FOX TALE by karen hulene bartell

 SUNDAY AFTERNOON

Why risk my neck? Knees shaking, I willed one foot in front of the other as I fought my fear of heights. Because if I want this assignment, I have no choice.

Ignoring any survival instincts, I pried my gaze from the rocky path to Mount Inari’s sheer granite wall, and the view took away my breath. Inches ahead, the clouds hung vertically--an immense, lacy veil shrouding the mountain. I stepped closer, reaching out as if in a 3D theater.

Suddenly, loose stones gave way, rolling underfoot like ball bearings. Thrown off-balance, I lurched forward, grasping for a bush or tree--anything to break my fall.

With nothing in reach, I wobbled sideways on the ledge, balancing my arms like a tightrope walker, then teetered as my toes tipped over the edge. Adrenaline spiked when more pebbles slipped beneath my shoes, ricocheting off stony outcrops far below. I stumbled, and time braked to a slow-motion video. As I lost my footing, I shrieked, the sound cutting through the mountain’s hush.

Birds took flight, their cries and flapping wings resonating against the hollow echo.

Are these the last sounds I’ll hear?

“Hold on!” An arm reached through the swirling mists and yanked me back to solid ground. 

I breathed a silent prayer as I regained my footing. That was close, too close. Hands trembling, I wiped the perspiration from my forehead.

My rescuer’s shoulder and torso emerged from the haze first, then his face--strong jawline, tanned complexion, and a silver shock of thick hair.

Piercing blue eyes met mine--haunting, violet-blue eyes--the exact shade as the Siamese kitten’s… 

“Are you all right?” His brow puckered.

“Yes, I didn’t realize how close I was to the edge.” Still gulping air, I smiled my gratitude. “Thank you for catching me.”

“Glad I was in the right place at the right time.” He shrugged, downplaying his role.

“The fog’s so thick near the ground, it hid the drop-off.”

“Fog.” The corners of his almond-shaped eyes crinkled. “What is it but low-lying clouds? Climbing this mountain, you’re literally walking in the clouds.”

The description seemed poetic until I glanced about. Visibility was inches, maybe a foot in any direction. I reached into the thick vapor, and my fingertips vanished in wisps of saturated air. On a mountain, hidden from view…with someone I just met. Whimsy fled while I traded my fear of heights for fear of strangers. Can I trust him?

Though he’d probably saved my neck, I was wary as I appraised his sharply creased trousers and crisp, buttoned-down shirt. Impeccably groomed, he looked fortyish, had an athletic build, and stood several inches above me. I craned my neck to better see his face: A finely chiseled chin, upturned nose, and pointed, foxlike ears. Only his hooded eyes with their slight angle gave away his Asian heritage, and a phrase came to mind: Silver fox.

The mist billowed, enfolding me in its moist embrace. As its dewy tendrils wrapped me in an airy cocoon, I listened to my senses. Yes, I can trust him.

His cheekbones rose in a subtle smile. “I’m Ichiro Sato but call me Chase.”

“Ichiro…” I rolled the word over my tongue. “What’s it mean?”

“Firstborn son, it’s a popular Japanese name.”

“My name’s Ava West--”

“Notice the path on your left to Shimosha Shinseki.” A guide’s microphoned spiel signaled an advancing tour. “Inariyama is a mountain shrine, where deities coexist with nature.”

Footsteps pounding, the group descended like a flock of chittering crows in a cacophony of conversations,

I eyed the narrow trail as I stifled a groan. Nowhere to pass. I’ll get stuck behind this slow-moving crowd. “Thanks again for saving me from a bad spill.” I grimaced an apology. “Sorry to rush off, but I’m on a hard deadline.”

“For what?” His eyes widened.

“After touring the shrine, I have to dash back to my hotel to write an article.”

He tilted his head. “For a newspaper feature?”

“Online magazine, I’m the new food and travel correspondent.” Still reeling at my luck in landing the job, I tried to keep the excitement from my voice. “My first international assignment, ‘Kickin’ Around Kyoto.’ ”

“Then be sure to include tonight’s lantern festival--Yoimiya.” His eyes flickered like blue flames. “Between the thousands of red, glowing lanterns and the pounding taiko drums, this sacred mountain’s heart seems to beat.”

