exquisite calligraphy; or some subtly-formed twig of pine—the sacred tree. The tokonomo expressed some subtle and rare beauty. To be given the place before it was indeed an honor.
Rockson bowed and took the seat.
That formality dispensed with, a kimonoed woman, who Chimura introduced as Reiko, his wife, bowed, left, then came back with a tray of some sort of raw fish on rice— sashimi. She put six small servings on a little wooden tray and put one on each of their little tables.
Archer looked at the serving disheartendly. “TTTOOOO SMALL,” he muttered sadly.
“Shhh!” Detroit said. “You can have more later!”
Rock said, “Chimura-san, could we speak on urgent business?”
“Oh yes . . . but first,”—Chimura smiled—“we will have tea with our snack. You will be tired after your walk.”
Rockson nodded. How long could tea take?
After five cups apiece and lots of talk about the weather and flowers, Scheransky blurted, “Lenin! How long can this go on? Time is wasting . . .”
Their host looked up, somewhat perturbed. “Shhh!” Detroit advised. “Better not offend. In Japanese houses you don’t raise your voice; it’s taken as a challenge. You don’t want to fight this nice man, do you, Ivan?”
Chimura sighed, then put down his cup. “We of the New Tokyo council know of your coming. We received signal from the fisherman’s flag that you were on your way. I know who you are and why you’ve come. And I welcome you as friends.
“We of the council fear that the new ruler of the island, Killov-san, will do something very evil soon. The device he puts atop our tower—”
“Means death for millions worldwide,” Rockson finished for Chimura. “And it means the subjugation of the entire human race once it’s finished. When Killov’s gang was first landing, why didn’t you fight? You have many men and some weapons, too, I am sure. It might have been possible to stop the KGB forces then. Why didn’t anyone fight when they first, landed?”
“Rockson-san,” said the host, “the hardest, most painful operation of all is the opening of one’s eyes to the true nature of things. All life is linked, and violence begets violence. Contemplation reveals that life is all one’s own karma. Life is our own subtle illusions, so why fight phantasms?
“I contemplate this fact often. In the garden . . . Let me show you my garden.”
“Later,” Rock said. “The fisherman spoke well of you. He said you have a large cave—that might be used for a base for our forces. But your property is small. Where could such a cave be?”
Chimura got up stiffly, aided by the woman. He said, “It is large, but it is in my small garden! Come!” He led Rock through a sliding paper door into the house’s interior courtyard. The old man waddled on his wooden clogs over to a low, mossy boulder and bent down and snagged a twig.
“Cave is here!” He pulled the twig. A hidden door opened. They went down steep steps, then into a narrow corridor.
Rock found himself inside a 100-foot-wide, stone-walled chamber, illuminated by a single huge candle. “It burns for days,” Chimura said, “so I leave it lit. The Zen monks meditate here at full moon.”
“Wow!” Rock exclaimed. “You could hide an army here! The fisherman was right. This would be a good base of operation. But realistically, from what the fisherman told us about the Soviets being well dug in, a handful of us will not do for an attack. Chimura-san, aren’t there any people on this island that will fight alongside us?”
“Yes . . . the Bushido will join you. They wanted to fight before, but we of the council dissuaded them, saying rulers come and go, and that we would absorb and change the Russians. I am embarrassed to say that I myself pointed out that we Japanese feared the American occupation after World War II and were wrong. These KGB have proven different: they brutalize; they mock our institutions; they even chop down our blossoming
Rockson bowed and took the seat.
That formality dispensed with, a kimonoed woman, who Chimura introduced as Reiko, his wife, bowed, left, then came back with a tray of some sort of raw fish on rice— sashimi. She put six small servings on a little wooden tray and put one on each of their little tables.
Archer looked at the serving disheartendly. “TTTOOOO SMALL,” he muttered sadly.
“Shhh!” Detroit said. “You can have more later!”
Rock said, “Chimura-san, could we speak on urgent business?”
“Oh yes . . . but first,”—Chimura smiled—“we will have tea with our snack. You will be tired after your walk.”
Rockson nodded. How long could tea take?
After five cups apiece and lots of talk about the weather and flowers, Scheransky blurted, “Lenin! How long can this go on? Time is wasting . . .”
Their host looked up, somewhat perturbed. “Shhh!” Detroit advised. “Better not offend. In Japanese houses you don’t raise your voice; it’s taken as a challenge. You don’t want to fight this nice man, do you, Ivan?”
Chimura sighed, then put down his cup. “We of the New Tokyo council know of your coming. We received signal from the fisherman’s flag that you were on your way. I know who you are and why you’ve come. And I welcome you as friends.
“We of the council fear that the new ruler of the island, Killov-san, will do something very evil soon. The device he puts atop our tower—”
“Means death for millions worldwide,” Rockson finished for Chimura. “And it means the subjugation of the entire human race once it’s finished. When Killov’s gang was first landing, why didn’t you fight? You have many men and some weapons, too, I am sure. It might have been possible to stop the KGB forces then. Why didn’t anyone fight when they first, landed?”
“Rockson-san,” said the host, “the hardest, most painful operation of all is the opening of one’s eyes to the true nature of things. All life is linked, and violence begets violence. Contemplation reveals that life is all one’s own karma. Life is our own subtle illusions, so why fight phantasms?
“I contemplate this fact often. In the garden . . . Let me show you my garden.”
“Later,” Rock said. “The fisherman spoke well of you. He said you have a large cave—that might be used for a base for our forces. But your property is small. Where could such a cave be?”
Chimura got up stiffly, aided by the woman. He said, “It is large, but it is in my small garden! Come!” He led Rock through a sliding paper door into the house’s interior courtyard. The old man waddled on his wooden clogs over to a low, mossy boulder and bent down and snagged a twig.
“Cave is here!” He pulled the twig. A hidden door opened. They went down steep steps, then into a narrow corridor.
Rock found himself inside a 100-foot-wide, stone-walled chamber, illuminated by a single huge candle. “It burns for days,” Chimura said, “so I leave it lit. The Zen monks meditate here at full moon.”
“Wow!” Rock exclaimed. “You could hide an army here! The fisherman was right. This would be a good base of operation. But realistically, from what the fisherman told us about the Soviets being well dug in, a handful of us will not do for an attack. Chimura-san, aren’t there any people on this island that will fight alongside us?”
“Yes . . . the Bushido will join you. They wanted to fight before, but we of the council dissuaded them, saying rulers come and go, and that we would absorb and change the Russians. I am embarrassed to say that I myself pointed out that we Japanese feared the American occupation after World War II and were wrong. These KGB have proven different: they brutalize; they mock our institutions; they even chop down our blossoming
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