a few meters from the road, it had suffered from the effects of periodic earthquake-induced landslides which tumbled rocks and mud onto its structure. Parts of the inn had to be repaired every ten or fifteen years.
The inn had its heyday during the first few years of the twentieth century. Located at a strategic point in a mountain pass, it originally serviced walking merchants and peddlers on their way through the territory.
Automobiles damaged business—there were few reasons to stop at that location. The later bussing of tour groups virtually destroyed any thoughts of growth or prosperity. There was no place to park buses, and there was nothing in the area scenic enough to attract tourists. The inn now attracted only locals who came for sentimental reasons, or because it was the only public facility in the general neighborhood. Very few concessions had been made to "modern" amenities.
It did have one thing, however, and that one thing was a godsend to Max's group. It also provided Max with the opportunity to experience something one usually only hears about.
At the rear of the building, connected to the structure and covered by relatively new roofing of plexiglass, was a natural hot-spring bath. It may be stretching things to call the bath a lifesaver, but it sure changed an intolerable situation into something approaching sensual ecstasy.
The pregnant secretary was led to the bath first, followed immediately by Mr. Kitagawa. The blue girl, who had been wearing the flimsy blouse and mini-skirt, had to be carried to the bath. Serious Hirose and Max, the shiverers, joined the next group of a half-dozen people. Within fifteen minutes, all twenty-two males and eighteen females were shoulder-to-shoulder in the hot water. Some wore underwear, some did not.
Max has been wrong before, and will probably be wrong again. Once he had been unable to imagine "an innocent society of folks romping together in rice paddies by day and splashing together in communal baths by night." A lot of laughs had been generated by Max's bumbling into the ladies' bath at a hot-spring resort during the "company trouble" of a year ago.
But lounging in the heat and steam of a countryside bath, rain banging against the plexiglass roof, sensations gradually returning to the extremities, and the blessings of heat penetrating to flesh and bones, Max entered, albeit temporarily, a different and new dimension. Concentration on private pleasures in public circumstances is an accommodation the Japanese have mastered.
"Feels good," stated the tea girl from Keio University, Max's companion on his immediate left.
"Yes, it does," replied Max, eyes closed and a hot towel on his head.
It will never be the same.
The Answer
AN INTERESTING ANAMOLY exists in Japan regarding answers. There aren't any. And to understand this, one must separate "answers" as we know them from statistics.
We are all aware that statistics abound in Dai Nippon. An intriguing exercise in this regard is spending an evening with Japanophiles quoting numbers. ("Do you realize that at this precise moment, 31.84% of all Japanese are sick to their stomachs?" Or, "Did you know that 4,421,309 Japanese traveled abroad during Golden Week, but only 4,421, 303 came back?")
Virtually all government agencies publish statistics on the behavior of the citizenry within the scope of their regulatory concerns. One of the more amazing set of numbers— amazing in the sense of conceptualizing the survey, rather than in terms of practical application—is the study regarding how early people arrive on train platforms to catch the Shinkansen (Bullet Train). People in Osaka apparently arrive at the station to catch the Bullet Train to Tokyo a full 60 seconds earlier than people arrive at Tokyo Station to catch the train in the other direction! I mean, it's difficult to take this information standing up.
For those who have wondered, only 68 % of the people visiting post offices each day are concerned with mailing something. The remainder are fiddling with their savings accounts, or gossiping.
Of perhaps more relevance is the study which indicates that men spend forty-five seconds cleansing their genitals prior to entering a public bath, whereas women spend less than twenty seconds on the same chore. Extraordinary.
One of the effects of statistically quantifying behavior is demonstrated by the apparent ease of analysis of Japan by outsiders. A scholar, with these numbers displayed before him, can sit in Greenwich, Connecticut (assuming scholarship and Greenwich, Connecticut, are not terms in mutual contradiction), and "figure out" how things work in Japan.
Or can he? While each of us deals in the general sense with Japan as a statistical whole, our day-to-day existence involves individuals doing specific things. With reference to the cleansing of genitals, for example, Max's "tiny stool companion" during his first trip to a Japanese bath was Watanabe-san of the company's General Affairs Department. Watanabe easily spent five minutes, before he entered the bath, at the genital stage, explaining with a comment as specific as it was inane, that he "didn't want to catch disease." Scholars studying mere statistics will miss these little touches.
What happens, when survey numbers in Japan proliferate, is that trends uncovered by the studies become "officially confirmed." The "answers" are already there—in a report somewhere—and individual responsibility for specific replies is obviated.
In this regard, one can imagine Japan as being a vast and integrated baseball team. Everyone knows that people batting .350 are better than people hitting .250. It's as clear as a bell. What is frequently overlooked, however, is the fact that a .350 batter may strike out six out of ten times at the plate. Last year's statistically best pitcher (Kitabeppu) gave up twenty-one home runs. Watanabe-san laboriously scrubs his private bits for more than forty-five seconds.
Max Danger's first real attempt to obtain an answer in Japan had to do with trying to hire somebody. The open job was in the Investment Department, and Max wanted someone with experience. Notwithstanding the fact that every third foreign firm in Tokyo is looking for the same "money man," Max had an advantage because his company enjoyed an acceptable reputation. (In 1985, 46.9% of all university graduates would consider Max's company positively, if they were to work for a foreign firm.)
The problem, of course, is that Max wanted an experienced man. This meant trying to hire one away from another company. (Some 85 % of all Japanese salarymen are committed for life—or age 58—to the company of their choice after graduation.)
Max settled on one candidate particularly and invited him to lunch. (Japanese salarymen spend an average of forty-seven minutes at lunch.) They ordered steaks. (But 42% of all salarymen regularly eat curried rice at lunch.) Forty-six minutes into the meal, the salaryman automatically began looking at his watch.
Max made his pitch. Challenge, security, money, future, prestige, money, professional responsibility, money, international travel, and money were the keystones. Max entered, with this guy, a level of remuneration that apples to apples exceeded his own. "And we employ," Max added, "people to age sixty." (Only 14% of all major corporations employ people to age sixty.)
The candidate begged for time to make the decision. Fair enough. His commitment, however, could not be made until December. (75% of all resignations occur in June or December—bonus seasons.) His decision would have to be discussed with his wife's parents. (Over 50% of arranged marriages take the prospective husband's employment into account.)
Max kept the pressure on. He sent the candidate annual reports, invited his kids to a baseball game at Korakuen, remembered his wife's birthday with fresh Hokkaido salmon, and sent him a newspaper clipping reporting that only 20% of Japan's employees consider themselves to be "salarymen."
On December 21, five months after the initial contact, the candidate accepted the job. (It was only six months after Max had asked the Japanese directors of his company if they could afford a new investments man. They hadn't answered yet.)
Max and the investments man are now skipping arm-in-arm down the yellow brick