How poetic. “That’s exactly the kind of story the magazine wants.” Resenting my tight schedule, I swallowed a sigh. “Wish I had time.”

“The festival doesn’t start until six. You’ve got plenty of time.”

“Not really.” I glanced at my phone’s app. “Based on my pedometer, I’m only a quarter of the way up the shrine’s twelve thousand steps.”

“Make time.” A nod emphasized his words. “Grab opportunities when you find them.”

“Wish I could…” Shrill laughter drew my attention as the tour group closed in.

“How would you like to see the shrine and join tonight’s festival?”

I checked my watch. Squinting, I debated. Grab opportunities when you find them…

The approaching crowd’s din increased the sense of urgency.

“I know a shortcut.” His chin high, he challenged me with an impudent smile, then pointed to a vertical path behind a minor shrine.

Should I follow him? Conventional wisdom shook its head no, while instinct whispered go.

“It’s steep but faster than the main trail.” His eyes danced. “And we’ll avoid the tour groups…”

His offer tempting, I gauged the stairs’ sharp angle of ascent. “But heights make me dizzy.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll catch you if you stumble.” He gestured to the narrow stairway, palm up. “Ladies first.”

I sucked in my breath, gathering courage, then started the climb. Each step a test of will, I became lightheaded from hyperventilating.

“Did you know Fushimi Inari was established in 711?”

“That long ago?” Hiking single file, I spoke over my shoulder, focusing on his voice rather than the rising elevation. His conversation engaged me as I mounted the seemingly endless series of steps, and my panic gradually subsided.

When the path finally merged with the main route, I glanced behind at the distance we had covered and staggered. Then steadying myself against a boulder, I shot him a grateful smile. He kept me so distracted during the climb, I forgot my fears.

He pointed to the double rows of pillars flanking the trail. “Those are torii--traditional Japanese gates.” 

“Gates?” I searched the immense columns for swinging doors or turnstiles but saw nothing that resembled hinged gates.

“See the crosspieces at the tops, connecting the posts? These gates separate the secular from the sacred.”

I nodded as I studied the sunlight and shadows’ interplay on the scarlet-red pillars. “They’re such a vivid shade.”

“It’s called shuiro, the color of the sun.”

“Of course, Japan’s the Land of the Rising Sun.” Thumping my palm against my forehead, I studied the statues beside the pillars. “And why are these stone foxes here?”

“Ah…” He peered into my face as if assessing me. “They’re kitsune, messengers of the Shinto god Inari.”

“Foxes? Why?”

“In nature, foxes are cunning animals, but building on the idea that kitsune are envoys, they assist in all areas of life--health, happiness, love…and especially wealth.”

The effect unnerving, his relentless gaze invaded my space, my senses.

“Wouldn’t you want a clever fox on your side in the precarious world of business?”

I squinted at his non sequitur. “What do foxes have to do with business?”

“Rice was the original measure of wealth, and Inari was the goddess of rice harvests. Since foxes kept away the field mice, they protected the crops. But over time, Inari became the deity of prosperity, whether from rice or any other source, and foxes evolved into agents and guardians.”

Hiding a smile, I turned toward the nearest statue and ran my fingers over its weathered surface.

Perched on a pedestal, the fox sculpture stared back, blindly watching, and mutely listening.

“Farmers and merchants have revered Inari for centuries, but now, even multinational companies pay tribute.” He nodded toward the closely spaced red pillars. “Not just individual contributions, but corporate gifts built this shrine’s ten thousand torii. Each was donated in appreciation of an answered prayer.”

I stared at the immense gates rising above the trail like an arch of swords. So compactly constructed, the columns formed a meandering tunnel.

I slid my fingers along a pillar’s smooth surface. “Interesting how the ancient and modern coexist here.”

