Hard Rain

at the extent of the destruction. Cars
    drove through Daitokuji Temple. Mount Hiei, the birthplace of Japanese
    Buddhism, had been turned into a parking lot, with an entertainment
    emporium on its summit. Streets that had once been lined with ancient
    wooden houses accented with bamboo trellises were now tawdry with
    plastic and aluminum and neon, the wooden houses dismantled and gone.
    Everywhere were metastasizing telephone lines, riots of electric wires,
    laundry hanging from prefabricated apartment windows like tears from
    idiot eyes.
    On my way back to Osaka, I entered the Grand Hotel, more or less the
    geographic center of the city. I took the elevator to the top floor,
    where, with the exception of the Toji Pagoda and a sliver of the
    Honganji Temple roof, I was confronted in all directions by nothing but
    interchangeable urban blight. The city's living beauty had been beaten
    back into clusters of cowering refugees, like the results of some
    inexplicable experiment in cultural apartheid.
    I thought of the poem by Basho, the wandering hard, which had moved me
    when my mother had first related it, on my earliest visit to the city.
    She had taken my hand as we stood upon the towering scaffold of
    Kiyomizu Temple, looking out upon the still city before us, and,
    surprising me with her accented Japanese, had said:
    Kyou nite mo kyou natsukashiya... Though in Kyoto, 1long for Kyoto ...
    But the meaning of the poem, once a paean to ineffable, unfulfillable
    longing, had changed. Like the city itself, it was now sadly ironic.
    I smiled without mirth, thinking that, if any of this had been mine, I
    would have taken better care of it. This is what you get if you put
    your trust in the government, I thought. People ought to know
    better.
    I felt my pager buzz. I unclipped it and saw the code Tatsu and I had
    established to identify ourselves, along with a phone number. I'd been
    half expecting something like this, but not quite so soon. Shit, I
    thought. Things are so close.
    I took the elevator down to the lobby, and walked out into the street.
    When I had found a pay phone in a suitably innocuous location, I
    inserted a phone card and punched in Tatsu's number. I could have just
    ignored him, but it was hard to predict what he might do in response to
    that. Better to know what he wanted, while maintaining the appearance
    of cooperation.
    There was a single ring, then I heard his voice. "Moshi moshij he
    said, without identifying himself.
    "Hello," I replied.
    "Are you still in the same place?"
    "Why would I want to leave?" I asked, letting him hear the sarcasm.
    "I thought that, after our last meeting, you might choose to ... travel
    again."
    "I might. Haven't gotten around to it yet. I thought you'd know
    that."
    "I am trying to respect your privacy."
    Bastard. Even when he was busily ruining my life, he could always coax
    a smile out of me. "I appreciate that," I
    told him.
    "I would like to see you again, if you wouldn't mind."
    I hesitated. He already knew where I lived. He didn't have to arrange
    a meeting elsewhere, if he'd wanted to get to me. "Social visit?" I
    asked.
    "That is up to you."
    "Social visit'
    "All right."
    "When?"
    "I'll be in town tonight. Same place as last time?"
    I hesitated again, then said, "Don't know if we'll be able to get in.
    There's a hotel very near there, though, with a good bar. My kind of
    place. You know what I'm talking about?"
    I was referring to the bar at the Osaka Ritz-Carlton.
    "I imagine I can find it."
    "I'll meet you at the bar at the same time we met last time."
    "Yes. I will look forward to seeing you then." A pause. Then: "Thank
    you."
    I hung up.
    Seven.
    I took the Hankyu train back to Osaka and went straight to the Ritz. I
    wanted to be sure I was in position at least a few hours early, in case
    there was anything I would want to see coming. I ordered a fruit and
    cheese plate and drank Darjeeling tea while I waited.
    Tatsu was punctual, as always. He was courteous, too, moving slowly
    and letting me see him to show he didn't intend any surprises. He sat
    down across from me in one of the upholstered chairs. He looked
    around, taking in the light wood paneling, the wall sconces and
    chandeliers.
    "I need your assistance again," he said, after a moment.
    Predictable. And right to the point, as always. But I'd make him wait
    before responding. "You want a whiskey?" I asked. "They've got a
    nice twelve-year-old Cragganmore."
    He shook his head. "I'd like to join you,