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neself so religiously to the domination of others was not； he felt； what life was all about。 He had been disturbed by dreams； then； black portents without form or face； all the more real and frightening for that。 He had felt pelled to rid himself of the volume； throwing it out in the middle of the night； not even waiting until morning。
In daylight； the feeling had remained。 He felt as if he had taken a wrong turning in the dead of night and； without warning； had found himself on the lip of a great abyss。 There had been a temptation to look over the edge but with it had e the knowledge that if he did he would surely lose his balance and tumble forwards into the darkness。 Thus Terry had stepped back and； turning away； had put his katana away forever。
And then today； this strange man who called himself Hideoshi appears。 Terry shivered inwardly； too much in control to let Eileen see his true emotions。 Besides； he did not want to alarm her。
It was surely some kind of omen； for he had no doubt that the man knew well the teachings of Miyamoto。 But even beyond this； there was no doubt in his mind that Hideoshi was a haragei adept。 The concept； stemming from two words； hara； meaning centralization and integration； and ki； meaning an extended form of energy； was more than intuition or a sixth sense but； as Terry's sensei had said； 'a true way of perceiving reality'。 It was akin to having eyes in the back of your head； amplifiers in your ears。 Yet haragei could work both ways： being an ultra…sensitive receiver also made one an excellent transmitter if one came within a certain distance of another haragei adept。 Terry had picked this up instantly。
'Just another Japanese off the plane from Haneda；' he said nonchalantly to Eileen。 He would not； under any circumstances； have told her what he really knew about the man。
'Well； there's something odd about him。' She was still staring at the black doorway； which seemed to gape at her like the mouth of a grinning skull。 'Those eyes …' she shuddered。 'So impersonal； like … like cameras。' She took a step towards Terry。 'What's he doing in there so long； do you think？'
'Meditating； no doubt；' Terry said。 He picked up the phone； stabbed the inter button。 He spoke softly and briefly to someone on the third floor； informing him of the new client。 He cradled the receiver。 'He'll be another twenty minutes at least；' he said to her。 He stared at her long black gleaming hair。 Brushed back and unbound； it rushed like a night…dark stream over her shoulders； down her back in a thick cascade； ending at the tops of her buttocks。 She started and he said； 'What is it？'
Her head turned。 'Nothing。 I just felt you staring at me。'
He smiled。 'But I do that all the time。'
'At night； yes。' Her eyes stayed serious； her pouty lips firm and straight。 'Don't do it here； Terry。 Please。 You know how I feel about that。 We work together and we …' Her eyes met his and for just an instant he felt his heart lurch within him。 Was that fear he had glimpsed there lurking like a prowler in the night？
He reached out a hand； pulled her gently towards him。 This time she did not resist and； as if seeking warmth； she allowed herself to be cradled； her arms tight around him。 She felt safer here； with him so close。
'Are you okay； Ei？'
She nodded wordlessly against his muscles but felt the tears welling up like deep pools witfiin her eyes。 Her throat constricted and she could not think why。 'I want to e over tonight；'
she heard herself say and she immediately felt better。
'How about every night？' Terry said。
It was not the first time he had said this； though it had been in different ways before。 Eileen's response had always been the same； yet now she knew the source of the churning inside her； knew that when he asked her again this evening； as he surely would； her answer would be yes。 'Tonight；' she said softly。 'Ask me tonight。〃 She dabbed at her eyes。 'When should I e over？'
'I'm having dinner with Vincent。 Why don't you join us？'
She smiled thinly。 'Uh…uh。 There's too much you guys talk about that I have no interest in。'
'We'll cut that all out tonight。 Promise。〃
She laughed then。 'No； no。 I don't begrudge you that。 Bushido is important to you。〃
'It's part of our heritage。 We wouldn't be Japanese without it。 I'm not yet mat assimilated into Western culture … I'll never be … that I can forget the history of my people …' He paused； seeing her shudder； her eyes flutter closed。
'My people；' her words a ghostly echo。 'Bushido。 I shall die for my Emperor and my beloved homeland。' Tears welled from beneath her lowered lids； turning to minute rainbows。 Behind them were galaxies of pain。 'We survived the great firestorm in March' … her whispered words like the shouted cries of the dying … 'when the American armada dropped almost three…quarters of a million bombs filled with napalm； when two hundred thousand Japanese civilians were roasted or boiled alive； when half of Tokyo was cindered； when； the following morning； as you walked down the street； the wild wind took the charcoaled corpses and blew them away like dust。〃
'Ei； don't …'
'We moved out； then； away from the war； to Hiroshima in the south but； quite soon； my parents； terrified by all the rumours； packed me off to my grandparents who lived in the mountains。' She looked at his face without really seeing it。 'There was never enough food and slowly we began to the of starvation。 Oh； it was nothing very spectacular； merely a kind of all…pervading lassitude。 I would sit in the sun for hours unable to think of anything。 It took me hours to b my hair because my arms would hurt； keeping them lifted like that。 That was for me。 But for my mother and my father there was Hiroshima and the light that fell from the sky。' Her eyes focused and she looked at him steadily。 'What is there for me but shame and hurt？ What we did and what； in turn； was done to us。 My poor country。'
'That's all forgotten now；' he said。
