fit so well together.’
‘We are not,’ said
Celia vehemently, ‘fitting together.’
‘I am sorry for my poor
English. I didn’t mean it in that special way.’
‘I know, continued
Celia, ‘it must seem odd to you, but Jeremy here has been programmed by the
psychiatrist so that we are like brother and sister.’
‘In my humble experience
big sisters are not too keen on sharing rooms with their brothers. I am sure you’ll
be glad to have your own room at our place – we’ve plenty of spare rooms. Also,
when we go to Kyoto, let’s share a room at the hotel. We can enjoy some girl
time together. I don’t get much chance for that nowadays.’
‘I’d like that,’ replied
Celia, to Holt’s dismay. ‘Maybe we could do some shopping together.’
Holt had dreaded the word
‘shopping’ ever since his mother, an otherwise intelligent woman, had dragged
him round London’s Oxford Street department stores when five years old. It was
not only the boredom that got to him but the memory of his difficulty in
breathing when his nose and eyes were level with women’s protruding bottoms,
which sometimes poked him right in the face.
Realizing the
sisterhood was making Holt feel uncomfortable, Sachiko tried to come up with
something to tick his box.
‘Do you know what a
Narita Divorce is?’
‘No,’ they replied in
unison.
‘Well, many Japanese go
abroad for their honeymoon – Japan is terribly expensive – and for some it is
their first time; I mean, for going abroad as well as for the other thing. Anyway,
the honeymoon abroad is sometimes so disastrous that as soon as the bride has
her feet back safely on Japanese soil at Narita Airport, she declares her
intention to divorce. That’s why it’s called a Narita Divorce.’
‘Poor girls,’ said Celia
sympathetically.
‘Why don’t you say poor
men?’ interjected Holt. ‘It takes two to tango.’
‘Because you cannot
imagine,’ explained Sachiko, ‘what some of us girls have to go through with
these momma’s boys, who have spent all their time swotting to get into a top
university and then a job with a prestigious company or government department.
There was one case where the groom phoned his mother back in Japan from Sydney
to ask whether he should wear his pyjamas to bed with his bride!’
They all laughed,
dissipating the tension that had built up.
‘I’d heard about Japan’s
kamikaze taxis, but not that,’ commented Holt.
‘According to my dad,
Japan’s reputation for kamikaze taxis came about because a foreign journalist,
having found nothing to write about, described a slightly scary ride to the
airport in the hope his editor would sympathise. His editor published the article
under the title “ Japan’s Kamikaze Taxis ”, and the myth of Japan’s terrifying
taxis was born. The article went all round the world.’
‘We had heard about
them and were a bit nervous,’ commented Celia.
‘In fact, Japanese taxi
drivers would usually never even think of breaking the speed limit. Part of the
reason may be that in Japan it is not the custom to give tips, though during
the bubble, when the economy was booming, businessmen on expenses getting a taxi home
late on a rainy Friday night from the Ginza would put up two or three fingers
to show they would pay double or triple fare!’
‘Point taken,’ replied
Holt. ‘Sorry to have changed the subject. It must be the jet lag.’
‘The fault is on my
side. I am behaving like a tour guide when we have more important things to
talk about.’
‘Don’t worry. We need
to relax and have a bit of fun. Would be different if we were on a real
honeymoon, wouldn’t it, Celia?’
An awkward silence followed,
before Sachiko continued.
‘My dad…told me to show
you some of the places he will be talking about when he sees you. The first is
a toilet in an underground walkway not far from here. We have thousands such
walkways here in Tokyo and other cities to avoid the heat, cold, and rain,
‘We are not,’ said
Celia vehemently, ‘fitting together.’
‘I am sorry for my poor
English. I didn’t mean it in that special way.’
‘I know, continued
Celia, ‘it must seem odd to you, but Jeremy here has been programmed by the
psychiatrist so that we are like brother and sister.’
‘In my humble experience
big sisters are not too keen on sharing rooms with their brothers. I am sure you’ll
be glad to have your own room at our place – we’ve plenty of spare rooms. Also,
when we go to Kyoto, let’s share a room at the hotel. We can enjoy some girl
time together. I don’t get much chance for that nowadays.’
‘I’d like that,’ replied
Celia, to Holt’s dismay. ‘Maybe we could do some shopping together.’
Holt had dreaded the word
‘shopping’ ever since his mother, an otherwise intelligent woman, had dragged
him round London’s Oxford Street department stores when five years old. It was
not only the boredom that got to him but the memory of his difficulty in
breathing when his nose and eyes were level with women’s protruding bottoms,
which sometimes poked him right in the face.
Realizing the
sisterhood was making Holt feel uncomfortable, Sachiko tried to come up with
something to tick his box.
‘Do you know what a
Narita Divorce is?’
‘No,’ they replied in
unison.
‘Well, many Japanese go
abroad for their honeymoon – Japan is terribly expensive – and for some it is
their first time; I mean, for going abroad as well as for the other thing. Anyway,
the honeymoon abroad is sometimes so disastrous that as soon as the bride has
her feet back safely on Japanese soil at Narita Airport, she declares her
intention to divorce. That’s why it’s called a Narita Divorce.’
‘Poor girls,’ said Celia
sympathetically.
‘Why don’t you say poor
men?’ interjected Holt. ‘It takes two to tango.’
‘Because you cannot
imagine,’ explained Sachiko, ‘what some of us girls have to go through with
these momma’s boys, who have spent all their time swotting to get into a top
university and then a job with a prestigious company or government department.
There was one case where the groom phoned his mother back in Japan from Sydney
to ask whether he should wear his pyjamas to bed with his bride!’
They all laughed,
dissipating the tension that had built up.
‘I’d heard about Japan’s
kamikaze taxis, but not that,’ commented Holt.
‘According to my dad,
Japan’s reputation for kamikaze taxis came about because a foreign journalist,
having found nothing to write about, described a slightly scary ride to the
airport in the hope his editor would sympathise. His editor published the article
under the title “ Japan’s Kamikaze Taxis ”, and the myth of Japan’s terrifying
taxis was born. The article went all round the world.’
‘We had heard about
them and were a bit nervous,’ commented Celia.
‘In fact, Japanese taxi
drivers would usually never even think of breaking the speed limit. Part of the
reason may be that in Japan it is not the custom to give tips, though during
the bubble, when the economy was booming, businessmen on expenses getting a taxi home
late on a rainy Friday night from the Ginza would put up two or three fingers
to show they would pay double or triple fare!’
‘Point taken,’ replied
Holt. ‘Sorry to have changed the subject. It must be the jet lag.’
‘The fault is on my
side. I am behaving like a tour guide when we have more important things to
talk about.’
‘Don’t worry. We need
to relax and have a bit of fun. Would be different if we were on a real
honeymoon, wouldn’t it, Celia?’
An awkward silence followed,
before Sachiko continued.
‘My dad…told me to show
you some of the places he will be talking about when he sees you. The first is
a toilet in an underground walkway not far from here. We have thousands such
walkways here in Tokyo and other cities to avoid the heat, cold, and rain,
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