Sheets of rain are coming down, obscuring the forest, and the sky is the color of skim milk. I’ll be in my yakuta most of the day, I hope, padding between the tatami room where I’ve been placed to the onsen down the hall and down a short flight of steps. There’s a meeting at ten with two doctors who specialize in longevity, and a meeting at two with a collective of artisans. But the hope–the dream–is that yakuta, my OE novel about boys run amuck in the late 1950’s, and more and more baths.
I rolled in last night at two A.M. after four hours and just two sake at a hole-in-the-wall in the village with two friends, one old and one new. Two sake, you heard right. That’s what happens when the ladies set the tone. It’s talk and not drink.
Tonight it’s anyone’s guess–acceptance–and tomorrow the plan is, well, there is no plan except to don civvies mid-day in order to return to my other home in the States.