There was no menu and no choice, just a constant stream of dishes from the kitchen behind, only some of which Sam recognised. But there were no fish swimming in the sake so he didn’t much care about the rest. In fact he hardly tasted the food; instead he was hyper aware of the pressure of Tara’s thigh next to his and the way her elbow would sometimes bump into him, and the moments when she lightly laid her hand on his knee and smiled.
“So, anyway,” Paul was saying, “I got into that programme at Dartmouth after all. They emailed me and said there’s a place – starting in the New Year.”
“Congratulations!” said Helen. “You said Dartmouth was a long shot – you must be really pleased!”
“Well done, mate,” said Sam.
“Felicitations!” said Yoshi, which made everyone laugh.
Tara stood up and gave Paul a hug. Sam felt a ripple of irrational jealousy run through him. He forced it away, roughly.
“But before I go,” said Paul, gazing around, his expression suddenly challenging, “I want to do something really special: I want to climb Mount Fuji. Who’s coming with me?”
There was a short silence.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” said Helen, a small smile breaking out, “but isn’t it really difficult?”
“Nah,” said Paul. “I met this old guy in Bangkok who said that we could get up there in four or five hours, and then a couple more to get back down. Most people go up in the evening, and camp out on the mountain to watch the sunrise. He says old people do it, too, and as long as we pace ourselves, we’ll be fine. You in? Sam?”
“Bloody hell! Of course I am!”
Paul smiled. “Yoshi? Helen? Tara?”
“It will be honour to climb Fuji-san,” said Yoshi, seriously. “Is most important symbol of whole Japan.”
“I’m in,” said Tara. “Definitely!”
All eyes were on Helen.
“Well, okay. Just as long as you promise to carry me if I can’t keep up.”
Paul threw her a high five and Sam wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. Yoshi begged for the honour of carrying her, should she need it.
Then Paul insisted they all drank to it and ordered another bottle of sake.
“There’s just one thing,” he said. “We’ll have to do it soon – in the next couple of weeks. Once we get into October it’s too dangerous – snow, maybe even typhoons. So, I was thinking, none of us are working the weekend after next – how about then?”
“That’ll be different,” said Sam in a low voice, as if speaking only to himself.
“What do you mean, love?” said Helen, who was sitting with her arm hooked through his.
“Oh, it’s my birthday that weekend,” said Sam, smiling. “I like the idea of being on top of Fuji-san for that.”
“Your birthday! You great galah!” snorted Tara. “Just when were you planning on telling me that?”
“Er, well, I wasn’t going to bother...” he stuttered, his voice failing under the gaze of her angry eyes.
“Well,” said Helen, evenly, “now we can really celebrate it.”
“How old you be, Sam-San?” said Yoshi.
“Twenty-five,” said Sam. “A quarter of a century!”
Helen raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think you need to worry about your age just yet, Sam!”
But Yoshi was gazing at him in horror. “You say twenty-five, Sam-san?
Twenty-five
?!”
Yoshi suddenly dropped his head into his hands.
“What’s the matter, Yoshi?” said Helen, gently.
“Is very bad age,” said Yoshi, looking up at Sam woefully. “Is worst year for a man. Is
yakudoshi
– year of bad luck!”
“Blimey, thanks, Yoshi!” said Sam, trying not to laugh. “Just when I thought I needed cheering up.”
But Yoshi shook his head. “Is very serious, Sam-san. Very serious. You must make
yakubarai
– purification at shrine.”
“Oh, come on!” said Tara. “You don’t believe in all that superstitious nonsense, do you, Yoshi?”
Yoshi looked bewildered and upset. He stared at Sam, his eyes worried, his soft face creased in concern.
“You must make yakubarai, Sam-san. You are my friend! Is most important. Please!”
Sam could see he was deadly serious.
“Okay, Yoshi, no problem. I’ll do it. You’ll just have to tell me how.”
Yoshi relaxed a fraction but it was clear to everyone that he was still anxious, throwing worried glances at Sam every few minutes, as if waiting for him to spontaneously combust, or get hit by a stray asteroid.