A gray mist gradually enclosed us, hiding the mid-afternoon sun. The sky became so dark that, as we navigated the densely erected gates, we seemed to enter an underpass.

Outside the path, a twilight hush came over the birds, and the underbrush rustled.

I jerked. “What was that?”

“Cats. Hundreds of stray cats inhabit these woods.” His eyes glimmered in an otherwise expressionless face.

His reaction piqued my interest. “Are you fond of cats?”

“Some say they’re Inari’s liaisons”--he shrugged--“fox spirits in disguise.”

A smile tickling my lips, I waited for his joke’s punch line.

But except for a subtle curl to his lip, his expression remained impassive. “The Japanese believe cats are lucky. Think of the maneki-neko--” 

“The what?” 

“You’ve seen those cat statues in restaurants.” He lifted his hand, demonstrating.

“Yes.” I nodded. “But sometimes they raise their left paw, and other times their right. Does it matter which?”

“The left paw attracts customers, while the right invites good luck.” He paused, seeming to scrutinize me. “But seeing a cat at a shrine--especially if it approaches you--that’s auspicious.”

“Are you serious?” I recalled the stray kitten earlier that morning but doubted any mystical connection.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I can accept the foxes’ symbolism as tradition, but cats being auspicious?” I dismissed the idea with a laugh. “That’s just superstition.”

He gave a knowing grin as if he were right but chose not to argue. Then turning wordlessly, he resumed the steep trail. 

Breathless from the ascent, I welcomed the conversational lull as I struggled to keep up with his pace. I studied the back of his head, contrasting his silver hair with his speed and agility. What is he, part goat--the legendary Pan?

The higher we climbed, the fewer the torii, letting more of the mountain’s natural beauty show through. A fresh breeze sighed through the trees, providing background music, while birds called and twittered from the boughs, adding countermelodies. 

Instead of painted wooden torii, ancient stone columns rose as we approached the mountaintop.

At the summit, Chase swept his arm across the vista. “This is Ichinomine, the highest peak of Inariyama. People have worshipped here for thirteen hundred years.” 

His husky voice grabbed my attention.

He stared over the cliff’s steep slope as if peering into the past. Then turning, he locked his gaze onto mine. “You could be her twin…”

“Whose?” I tried to look away, but his piercing stare held me captive.

“With your pixie smile and jade-green eyes, you remind me of someone I once knew. No! More than remind, you could be her double…her reincarnation.”

Is that why he stares?

“This was Yua’s favorite place…” His voice broke. Clearing his throat, he started again. “Happiness is fleeting. Like the tides’ ebb and flow, it comes and goes. People come and go.” Looking past me, he snickered. “Their paths cross briefly, each pausing on their separate ways, but too soon they…leave.” He spoke in a ragged whisper. “Only the mountain remains.”

Then as if he pulled on a mask, he assumed his earlier composure, speaking with a tour guide’s detachment. “In a Shinto shrine, the connection between landscape and religion is powerful. A sacred mountain--”

“Wait…wait.” Puzzled by his abrupt shifts, I waved my hands to stop him. Then I shielded my eyes, squinting against the sun’s diffused glare. “What happened here that upset you?”

His shoulders hunching, he seemed old, worn out. He glanced over the escarpment, his chest rising and falling in a silent sigh. “This is where my fiancée…left me.”

Jilted. Ditched. He knows what it is to be discarded. Inhaling his sense of abandonment, I remembered rejection’s sting. “Sorry. I’ve been there myself.” A derisive snort escaped. “Someone once broke up with me on my birthday.”

He slowly shook his head while he stared, his eyes glazing.

What’s he thinking? As the pause lengthened, I became uneasy. “You said this mountain is sacred…?”

“Yes.” He blinked. Then like straightening his tie or cuffs, he assumed an inscrutable expression before pointing to an inscribed rock. “This boulder is the main shrine’s holy of holies. People worshipped here long before they built toriis to Inari. Times change, yet believers still make pilgrimages to this mountain peak to be spiritually revitalized.”

I stared at the massive stone, sensing a connection. Gradually, an indefinable energy infused me. “Is this what attracts pilgrims?”

