Whatever may have been Tam's, or Matsuo Noda's, secret thoughts

about Koriko, the Emperor clearly had had a rollicking time.

Presumably he didn't have all that many occasions to flirt with geisha.
Now slightly the worse for sake, he began to wax pensive, turning to his
American guest and offering to provide an account of the battle of Dan-
no-ura. It was a definite switch of mood, but Koriko's traditional songs
seemed to have struck a nostalgic nerve. Or perhaps the sword had
brought him a new enthusiasm for the past he wanted to share. As he
started recounting the battle, Tam smiled to think it was like having the
Queen herself brief you on that family squabble of yesteryear called the
War of the Roses.
"That battle, Richardson-san, between the Heike and Genji clans,
was a turning point in the long history of our country; it represented the
rise to power of the warriors. The shogunate." He smiled politely. "I'm
afraid the monarchy never quite recovered.
"In fact, today the crabs in the Inland Sea have a mark on the back
of their shells that people say is like the insignia of the Heike, that they
represent the fallen banners of the Heike nobles." He paused while a
maid topped off his tiny cup with more hot sake. "I suppose you've seen
them?"
"Hai, miraremashita." Of course, she nodded, stretching
out her vowels to maximum politeness. She wasn't sure she had actually,
but this was no time to appear like a dumb gaijin.
"Well, after many years of fighting, the Heike nobles and the boy
emperor they were defending fled to an island across the Inland Sea. But
the Genji forces pursued them and eventually they were forced to take
to their boats once more. Finally the battle was joined. Since the Heike
were experienced sailors, they assumed they would prevail in a naval
encounter, and thus their commander unwisely elected to make his
stand in the straits, where the riptide was as quick and treacherous then
as it is today. At first he had the tide in his favor and they held the
enemy, but around noon the tide changed and was against them.
Gradually the forces of the Genji surrounded the ship bearing the
emperor and the court."
His voice faltered slightly, and she realized the story was still as
fresh for him as if it had happened yesterday. Finally he continued.
"As the sad story is told in the Heike Monogatari, the court nobles
saw a school of dolphins coming toward them. They said, 'If these turn
back, the Genji will be destroyed and we will triumph. If they proceed,
it will be a bad omen.' When the dolphins continued on, even diving
under their ships, the Heike realized they were lost. And sure enough, at
that moment the Genji ships began closing in.
"Now the tragic part. The nurse of the boy emperor— Antoku was
only eight—resolved what she would do. She donned a double outer
dress of dark gray, the color of mourning, tucked up the long skirts of
her heavy silk hakama robe, and wrapped the sacred sword in her
girdle. Then, taking young Antoku in her arms, she moved to the
gunwale of the vessel and looked down at the waves. Finally she said to
the men of the court, Though I am only a woman, I will not surrender
myself to our enemies. I will accompany our Sovereign Emperor on his
journey.'
"At that moment little Antoku looked up, his long black hair
streaming down his back, and asked, 'Where are you taking me?'
"Tears began to flow down her cheeks. She said to him, 'Bow to the
east and bid your farewell to the Great Shrine at Ise. Our capital will no
longer be Kyoto but a place beneath the seas, where there is no sorrow.'
"So the young Antoku, his white robes the color of the
dove, bowed east to Ise—whereupon the nurse, holding him in one arm
and the sacred sword in the other, leapt into the waves.
"Next, another woman tried to jump overboard with the casket
holding the sacred mirror, but an arrow pinned her hakama to the
gunwales, and the Genji soldiers retrieved it. All we know of what
happened next is the dispatch they sent back to the new rulers in Kyoto,
which declared, 'The former emperor is at the bottom of the sea, and the
sacred mirror has been recovered. But the sword is lost and a search is
being made.'" He turned and nodded toward Noda. "Only tonight, eight
centuries later, can the rest be told. At last, the sword has been restored
to Us."
Noda bowed low and offered a toast to the Imperial line.
It was then that Akira Mori first spoke. Although she addressed her
words to Tam, they were obviously meant for His Majesty. "Richardson-
san, recovering the sword is a more important historical event than
many realize. Its loss coincided with the end of Imperial power in Japan.
After that, the emperor became a figurehead, a captive of the shoguns."
She shot a quick glance at Noda. "If the sword means nothing else, it
should remind us all that no shogun must ever be allowed to rise again."
What's she driving at? Tam wondered.
"Of course." His Majesty took up the theme. "Although there was a
time in this century when the militarists once again made a tool of the
emperor of Japan, I agree it was wrong." He looked at Mori with
admiration. "The respect your words show for the Imperial house of
Yamato touches me deeply."
While she bowed in acknowledgment, he turned to Noda. "In the
same manner, Noda-san, Japan's important place in the modern world
brings special respect to Us as well. For that We must thank you and all
those helping to fashion the new Japan,"
Tam watched Noda, puzzling. Something was going on, some kind
of coded cross-talk she didn't fully comprehend. Shogun. Emperor.
