Women were soft and warm and caring and interesting and fun to talk to and they made nice babies like Boots and it had taken him a long tie to really learn it but he really loved babies and children and he missed Boots greatly and he wanted to go home and give him the biggest hug in the world and then another.
But, of course, women were also dangerous sometimes, and complex always, and that did make for difficulties. Still, anything or anyone worthwhile was difficult.
That's really what life was about: babies, hot tubs, plastic bath ducks, women, and difficulties. People searched endlessly for the meaning of life, and here he had discovered it by floating in a hot tub for a couple of hours — or was it days? He really had not the faintest idea.
He opened his eyes. He could see stars in a glowing night sky and the air felt fresh and cool on his face and there was the smell of the sea. Everywhere in Ireland was near the sea, and in Duncleeve you could hear the sound of the waves on all but the calmest days and it was a sound that he greatly loved, that made him feel at peace. But here he could not quite hear the sea. It was close, but not close enough. The house and grounds were set back and, he now seemed to recall, built into the side of a hill. There would be a magnificent view of the sea and the bay below. He was sure of it, but it was impossible to check.
The hot tub was in an inner courtyard that was laid out as a traditional Japanese garden, and the house surrounded the space on all four sides. There was total privacy and silence except for the normal sounds of the night air. There was no traffic noise, so they could not be in or very near Tokyo, a city of relentless energy that never rested.
The setting was so extraordinarily beautiful and a miniature world unto itself. There was something about the proportions of traditional Japanese architecture that was particularly pleasing and restful. It was a combination of lien and texture and balance that in the most unostentatious way conveyed a feeling of harmony with life and with nature.
The secret of a Japanese garden, he had been told, was restraint, simplicity, and integration with what was most natural. Instead of flower beds bursting with artificially reared hybrids and the general excess of a Western garden, there appeared to be only simple features of mainly natural materials, such as sand and rocks and gravel and a few carefully selected bushes and some wildflowers. Of course, the naturalness was an illusion, but even though you knew that every natural item had been meticulously selected and arranged, it was an illusion that worked. Tatemae and honne. The way of Japan.
He felt gentle hands on his shoulders, and then his neck and shoulders were being massaged slowly and tenderly. Her touch was exquisite, and he closed his eyes and let waves of pleasure wash over him. From time to time, her hands left his back and caressed slowly down his body to his loins, stroking him in the most intimate of places.
After some minutes, he took her hands in his and kissed them one by one, running his tongue across the palm of each hand. She was wearing only a thin silk yukata, and through the thin material he could feel her breasts where they rested against the back of his head and her nipples hard and firm.
"Come with me," she said into his ear, her tongue licking it. Naked, he rose from the hot water into the cool night air and stepped from the tub onto the tile surround. His penis was erect and hard. The faintest lightening of the sky indicated the promise of dawn.
She draped his shoulders in a thick towel to dry him and to shield him from the night air, and took another towel and knelt down to dry his lower body. Again, she touched him without restraint, as if they had been lovers without secrets for some time.
Her beautiful hair, thick and glossy and normally worn up on a chignon or some other restrained style, now cascaded around her shoulders. He let the sensations wash over him until he could scarcely bear it, and then he bent over and lifted he up and took her in his arms.
She smelled of an exotic perfume he could not identify, but which was intensely stimulating. It was a subtle, sexual fragrance, and it blended with the clean, musky odor of her own arousal. Her arms around his neck, lips gently stroking, tongues intermingling, he carried her from the courtyard through the open shoji screens to where he cold see the golden flickering light of a dozen candles.
The floor was of fresh tatami, but instead of the futon he had expected there was a low-slung, king-size bed. He lowered her feet to the floor and, still kissing her, stripped the gossamer-thin yukata from her body and placed her on the bed.
* * * * *
It was dark when Fitzduane awoke, and then he realized that he must have slept right through.
It was not surprising. The Namaka Steel business had been exhausting enough, but Chifune had been a marathon of exquisitely sensual endurance.
He fumbled for his watch and then tried opening his eyes. It mad the process a whole lot easier. He noticed the candles were fresh and Chifune was leaning over him. She bent down and kissed him. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she was wearing a toweling robe.
"Fourteen hours," she said. "More or less."
"So much for the sex," he said sleepily. "How long did we rest for?"
Chifune laughed. "There is a razor in the bathroom," she said. "I'll have some food ready in fifteen minutes. Are you hungry?"
Fitzduane undid her robe.
* * * * *
"Pillow speak," she said.
She was naked and lying with her back to him, staring unfocused at the candles, enjoying the constant pattern as the flames flickered in the night breeze off the sea.
Fitzduane smiled, but did not correct her. Chifune had excellent English, but just occasionally would make a slip. He drank some more champagne. He was not quite sure whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, but it tasted good anyway.
He felt recharged after the long sleep and the lovemaking and a shower and a shave and food and more lovemaking, and now that he thought of it, there were few things more pleasant in the world than lying in bed in a postcoital glow talking to a beautiful woman — unless it was doing exactly that with a bottle of decent wine to hand. Fitzduane liked the company of women. Women had good minds; a much-neglected resource in his opinion. And based on what he had seen and heard, a particularly neglected resource in Japan.
Chifune turned to look at him. "Pillow speak?" she said. "I could hear you smiling, gaijin."
Fitzduane laughed. "Pillow talk," he said.
Chifune pulled back the covers and kissed his dormant penis quickly and then covered him up again. "Thank you," she said. "English is such a quirky language."
Fitzduane did not want to spoil the mood, but there were matters he was curious about and Chifune seemed to want to speak. "What about this pillow business?" he said quietly.
Chifune smiled without looking at him. ‘To pillow’ was a euphemism for lovemaking in Japanese.
"You don't say anything explicitly, Hugo," she said, "but you're a man who invites confidences, an easy person to talk to. I think it is because you have values and you care. So many people go through the motions, but they don't really care and in their hearts there is nothing. They take up space but they do not contribute. To contribute, you have to care. And caring is about risk. You have something to lose. It exposes you. It makes you vulnerable. It is dangerous."