'No； it's not。 And you； of all people； should understand that。 It's you and Vincent and Nick who talk constantly of the spirit of our country。 How can you celebrate the one without feeling shame at the other？ Memory is selective； not history。 We are what we are。 You can't arbitrarily excise the bad； pretend it never existed。 Nick doesn't do that； I know。 He remembers； he feels the hurt； still。 But I don't think you and Vincent do。'
He wanted to tell her of his recent thoughts but he found that he could not。 Not now； at least。 It was the wrong time； the wrong place； and he had a highly developed sense of these things。 Tonight； perhaps。 Tonight he would see that it all came down。 He watched the diffuse； artist's light on her satin…skinned face； her long slender neck； her slim pact body。 It was impossible to think of her as being forty…one； she did not look a day over thirty； even in harsh light。
It was just about two years since they had first met； a year since they had bee clandestine lovers … at least as far as those at the dojo were concerned； of course all their friends knew。 In that time she had never asked for more； never wanted to know about the future。 It was he who； lately； had felt the need for more。 And recently he had bee aware that； at least partially； the ending of his love affair with kenjutsu had been； simultaneously； the beginning of his love affair with Ei。 Now； it seemed to him with pristine logic； that there was nothing more important in life than being with her。 The dojo； which he had opened nearly five years ago； was well established and he was more than satisfied that it could run itself for a short while。 Time enough for a marriage and a long； leisurely honeymoon somewhere far away。 Paris； perhaps。 Yes； definitely Paris。 It was Ei's favourite city； he knew； and he had never been there。 All that remained was for him to ask her。 Tonight。
Would she say yes this time？ He suspected that she would and his heart fairly danced。
'Tonight；' he said。 'I'll be back by nine； ten if Vincent gets stuck in Island traffic on the way in。 But you have a key and some of your clothes are there。 e any time。 But bring champagne。 Dom Perignon。 I'll bring the caviar。'
It would have been easy for Eileen to ask what all this was for but she felt that it would spoil the moment。 There was； after all； plenty of time to find out what she already knew in her heart。
'All right；' she said； her eyes very large now。
He turned； abruptly remembering。 'I'd better get upstairs and prepare the bokken。 Soon Hideoshi will be through with the others and I want to be ready。'
Justine's eyes were pletely dry。 This was something new for her but it brought her no solace。 Not when the anxiety had e again； a fierce knot in her stomach； a pressure on her chest； constricting her breaking； refusing to go away。 There is nothing wrong； she repeated over and over to herself。 Nothing。 Absolutely nothing。 She shivered； feeling cold。 Her fingers were like ice。
She stood in the darkened living room of Nicholas's house； staring out at the mist and rain on this dismal Sunday。 Out ' there； somewhere； was the sea； curling endlessly； but the spiteful rain hid it from her as if it were withholding a bright toy on Christmas morning。 She thought about going out there； piercing the mist； finding the ocean for herself； but she lacked； at this moment； the necessary fortitude to brave the weather。
Oh； my God I Oh； my God！
She whirled from the sleeted window…pane； running blindly through the house； groping for the bathroom； and there； at last； she collapsed in front of the toilet； retching。
Her body shook and sweat stood out on her forehead； rolling down into her eyes in tiny stinging rivulets。
After an endless time； when she could no longer stand the stink； she reached out a hand to flush the toilet。 It seemed to take all the energy she possessed。 But； after that； she somehow found the strength to stand up and bend over the basin。
The cold running water fell on her face like bullets from a gun。 She shivered； opened her mouth to get the sour taste out。 She could not swallow。
Sitting on the edge of the porcelain bath； feeling the cool bar of it striking across her buttocks； she curled over； putting her head in her arms； her arms on her knees。
She rocked back and forth； thinking； I can't do it。 I can't。
It was her mind now that did the vomiting。 The history of the betrayals unfurling like a hated flag above her head； blotting out all other signs of life。 All her men。 Timothy； who had been the first； the high…school basketball coach。 I'll be gentle； Justine； and thrusting savagely into her over and over； enjoying the expression of pain on her face； her crying out into the perfect sterile symmetry of the darkened gym； watching his eyes burn with her instant's fear。 Then Jodie； the Harvard man with the laughing eyes and the cruel soul。 I want to be a surgeon； Justine … and already was。 Eddie； who was seeing her and his wife on alternate nights； there was nothing he wanted but them both。 And then； in San Francisco； there had been Chris。 They had e together； igniting like a bonfire； insatiable； insensate to everything and everyone around them。 Or was that only the way it had been with her？ She could not bear that truth； even now。 Dredging it up was like an act of cruel masochism； like opening the edges of a slowly healing wound and probing for the nerve。
She had used her father's name then … and his money。 God only knew how much； certainly she did not。 Wasn't it the money that had made her weak and lazy？ So easy to pin down the blame； neatly and resolutely； ing back to her father。 How she hated him for giving her … those things： his name （she always wrote the word out on the screen of her mind so that she could make the deliberate typo fame which was； as far as she was concerned； no error） and his money。
God； this thing makes me nasty and bitter； she thought。 As if it's a physical malady that manufactures bile as a by…product。 She gagged again but； wrapping her arms around her stomach； she held herself together； there was nothing more to e up； she was empty yet the anxiety made her feel as if she had swallowed a two…by…four whole。
I can't do it； she repeated to herself。 I can't。
She had taken his money … so much of it … not thoughtlessly but wil