“It’s a power spot--a place to recharge with the earth’s energy. Constant and permanent, mountains are a spiritual focus--a universal symbol for approaching the heavens.” He tilted his head, as if considering me. “For many, climbing Mount Inari represents overcoming challenges.”

Challenges…I swallowed hard, as my fear of heights rose in my throat like acid reflux, burning and sour.

“But you know this already.” He stared into my eyes. “Height has always frightened you.”

“Not always--only since I was three…” When my aunt dangled me over a balcony, threatening to drop me. My childhood memory was so vivid, I took a deep breath to dispel it.

“But the thought of being dropped scared you--scarred you.”

About to agree, I woke from my reverie. “How’d you know that? How could you possibly have known that?” Can he see what I’m thinking? I felt violated, as if he’d eavesdropped and fingered through my unguarded thoughts.

Then common sense took hold. He can’t read my mind. He’s just guessing.

“Your fear was so palpable” --he sniffed--“I could smell it.”

Are my thoughts so transparent? “Sure, when I nearly fell--”

“No, before you started up the mountain, when you petted the cat this morning.” His stare penetrated.

How did he know? Was he following me? His words unsettling, I recalled the feral kitten as it rubbed against my legs…

Unable to resist the Siamese kitten’s crossed blue eyes and silver-gray coat, I’d knelt to stroke its silky fur, but the chatter of an advancing tour group was my cue to move on. 

“Sorry, kitty. Got to go.” I began the climb despite my fear of heights, rushing along the paths because of the tight schedule and only glimpsing the torii or fox statues.

The labyrinth of trails deviated and intertwined through lesser shrines and wooded areas. Other times, it teetered along steep cliffs with dizzying drop-offs.

But unable to read Japanese kanji signs, I missed turns and wasted time by having to backtrack. Then to make up for lost time, I’d scrambled over the uneven stones and rushed through the fog until I lost my balance and…

Chase caught me…or was he stalking me? Alarmed by the idea, I about-faced, and started back solo.

“What was that meme I saw?” His voice loud, he called after me. “Foxes are just cat software running on dog hardware, or was it the other way around? Dog software running on cat hardware? Either way, like I said, cats are messengers.”

“You said cats were auspicious.” Leery, I spun around. “Foxes were messengers.”

“But cats can be foxes in disguise.” Arms clasped behind his back, he casually joined me, apparently unaware of any tension. “Like I said, Mount Inari symbolizes rising to a challenge…” He shrugged. “Ichi-go ichi-e.”

“Which means?”

“One time, one meeting.” His face relaxing, he gave a slight bow. “A chance encounter can alter your life’s path.”

Curious, I tried to read his impassive eyes. “How?”

“Because of its branching power, an unplanned meeting can trigger a chain of events that shifts the course of your life…if you allow it.”

“You mean destiny, fate.” The idea captured my imagination. Is it possible?

MONDAY NIGHT

My cell phone rang as I reached the hotel room. 

“When do you get into Tokyo?” My old college roommate’s voice needed no identification.

“I’m taking the early bullet train, so just past noon.”

“Great, we’ll catch up over lunch.” Mia paused. “How long has it been?”

“Two years.” I laughed. “Should be a long lunch.”

“Incidentally…” The smile left her voice. “Rafe’s in town.”

My mind drifted to the last time I’d seen him--just after he returned from Vegas.

“Did you hear about his wife’s freak acci--”

“Sorry, don’t mean to interrupt, but I’ve got a hard deadline tonight.” Uncomfortable discussing Rafe, I begged off. “Talk tomorrow?”

****

I emailed the Kyoto article as the clock ticked eleven. Made the deadline. Exhausted, I turned off the laptop, leaned back, and eyed the bed’s inviting pillows. Though tempted to sleep first and pack in the morning, I shook my head. Don’t put off…

I packed, showered, set the alarm, and as a backup, dialed the front desk for a wake-up call. At midnight, I nestled between the bamboo sheets, closed my eyes, and waited for sleep. Instead, memories haunted me…

Three days after my birthday, Rafe appeared at my door, haggard, hung over, and unshaven. His eyes bloodshot, he reeked of alcohol.

