‘We are in luck Meenu-chan,’ Yuri spoke, her voice hushed. ‘There is Mount Fuji. Rare it is to see Fuji-san so clearly, without clouds. People wait for days for such a perfect sighting.’
I gazed at the perfect, gently sloping cone of Fuji, blue and white with distance and snow, rising behind the rolling green hills in the foreground.
‘Rather like an icy, arrogant beauty, Fuji-san is, no Yuri?’
Yuri clapped her hands softly in approval, ‘There is a haiku in there, Meenu-chan. The icy, arrogant beauty, omnipresent, unattainable, disdaining my touch.’
‘You’re a poet, Yuri. What you are doing among the dry dregs of political economy, only you know!’
Yuri’s eyes shone, but her mouth resumed its demure lines.
The hotel Yuri had chosen was in the Japanese style, with paper-covered shoji doors and two futon beds, placed side by side on the tatami floor-mats.
Yuri apologized profusely. ‘How thoughtless of me, Meenu-chan. Sleeping on the floor would be inconvenient for you.’
‘Come on, Yuri. What inconvenience? This is all so quaint and pretty! I’d love to take that scroll in the alcove, the one with Japanese black pines painted on it, back to Tokyo to hang beside my desk. It would bring the mountains to my room. Also that head of hydrangea in the vase next to it!’
‘You can’t take the scroll, it is hotel property, Meenuchan. But the hydrangea you may. We’d need to inform housekeeping that you are removing the flowers though.’
‘I was kidding, Yuri!’ I said.
Yuri smiled softly. ‘We should eat lunch now, Meenuchan. It is already late. Would you like to go to one of the nice restaurants in Sankyo-Mae or Hakone-machi?’
We drank a quick cup of Japanese tea. Yuri tied up her hair, and I put on a cardigan over my sweatshirt. I had bought it at a discount store in Tokyo at my mother’s insistence. The weather in the mountains is always changing, she had said, fretting. Japan Times says minimum temperature of sixteen degrees in Hakone this weekend. If you catch a cold, who will look after you over there? Plus you would lose study time.
Out in the open, the mountain air was indeed chilly, and I was grateful for my cardigan. Yuri shivered delicately. She was dressed in a soft, full-sleeved cotton top tucked into the waist of dainty cotton trousers, and wore pumps with lace socks, her clothes more suitable for a walk in fashionable Shibuya rather than along a mountain road.
‘You must be cold, Yuri,’ I said. ‘My mother had mentioned the low temperatures these few days. But I just thought she was fussing as usual…’
‘Don’t worry, the walk will warm us up.’ She reached out and took my arm. ‘You feel nice and warm.’
We walked briskly, and I soon felt warm enough to take my cardigan off. The road climbed through the meadows and pine forests we had seen from the bus, and every once in a while we broke from our path to follow a shaded wild lane and see where it led. It was late afternoon by the time we reached the small town of Hakone-machi and decided to eat at a Japanese restaurant on the main street. It had sprays of daisies and wild grass in the windows, and the light inside was warm and mild. We sat with our bare feet tucked under us, and the owner and his wife served. They brought us bowls of soba noodles with dashi, hot tempura and summer greens, and bitter-clean-tasting Japanese tea. The food was excellent and we thanked them profusely. After lunch, we walked under the tall pines along Lake Ashi. The trees were ancient, their immense, moss-covered trunks rose skyward like massive pillars. Across the road were a few cafés and, in the distance, we could see a shrine. Soon, the wind picked up and the lake was full of curled waves. It became cold enough to numb our faces.
‘Should we head back to our hotel, Yuri?’ I still worried about her flimsy clothes.
‘Yes, but suppose we go in there first?’ Yuri pointed to a small bar across from the lake. A stone jar filled with water plants and small, darting fish was placed outside its door, and a bamboo cage with chirping crickets hung from the wooden roof above.
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