When they got back to the hostel, Yoshi hovered by Sam’s side, as if afraid to leave his sight.
In the end Sam had to turf him out of his room, while Tara pointedly started unrolling the futon bed.
“That was weird,” she said, looking at Sam.
“Hmm.”
“You’re not really going along with all this mumbo-jumbo, are you?”
“Actually, I am,” said, Sam smiling at Tara’s sceptical expression. “When I was with his family, they prayed for the spirits of their ancestors. And it wasn’t just like singing carols at Christmas once a year, they really meant it: it was important to them. And for some reason this yakubarai is important to Yoshi. Well, it’s not going to kill me to go along with it – and it might be kind of interesting. Besides, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
He didn’t think it would be wise to mention that he’d met Elle whilst celebrating his birthday the previous year.
Tara smiled and shook her head.
“You’re nuts, but I kinda like it.”
Sam smiled. “How much do you like it?”
“Hmm, let me see.”
She pulled him towards her and unfastened the first button on his shirt.
“Quite a lot.”
She kissed his chest. Then she undid another button.
“Yes, definitely growing on me.”
She kissed him again.
“Hmm... I might just have to see a bit more to be certain...”
But suddenly, her slow seduction wasn’t fast enough for Sam. Hungrily he lowered his lips to her neck and the rest of the buttons on his shirt gave way with a ripping sound.
It was clear that Yoshi had been entirely serious about his concerns because two days later, he announced that Sam would have his purification at a local shrine in three days. Yoshi had spoken to the priest and arranged everything. All Sam had to do was show up – and bring some money. Just as a token, of course.
On the agreed date, Yoshi banged on Sam and Tara’s door very early. With a groan from Sam and a muttered curse from Tara, Sam grabbed a towel and headed for the showers. Sam had to stop Yoshi actually following him into the shower as he shouted instructions through the curtain, to ensure that Sam was ritually pure.
The others waited in the hostel’s reception, although it was barely light and nowhere was open to get breakfast. Paul grumbled quietly until Helen elbowed him hard in the ribs.
Yoshi was a cat on hot bricks, never taking his eyes off Sam, as if waiting for a fatal accident, bizarre shopping rage incident or cataclysmic, doom-laden event of mythical proportions that would stop Sam getting his purification. It made everyone feel edgy and bad-tempered.
The Shinto shrine was at one end of a large park in the centre of Tokyo. They entered through the main gate where a priest was waiting for them, dressed in white robes, his reading glasses almost an anachronism. He greeted Yoshi warmly and stared myopically at Sam.
They all made deep bows and in formal Japanese, Sam thanked the priest for his help. The man continued to stare, showing as much understanding of Sam’s words as if they’d been spoken in Serbo-Croat. Paul laughed nervously and Tara thumped him in the ribs. Helen smiled smugly. Her chastisement had been much gentler.
Next to the decorated entrance stood a square-shaped, rough-hewn stone basin about the size of a medieval font. Yoshi instructed Sam to wash his hands in the water, first the left hand, then the right, and to rinse out his mouth: all part of the ritual purification. Next, the priest spoke to Yoshi, informing him that Sam could now approach the shrine.
Something fragrant was burning in a small brazier, sending clouds of grey smoke billowing out. The pale light of early morning added to the feeling of timelessness and Sam felt a shiver go through him. Even Tara seemed unnerved, hands jammed deep in her pockets.
“Now we must call down the kami, the spirits,” said Yoshi in a whisper.
He passed Sam a straw rope decorated with strips of paper.
“This will stop the bad luck,” said Yoshi. “Now bad luck not spread to your friends, too.”
The priest waved some evergreen branches over the brazier, wafting the smoke towards Sam and the others. Helen was trying not to cough and Tara’s eyes were watering.
“The smoke will catch blessings of deity and burn away all impure things,” explained Yoshi quietly.
Then the priest motioned to Sam to ring the small, brass bell. The dull tolling rang mournfully through the park, startling some pigeons.