I cracked the door but left the chain bolted.

“Hey.” He wore a penitent smile and held up his hand in a friendly wave.

“What do you want?” Arms crossed, I dug my nails into my biceps.

“I…uhm”--he chewed his lip--“guess I owe you an apology.”

“Yeah, guess you do.”

He glanced at his shoes. Twice he opened his mouth to speak but instead cleared his throat.

“If you have something to say, spit it out.” I was in no mood for games. “If not, get out.”

He stiffened. “Sorry about your birthday. Something came up--”

“Something alwayscomes up.” I took a deep breath. “You always have some justification, some excuse, but the truth is, you don’t care about anyone but yourself. Everything’s always about you--”

“I got married.”

“So, don’t expect me to--What?”

****

TOKYO--TUESDAY--Though early afternoon when my cab stopped in front of Mia’s high-rise, a forest of vertical neon signs already blazed in Kabukicho’s shady canyons. A-frame sandwich boards lined the sidewalk, displaying colorful graphics and Japanese kanjifonts. 

But except for numbers and an occasional English word, I couldn’t read the signage. I double-checked the address on the business card, comparing it to the building’s number, then rolled my suitcase to the vestibule door and rang Mia’s intercom.

“You made good time. Take the elevator--unless you want to walk up four flights.”

As the outer door buzzed open, I entered the foyer, stepped inside the elevator, and paused before the button panel: 1, 2, 3, 5… Where’s four? I glanced at Mia’s business card a second time--5F--and pressed five.

She met me at the elevator with a warm hug. “Hey, Girl, good to see you.”

“Thought you said four flights up. There’s no fourth floor.”

Mia chuckled. “Yeah, like our ‘lucky’ thirteenth floor, Japanese buildings usually skip from the third to the fifth floor.”

“Why?”

“Because four sounds like the word for death. Worse, my apartment number is 59, actually 49--shijuuku, which means suffer to death--and that’s why I got a break on the lease.” She snickered. “Neighbors said this place was empty for years because it was unlucky. Only a kureijīamerikan--crazy American--would live here.” Grabbing the suitcase, Mia ushered me inside. “Welcome to my 2LDK--two bedrooms, living, dining, and kitchen areas--home sweet home.”

I took in what would be an efficiency apartment in Manhattan.

A queen bed took center stage with a narrow nightstand on one side. On the other, a small table stood in front of a window wall in a breakfast niche, while a large television angled toward the bed from the nook’s opposite end.

An adjoining alcove contained a single bed, desk, and built-in drawers, while a breakfast bar with three stools divided the kitchenette from the living space. The bathroom was petite but ultra-modern with a porcelain tiled shower, frosted glass sink, and a gadget-ridden toilet and bidet. Though compact, the apartment was bright, chic, and immaculate.

“Looks contemporary and…cozy.”

“Codeword for cramped.” Mia laughed. “Believe it or not, this place is luxurious by Tokyo standards. Like I said, if it weren’t for the superstition surrounding it, I never could’ve afforded it.” She opened the closet’s sliding door. “Unpack, then let’s get lunch.”

Ten minutes later, we walked along Kabukicho’s streets, rubbing shoulders amid colliding streams of humanity.

“I knew Tokyo was crowded, but I wasn’t prepared for this crush.” As the traffic light changed, I squeezed through the nearly solid wall of pedestrians. “It’s like playing football--our team versus theirs as we cross the street to the ‘end zone.’ ”

“You get used to it.” Mia shrugged. “Kabukicho is part of Shinjuku, which claims boasting rights of the world’s busiest train station. Three and a half million people funnel through these streets every day. And Shinjuku is just one of the city’s twenty-three wards. With over thirty-seven million people, Tokyo’s the largest city in the world.”

“And I thought New York was overcrowded at eight million.” I gave a low whistle before glancing at the kanji signs’ smattering of English: Club Private, Secret, Joysound, and Feel Tokyo. Then one sandwich board caught my eye. “Gorilla?”

