The Key to Midnight

Geisha Exchange. It was upstairs, cramped and noisy, but it was one of the finest sushi shops in all of Japan. A scrubbed wooden counter ran the length of the place, and behind it were chefs dressed all in white, their hands red from continual washing.
        When Alex and Joanna entered, the chefs shouted the traditional greeting: 'Irasshai!
        The room was awash in wonderful aromas: omelets sizzling in vegetable oil, soy sauce, various spicy mustards, vinegared rice, horseradish, mushrooms that had been cooked in aromatic broth. Not the slightest whiff of fish tainted the air, however, though raw seafood of many varieties was the primary ingredient in every dish in the house. The only fish fresher than Ozasa's were those that still swam in the deeps.
        Joanna knew one of the chefs, Toshio, from her days as a Tokyo performer. She made introductions, and there was much bowing all around.
        She and Alex sat at the counter, and Toshio put large mugs of tea in front of them. They each received an oshi-bori, with which they wiped their hands while examining the selection of fish that filled a long refrigerated glass case behind the counter.
        The unique and exquisitely tortuous tension between Alex and Joanna transformed even the simple act of eating dinner into a rare experience charged with erotic energy. He ordered tataki - little chunks of raw bonito that had been singed in wet straw; each would come wrapped in a bright yellow strip of omelet. Joanna began with an order of toro sushi, which was served first. Toshio had trained and practiced for years before he was permitted to serve his first customer; now his long apprenticeship was evident in the swift grace of his culinary art. He removed the toro - fatty, marbled tuna - from the glass case, and his hands moved as quickly and surely as those of a master magician. With a huge knife, he smoothly sliced off two pieces of tuna. From a large tub beside him, he grabbed a handful of vinegared rice and deftly kneaded it into two tiny loaves spiced with a dash of wasabi. Toshio pressed the bits of fish to the tops of the loaves, and with a proud nourish he placed the twin morsels before Joanna. The entire preparation required less than thirty seconds from the moment that he had slid open the door of the refrigerated case. The brief ceremony, which ended with Toshio washing his hands before creating the tataki, reminded Alex of the post-hypnotic code words that Omi Inamura had used with Joanna: Toshio's hands were like dancing butterflies. Sushi could be a messy dish, especially for a novice, but Joanna was no novice, and while consuming the toro, she managed to be both prissily neat and sensuous. She picked up one piece, dipped the rice portion in a saucer of shoyu, turned it over to keep it from dripping, and placed the entire morsel on her tongue. She closed her eyes and chewed slowly. The sight of her enjoying the toro increased the pleasure that Alex took in his own food. She ate with that peculiar combination of dainty grace and avid hunger that one saw in cats. Her slow, pink tongue licked left and right at the corners of her mouth; she smiled as she opened her eyes and picked up the second piece of toro.
        Alex said, 'Joanna, I…'
        'Yes?'
        He hesitated. 'You're beautiful.'
        That wasn't everything he had intended to tell her, and it was surely not as much as she wanted to hear, but her smile seemed to say that she could not possibly have been happier.
        They drank tea and ordered other kinds of sushi - dark-red lean tuna, snow-white squid, blood-red akagai clams, octopus tentacles, pale shrimp, caviar, and abalone - and between servings they cleared their palates with sliced ginger.
        Each order of sushi contained two pieces, but they ate slowly, heartily, sampling every variety, then returned to their favorites. In Japan, Joanna explained, the complex system of etiquette, the rigid code of manners, and the tradition of excessive politeness ensured a special sensitivity to the sometimes multiple meanings of language, and the two-piece-and-only-two-piece servings of sushi was an example of that sensitivity. Nothing that was sliced could ever be served singly or in threes, for the Japanese words for 'one slice' were hito kire, which also meant kill, and three slices was mi kire, which also meant kill myself. Therefore, if sliced food were presented in either of those quantities, it would be an