“We must bow again,” said Yoshi. “Now, Sam-san, put money-offering in box and ring the bell once.”
Sam did as he was told, stuffing a thousand Yen into the small, wooden receptacle.
“Bow two times,” hissed Yoshi. “Now you must clap two times while you pray, thinking hard about the good things you want to happen this year.”
Sam followed the instructions, his thoughts on Tara, on Fiona and Rosa, and on his friends home and away.
“Now you bow again,” muttered Yoshi.
The priest smiled and Yoshi looked relieved. Apparently the ritual was over.
“You will be safe now, Sam-san,” said Yoshi, happily. “Bad luck chased all away.”
Sam thanked the priest, who smiled and bowed, but refused to believe that a gaijin could possibly be speaking his language. Sam gave it up.
“Thanks, Yoshi... I feel much better now. Safer. I think it’s working already.”
Yoshi looked delighted.
“I feel it too, Sam-san. You will have much luck this year.”
“So, can we please go and have some breakfast now?” said Paul.
The tension was broken and they trooped off to Yoshi’s favourite place for the usual egg and bacon pastries and thin coffee. Paul muttered under his breath, having hoped for something a little stronger, and Helen laughed.
Tara linked her arm through Sam’s.
“Are you feeling luckier now?”
“Amazingly, yes!” he said, kissing her quickly. “Although the good luck started a few days ago, my birthday is looking decidedly fortunate.”
Tara laughed. “You’ll have to wait for your present.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not even a quick look?”
She smiled. “Maybe a quick one.”
They crowded into the coffee shop. Yoshi was bouncing up and down in his seat.
“All is well now, Sam-san. And you born in Year of the Dragon. Very auspicious. Tatsu mean very brave.”
Sam shook his head and frowned. “No, I don’t think so – not the Year of the Dragon. I’m pretty sure I was born in the Year of the Rabbit. My language tutor told me that when I first came here.”
“No, no!” said Yoshi. “You 25: you must be Year of Dragon!”
“Hang on a minute,” said Helen, a slow smile stretching across her face. “What year were you born, Sam?”
Sam told them and Yoshi stared at him, disbelievingly.
“I think I know what’s going on here,” said Helen, smugly. “Yoshi is thinking in Asian counting but Sam is working on the European system.”
Her audience looked equally baffled.
“Am I the only one who actually reads the textbooks?” she complained. “Japanese people count the year they’re born as one, not zero. So in Japanese counting, Sam, you’ll be 26 this year. You’ve already had your year of bad luck.”
Tara hooted and Paul squawked. Sam choked on his coffee and Helen tried not to laugh at Yoshi’s chagrined expression.
“Never mind, Yoshi, mate,” said Sam, “I’ve got another week left of being 24 – or is it 25 – so at least now I won’t break my leg when we climb Mount Fuji next Saturday.”
Yoshi smiled weakly and sighed. “Yes, is good thing, Sam-san.”
Sam’s Blog
Hi everyone!
Thanks for your emails and messages. Thanks for the card, Fi, and give Rosa a big hug for me.
Yep, that was a pretty amazing birthday: I climbed Mount Fuji, and lived to tell the tale.
The official climbing season is July and August so we were a bit late in the year. All that really means is that some of the ‘rest’ places on the route are closed and there’s an increased risk of bad weather: not so much in September, and it mostly meant that there were fewer people climbing the day we turned up. But after October, there’s a lot of snow and the risk of avalanches, as well as high winds.
About 3,000 people a day climb in season but it was much quieter when we did it. The Japanese call the mountain Fuji-san, an honorific that honours the mountain as one of the three ‘Holy Mountains’ (along with Mount Tate and Mount Haku). And it is high: all those postcards with the snow on the top – they’re not all CGI-ed. The official height is 3,776 metres (which makes it nearly four times as high as Snowdon). Yoshi warned us that the temperature could be below freezing, especially as we planned to do most of the hike at night. I know that sounds a bit weird, but the tradition is to be on the summit to see the sunrise.