“Look at the end of the street.” Grinning, Mia pointed.

An animatronic Godzilla head peered over a building, its huge neon teeth, enormous claws, and red eyes glowing brightly, even in the afternoon.

“I had no idea Godzilla was real.”

“Thought you’d get a chuckle and”--Mia gritted her teeth while she opened a restaurant’s door--“a surprise. Hope you like it.”

“Sure, Godzilla’s a hoot.” As I entered the dimly lit eatery, my eyes took a moment to adjust. 

Then a familiar figure emerged from the shadows.

The air went out of me like a slashed tire. “What’s he doing here?”

The two years since last seeing Rafe melted like shaved ice on a July sidewalk. My first impulse was to turn tail, but a morbid fascination froze me in place. Unable to keep from staring, I compared the man before me to the mental image I carried.

A touch of gray at his temples, he sported a shorter haircut. His cheeks fuller, he had lost his youthful lankiness to a brawnier frame, but his hazel eyes were riveting. Neither arrogant, nor cynical, they shone with a gentle sincerity I did not recall. 

I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, a more mature Rafe reached for my hand.

“How good to see you again.” Even the tone of his voice was warm and genuine. “Has it really been two years?”

“Rafe?” I questioned my memory as he took my fingertips in his.

“I hope you don’t mind, but when Mia mentioned you were visiting, I invited myself along and asked her to keep it a surprise.”

I shot my hostess a dirty look.

“Don’t blame Mia.” He let go of my hand. “It was entirely my fault.”

He’s accepting responsibility…? I did a double take. “I couldn’t have heard right. You’re taking the blame?”

“I can understand your skepticism.” His smile faded as his shoulders slumped. “But so much has changed since--”

“Kochira e dōzo.” A waiter motioned toward a table.

“After you.” Rafe politely stepped aside.

I exchanged a look with Mia. 

After the waiter took our orders, Rafe turned toward me. “I suppose you’ve heard”--he swallowed--“my wife died in a freak fall.”

“Mia mentioned an accident involving your wi….” I swallowed the word, unable to voice it, then kicked myself. Grow up. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” His voice shaky, he glanced at the table as he cleared his throat. When he raised his head, his eyes glistened.

Crocodile tears? Teetering between pity and doubt, I busied myself with the table’s tiny flower vase rather than meet his gaze. “How did you end up in Tokyo?”

“I needed a change, so I sold my car, put everything in storage, and accepted a position here.”

“Doing what?” I glanced up.

“Missionary work--”

“You’re a missionary?”

“And I teach ESL, which is where Mia and I reconnected.” The two shared a smile. “I was glad to see a familiar face so far from home.”

Mia nodded. “We taught at the same language school before I took the hostess job.”

“Despite my best arguments, I might add.” Rafe made a humming sound in his throat. 

“Counting gifts and tips, hostessing nearly triples what I made teaching, and it leaves time for research.” Mia shrugged. “Besides, it’s easy money.”

“But dangerous, especially with the Yakuza…” As the pause lengthened, he pressed his lips together as if wanting to say more but deciding against it.

I shook my head. “Somehow, I can’t picture you a man of God.”

“God chooses those who’re weak.” His smile faded into a nostalgic gaze. “Experience changes us--if we recognize the need to change.”

“By leaving everything behind, you’ve certainly changed your way of life.” And your image--but could a person’s character change in two years? 

Rather than meet his direct stare, I instead assessed him from nose to toes, looking for the self-centered chameleon I recalled. His clothes lacked starched collars, sharp creases, and name brands. Instead, he seemed to dress for comfort--a stretched polo shirt over loose-fitting, khaki pants.

“I couldn’t change the situation, so I changed myself.”

What angle is he playing now? I studied his face. Are these his true colors or just another camouflage?

Mia’s phone rang, and she glanced at the number before answering. “Moshi-moshi.” Sorry, she mouthed, turning away as if for privacy. “Hai.” After a few moments of listening, she nodded. “Hai, five o’clock. See you then.” She made a note in her phone’s app, then turned back. “Sorry, a client.”