What was everybody's unspoken agenda?
At that point His Majesty rose unsteadily and announced he had a
heavy day ahead, whereupon he summarily bade everyone good evening
and exited, Imperial Household guards in attendance. Tam noticed that
Mori watched his departure with a wistful . . . worshipful, gaze.
After he was gone, a reverent stillness settled around them. Even
Ken, normally talkative, was subdued. What's going on here? she
puzzled. One thing was sure: Japan was like a magical onion, with layers
to be peeled away slowly. Each time you learn something new, yet you
never really get to the core.
When the last dishes had been cleared and nothing remained on
their low table except fresh kettles of sake, Noda leaned back and broke
the silence. She realized he was speaking to her. Matsuo Noda, it quickly
came to light, was fully familiar with her books.
But that was merely the beginning. Next, Akira Mori, who'd been
quietly waiting her turn, joined in.
"Were you moved by the story of the nurse who threw herself into
the waves, Richardson-san? The one who sacrificed her own life to
honor her ideals?"
"It was a very touching account." Tam looked at her, surprised by
the sudden friendliness. "I understand even more now why everybody's
so excited about the sword."
"Presumably you know," Mori continued evenly, "that the young
emperor's nurse was undoubtedly Fujiwara. Perhaps of low rank, but
nonetheless a member of the family that historically has been closest to
the throne."
"Of course, the Fujiwara were always Imperial retainers—"
"Have you taken no interest in that family?" Mori continued, her
face still revealing nothing.
"I . . . no, not really?" Tam studied her.
"Perhaps you should, Dr. Richardson." She switched to flawless
English. "Are you aware that your own mother was Fujiwara? In fact, it
is possible that in your veins runs the same blood as the nurse who gave
her life for the emperor that April day eight hundred years ago."
Tam felt a numbness sweep over her. She'd never thought much
about her real mother, or father. Naturally there would have been no
way of tracing him, at least none she knew. But of course there'd be full
records of the woman who bore her, then put her up for adoption. For
some reason Mori—or was it Noda himself?—had had them looked up.
They'd uncovered something about her that she herself had never
wanted, for well-examined reasons, to explore. Her adoptive parents had
been all anybody could desire. Why stir up unknowns? Besides, she
believed in nurture, not nature.
"You both seem to know a great many things about me."
Her glance shifted back and forth between them. She was surprised, yes,
but if they'd assumed she'd be stunned, they were wrong. She'd decided
long ago not to let herself care.
"Although your true mother no longer lives, you are most certainly
Fujiwara," Mori went on. "You have blood ties with the family that once
stood ready to give its life for the emperor. Therefore you may even have
a connection with the sword itself."
Noda moved in. "We also believe, Dr. Richardson, that you, because
of your work, could have a vital role in the endeavor Dai Nippon will
soon undertake. That is the reason we want to speak with you tonight."
At last, Tam thought. I'm finally going to find out why Matsuo
Noda "accidentally" happened to ask me along.
"I've been waiting to hear this."
Since the fusuma sliding doors were drawn closed, shutting out the
serving women, Noda breached conventional etiquette and reached
across the table to pour more sake into Tam's tiny Shino dish himself.
Ken merely looked on silently as Mori took up Noda's theme.
"We would like you to be part of something that would do honor to
your Fujiwara heritage, Dr. Richardson, the noble family that so long
served the emperor."
"I may or may not be Fujiwara, Mori-san, but I already have my
work."
"Dr. Richardson, do hear us out," Noda interjected, pressing. "We
wish to advise you that important, even potentially disruptive events, lie
ahead for America. Very soon. And we would like very much for
someone such as yourself, a pragmatist, to be involved. Especially since,
in addition to your professional skills, you are in a position to
understand the cultures, the attitudes, of both Americans and Japanese.
Your assistance could be invaluable."
"Invaluable for what purpose?"
"A worthy undertaking, we assure you. Think of it if you will as an
attempt to prevent Japan and the West from going to war with each
other again."
She looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to
fathom what they were driving at. Then Noda continued, revealing again
that nothing had happened by chance.
"We brought you here today to Ise to remind you of the importance
of your Japanese heritage. A heritage whose sole
purpose is, like Shinto itself, the peace and ordering of the world."
"What's this all about?" She looked at Ken, in a black silk kimono,
serenely sipping his sake and looking the essence of cultivated,
tantalizing otherness. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
He carefully set down his Shino dish and smoothed his long sleeve.
"I did have occasion to remind Noda-sama that you have a unique
combination of background and expertise, Tamara, that could be very
instrumental in the realization of his objectives."
"And what are his objectives?" She looked back at Noda. "Your
objectives?"
"You, Dr. Richardson, should appreciate this better than anyone."
