and drink。 Nicholas watched her leave as she slipped on her geta at the threshold。
'I just said so；' he whispered fiercely。 'What's the matter with you？'
'I don't know。' Dark eyes on the tabletop。 'I don't know。' He filled her porcelain sake cup； white and tiny。
They went put walking； she chattering on animatedly as if nothing untoward had happened； clutching his arm； aimlessly drifting from topic to topic。
Stealing the dark； hiding it in their side pockets as they filtered through the honky…tonk nightlife； through swirling colours and blaring noise。 The air smelt of incense and petrol fumes； the walls of the evening brilliant with the unrelenting marquees here in the city of merchants； erected almost overnight； this new class universally despised by the noble samurai and the lowly peasant alike。
An enormous arcade of pinball wizards they passed up after staring for long moments like the most ignorant of country bumpkins and； farther along； the electronicized insistency of American rock V roll； a quicksilver pulse projecting from a music store's loudspeaker。 The wail of harmonized black voices drenched by a wave of strings and the backbeat； always the backbeat like a burnished path guiding you through the melodies。 They dance before the lighted window on which is taped a black and white publicity photo； streaked by reflected light： John； Paul； George； Ringo。 Close your eyes and I'll kiss you/ Tomorrow I'll miss you/Remember I'll always be true 。。。 Around and around。 And then while I'm away/I'll write home every day 。。。 Red and green and yellow neon bars； swinging her from one to the other； a rock 'n' roll fan overnight。 And I'll send all my loving to you。。。
'Who are they？' says Yukio； slightly out of breath。
'The Beatles；' says the shopkeeper。 'A new band from England。'
And Nicholas buys her the record； imported and exorbitant。
But down the next block they heard the stentorian tones and the intermittent music of the samisan。 Culture shock。 And turned in to investigate。
It was the Bunraku； the traditional puppet theatre； indigenous to Osaka； as the Kabuki was to old Edo。 Yukio was delighted and； clapping her hands together as if she were a child； implored him to take her inside。 He dug into his pocket； bought them two tickets。
The theatre was nearly full and they had some difficulty finding their； seats。 The play had just begun but Nicholas knew from the billboards outside that it was famed Chushingura； 'The Loyal Forty…Seven Ronin 。
The puppets were magnificent； the principal ones dazzlingly dressed； so plex that they required three men to manipulate them successfully。 The master puppeteer for the head； body and right arm； a second for the left arm and the third for the legs or； in the case of the females； the kimono skirts。
They were seated near the back and； some time after they arrived； a couple of marines drifted in。 Why they had e to the Bunraku on leave Nicholas could not imagine。 One was white； the other black。 They might have been waiting for their girls or； perhaps； a third buddy。 The white man slid into a row but the black marine turned； stood waiting in the centre aisle。
Nicholas saw Yukio's eyes drifting from the colour of the stage。 He saw where she was looking。 Like a retriever on point； her' gaze locked on the large bulge of his crotch。 Colours swam in reflected light； reminding Nicholas of an aquarium his parents had taken him to in Tokyo。 It all seemed so unreal。 Her lips slightly open； he saw the sharp rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed； as she watched。
In the dimness he felt her fingers between his thighs； caressing； the zipper of his fly being drawn down； the heat enveloping him。 Hard。 And still she stared； never turning her head； her eyes wide and glittery。 His loins turned to water。 He wanted to shout to her： Stop！ But he could not。 Had she blinked in all this time？ He wanted to take her fingers away from him but he did not。 Just sat there watching the Bunraku； the black marine's crotch in the periphery of his vision； ballooning ominously。 How big was he？ How big could a man be？ Was that a criterion for sex appeal； the way Americans felt about big breasts？ Did it drive women wild？
The samisan played on。 The ronin fought with proper valour。 Yeah； yeah。 Yeah
'You know what it is I hate about being Japanese？' she said。 Streetlight； blue…white through the blinds； threw angular bars of light…shadow…light across the top of the far wall and part of the ceiling。
He turned in the bed。 'What？'
'Not having light eyes。' She sighed and he knew her wide； sensual lips were drawn in a pout。 The French girls I see in Kyoto and the American ones； too； with their short hairdos and their blue eyes。 Funny； I've always dreamed of having green eyes like emeralds。'
'Why think about it？'
'It makes me realize； I think； just how much I dislike myself。 Here' … she reached out； took his hand in hers； guided it to the heat between her legs … 'this is the only thing that matters。 Right here。'
'No；' he said； taking his fingers away； 'that's not important at all。'
She turned on her side； her voice was light now。 'Not even a little bit？'
He laughed。 'All right； yes。 Just a bit； then。' He rose up； leaning over her slightly。 Her skin was pale in the half…light； her thick hair a black forest。 'Look； Yukio； I was interested in you before we danced that night。'
'Before I …'
'Rubbed yourself all over me。'
She put her hand out； lightly stroking his chest。 A muscle fluttered and he felt the familiar tightening of his stomach。 It felt as if a hand were pressing against his lungs； pushing powerfully down so that he had difficulty in breathing。 He might have been an asthmatic in fog。
'What is it？' she said just before he whirled away to sit on the edge of the bed。 'What are you afraid of？' she sat up and he felt her looking at him。 An odd way to put it。 'Is it me； Nicholas？ Are you afraid of me？'
'I don't know；' he said miserably。
And that was the trouble。
They left Osaka on an old pre…war train which； despite its perfect cleanliness； was in marked contrast with the superliner that had brought them to the city。
There were rattles； squeaks and a fair amount of jounces。 The swaying； too； was more pronounced but； oddly； the added vibration produced in him a calming effect。 His mind kept returning to the Bunraku performance； to； more accurately； Yukio's performance。 Was she a nymphomaniac； he wondered？ But how could he tell？ He did not even know the clinical definition。 Was someone who was sexually insatiable a nympho？ Could it be that easy to define？ He couldn't even say that Yukio was insatiable。 Her sexual thirst could be slaked。 It just took an enormous amount of energy。 And； anyway； what if she was？ Would that make any difference to him？
He turned away from her presence； staring out of the window。 Rattle； rattle。 Someone came down the aisle； half fell against her as the train lurched around a turning。 The land fell away in a sharp gradient here； giving onto flat fields and rice paddies。 He thought he saw cattle standing motion