“Doing dohan?” Rafe arched his brow. “Meeting men is dangerous.”

“Atsuki’s a sweetie. Don’t worry about him--or me.” Mia stiffened. 

“Don’t forget the British hostess who was abducted and killed--”

“Rafe, that happened twenty years ago.” She gave a weary sigh. “Let it go.”

“What does ‘doing dohan’ mean?” Though curious, I was more interested in ending their battle of wills.

“Accepting dinner dates is part of my job--”

“You mean accepting paid dinner dates.”

“Quit being such a purist, Rafe.” Mia rolled her eyes. “It’s strictly business, plus I eat at the best restaurants every night.” She chuckled. “Frankly, I consider it a perk.”

“And what do these ‘gentlemen’ expect for their high-end dinners?” His narrowed eyes were critical.

“Nothing but a charming dinner partner while they practice their English.” Crossing her arms, she tapped her foot.

“So, Rafe”--I leaned in front of her, running interference--“what does your job entail?”

“Also teaching English, but to language students”--his lip curled as he glanced at Mia--“not Yakuza hitmen.”

“Why do you insist Atsuki’s Yakuza?” She peered around me to meet Rafe’s gaze.

“Have you seen his tattoos when he loosens his tie, and his shirt falls open?”

“What’s that prove?” Mia huffed.

“Red koi fish and dragons?” Shaking his head, Rafe sniffed. “He’s Yakuza. Be careful.”

“He’s not--”

“What’s Yakuza?” I looked from face to face.

“The Japanese mafia.” Rafe’s nose wrinkled. “Their tattoos identify them.”

“All kinds of people get tats”--Mia scowled--“and for just as many reasons.”

The waiter brought their food, interrupting the discussion.

“Shall we pray?” Rafe folded his hands as he bowed his head.

Incredulous, I caught Mia’s gaze. What?

****

As we left the restaurant, a metallic screech like a thousand fingernails on a chalkboard halted all conversation.

Looking about for a car wreck, I finally glanced up. 

High atop a building was Godzilla, peering over Tokyo like a low-budget, fifties’ sci-fi monster.

Despite the kitsch, the image tickled my imagination as I compared its comic-book glowing eyes and claws to the surrounding ultra-sleek, uber-modern architecture. Disbelief suspended, I thought of Chase’s stories of half-human, half-fox kitsune and chuckled at the notion. If shapeshifters or ancient behemoths exist, Tokyo is where I’d picture them. 

“Inventive, isn’t it?” Rafe leaned close as he nodded toward the reptile.

“What? Oh!” His words brought back the present. “Godzilla definitely opens the mind to flights of fancy.”

“That animatronic head is forty feet tall--life-size for the original hundred and sixty-five-foot sea monster--roughly sixteen-stories high.”

“Quirky is the word”--I glanced at the monster again--“especially his metallic roar.” When I looked back, Rafe was studying my face.

“What are you doing while Mia’s on her dinner date?”

Is he asking me out? I straightened my shoulders. He’s got some nerve. “I…I don’t know.” Caught off guard, I looked to my hostess for an alibi. “Mia…?”

“To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it.” Wincing, she oozed an apology.

“Why don’t I show you Shinjuku’s sights?” He didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe start at the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building? Its observation deck on the forty-fifth floor has the best views--”

“A skyscraper?” The thought of peering from forty-five stories above suddenly made me queasy, and I breathed deeply, trying not to lose my lunch.

“Yup, one of the tallest in Tokyo…” Stopping mid-sentence, he smacked his forehead. “Sorry, I forgot about your acrophobia.”

“Actually, it’s a good idea.” Forcing myself to look down might desensitize me. “That’s why I’m here--to see Tokyo for the travel article.” Not that I want to go out with him, but maybe he can walk me through my fears--like Chase helped me hike Kyoto.

“Are you sure?” A deep crease forming between his eyes, he looked as concerned as he sounded.

“Yes.” Surprised by his genuineness, I did a double take. Has he changed?