He studied his sake saucer. "There are things the West excels at doing,
and there are areas, I trust it is not improper to say, in which we
Japanese have demonstrated aptitude. Why should we compete in each
other's spheres? It leads only to divisiveness. We open ourselves to
predators— from the steppes of the Caucasus to the oil-rich deserts of
Araby. But if we join together, the peoples of Japan and America can
achieve insurmountable strength."
"You're talking about something that would more properly be in the
realm of diplomacy, Noda-san."
He laughed. "Pardon me, Dr. Richardson, but diplomacy is merely
the window dressing for reality. The world cares not a penny for
diplomacy, only for power. No one troubled about the Persian Gulf
states until they had OPEC and the rest of us had no petroleum. Then
suddenly they were toasted worldwide as men of great moment. That is
the meaning of 'diplomacy.'
"The reason I knew you would understand the importance of Ise,"
he went on, "is that, in your genes, you are part of us. You appreciate
the value of harmony, one of the first teachings of our philosophy. There
must be harmony between man and his world."
"What does that—?"
"Please, just allow me to finish. In like manner, there must also be
harmony between nations. Yet all we hear about today is friction.
Usually trade friction. Between our nations. But what can be done? The
solutions we hear talked of seem, for reasons political and otherwise,
impossible to implement. So what course does that leave? You speak of
diplomacy, but already diplomacy has been shown inadequate. Why, we
might ask, is that so? Because, as your Thomas Jefferson observed many
years ago, money is the principal exchange of civilized nations.
Diplomacy comes out of economic power. It was trade that estranged
our two nations once before in this century, leading to a conflict neither
of us desired, and it is money that creates these 'frictions' we hear about
so much today. Since diplomacy has failed, we must now find other
means to bring stability and thus harmony to both our nations."
She was tempted to ask him how all the right-wing, nationalistic
fervor he was churning up with the sword would contribute to this so-
called harmony, but instead she inquired what, specifically, he was
proposing.
"The most pressing problem America has today, Dr. Richardson, is
the growing inability of your industries to compete. If I may be allowed
to generalize: America's strength has long been in innovation, but I
think it is reasonable to suggest that Japanese management has had a
commensurate share of success. So much so that we have been the
subject of a flurry of books in your country." He smiled. "Even, I should
add, several very insightful volumes written by you yourself. Also,
Japanese industry has already been part of a number of joint ventures,
instituting our management techniques in the service of America's
business."
"Well, unquestionably we do have problems in our industrial sector
just now," Tam interjected. "But Japan has plenty of difficulties of its
own."
"Most assuredly." He nodded. "However, as some might put it, 'the
proof is in the pudding.' I merely ask you to compare your, and our,
balance of trade, or productivity. Surely these both suggest there is truth
in what I say."
At that point Akira Mori abruptly seized the floor. "You know, Dr.
Richardson, there are those in your country who are now saying your
trade problems are caused by Japan. That we should work less, save less,
squander more, just as you do. Perhaps so we will self-destruct
economically as America is now doing and no longer be an
embarrassment to you."
"That is hardly—" Noda tried to break in, but she waved him aside.
"No, this needs to be said. I am tired of hearing Americans tell us to
follow their example." She turned back. "Your media
chastise us for our thrift and hard work, while your businessmen, who
are happy enough to grow rich retailing the superior goods we make,
refuse to invest their profits in modernizing their own factories. Instead
they give themselves bonuses and Japan lectures."
At that she wound down, to the obvious relief of Noda and Ken.
The outburst seemed to pass as quickly as it had come, but it succeeded
in reinforcing Tarn's reservations about Akira Mori.
"So what exactly do you have in mind?" She looked back at Noda.
"Dr. Richardson, no one in Japan desires to see America's industrial
base disintegrate. That is dangerous for the future, both yours and ours.
Yet joint ventures and management seminars are too little, too late. We,
and by 'we' I mean Dai Nippon, are determined to make a more
structured contribution."
As he laid out his plan, she realized that Matsuo Noda had decided
to play God. Still, in this world such things were possible; all it took was
enough financial clout. If anybody doubted that, just remember OPEC.
But that was the last time around. Now Japan had the money.
Maybe the oil billionaires of years past had no good idea what to do with
their winnings, but Matsuo Noda had a very precise idea indeed.
The one remaining problem: he needed Tamara Richardson.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

In the aftermath of that evening down in Ise, Tam was convinced of

only one fact. Nobody was giving her the straight story. Not Noda, not
Mori, not Ken. And when she tried to talk supercomputers with MITI
officials at the Kyoto conference.
she again sensed she was hearing a runaround. Suddenly all she could
get was Japan's public face, that version of reality Japanese executives
call tatemae, superficial and soothing assurances, intended to promote
the wa, harmony, so desirable in human affairs. When Japan doesn't
care to give answers, hai no longer translates as "yes." It just means "I
heard you."