el.angeleyes-第59部分

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he　park's　lone　tree；　a　cryptomeria　that　leaned　far　to　its　right；　as　if　caught　in　a　high　wind。
　''I　particularly　enjoy　this　spot；''　Fukuda　said；　as　if　to　himself。　〃Often；　I　find　the　grid　of　the　city　overly　grim；　like　staring　at　a　detailed　blueprint　for　far　too　long。　Its　beauty　is　leached　away　by　familiarity。　Then　I　e　here；　and　look　at　this　cryptomeria。〃
　〃Poor　tree；〃　Honno　said。　〃It　looks　as　if　the　hand　of　God　has　mauled　it。〃
　〃On　the　contrary；〃　Fukuda　said；　〃it　seems　to　me　that　the　cryptomeria's　beauty　is　transfigured；　made　awesome　by　its　pain。　Look。　The　stark　contrast　of　its　bark　and　needles　to　the　backdrop　of　steel　and　glass　and　neon；　the　twisting　of　its　trunk　arcs　against　the　rectangles　of　the　buildings。　Whether　nature　or　man　is　responsible　for　the　tree's　form；　no　one　can　say。〃
　And　then　Honno　understood　what　Fukuda　meant。　It　did　not　matter　which　was　responsible　for　the　tree's　form。　Nature　and　man　were　here　bee　one。　This　was　the　purpose　of　the　cryptomeria；　as　if　by　its　tortured　appearance　it　could　bring　meaning　out　of　the　inchoate　meaninglessness　of　the　city。
　〃Yes；〃　Honno　said。　〃I　believe　I；　too；　would　enjoy　ing　back　here　from　time　to　time。''
　It　was　nearly　three　A。M。　Their　last　stop　was　a　bunkerlike　building　in　Shimabashi。　It　was　made　of　ferroconcrete　and　was　absolutely　featureless；　an　ultramodern　edifice　set　off　by　the　older　buildings　that　surrounded　it。
　Inside　was　a　world　of　semidarkness；　similar　to　what　one　found　in　the　heart　of　a　forest。　〃You　may　change　in　there；〃　Fukuda　said；　indicating　a　door。
　Honno　went　through；　stripped；　bathed；　clothed　herself　in　a　fresh　white　gi；　the　cotton　divided　skirt；　the　loose　overblouse　of　the　martial　arts　discipline。　She　was　alone　in　the　dojo　for　several　minutes。　It　was　very　different　from　the　one　she　worked　in　with　Big　Ezoe　at　his　club　in　the　Ginza。　This　space　was　darker；　far　more　forbidding。　She　felt　as　if　she　were　deep　in　the　castle　keep　of　the　Shogun；　Ieyasu　Tokugawa。
　Fukuda　soon　appeared。　He　was　wearing　a　protective　wire…mesh　mask　and　carrying　two　bokken；　the　traditional　wooden　swords　used　in　kenjutsu　practice　instead　of　the　steel　katana。　He　also　carried　another　mask。
　〃How　are　your　swordfighting　skills；　Mrs。　Kansei？〃　Fukuda　asked　as　he　threw　her　a　bokken　and　the　mask　and　began　his　advance；　all　in　one　movement。
　Honno　did　not　even　have　time　to　answer　him。　He　took　her　through　the　entire　range　of　attack　and　parry　strategies；　from　firecut　to　fallen　leaves；　from　sea…land　change　to　crossing　at　the　ford。　Honno　did　her　best　to　respond；　but　she　was　unused　to　being　up　all　night；　and　this；　bined　with　the　shocks　she　had　received　while　walking　Tokyo's　seamy　underbelly；　caused　her　focus　to　wander；　and　consequently　made　this　an　inauspicious　time　to　work　on　her　kenjutsu。
　However；　as　she　well　knew；　one　could　rarely　choose　the　time　of　battle；　and　so　one　needed　to　concentrate　within　and　through　every　conceivable　type　of　situation。　So　she　gathered　herself；　bore　down　a　little　harder　with　her　mind　and　with　her　body。
　And　from　this　determination；　she　discovered　something　interesting：　Fukuda　was　toying　with　her。　She　could　sense　it　now　that　she　was　concentrating；　in　the　laziness　of　his　parries；　in　the　haphazard　manner　with　which　he　chose　to　move　from　strategy　to　strategy。
　There　was；　as　a　foundation　of　Honno's　curriculum　in　kenjutsu；　the　necessity　to　unlock　the　secret　of　your　opponent's　strategy。　With　that　knowledge；　one　divined　weaknesses　as　well　as　strengths。　Now　one's　own　strategy　was　quickly　formed：　a　series　of　attacks　and　parries；　building　in　a　kind　of　crescendo；　to　weaken　the　opponent　bit　by　bit；　to　strip　him　of　his　defenses；　and　then　to　attack　with　the　one；　swift　fatal　strike。
　What　was　Fukuda's　strategy？　His　haphazardness　made　his　intentions　impossible　to　fathom。　But　the　real　question　was；　was　he　merely　sloppy　or　was　he　being　devious？　Was　he　hiding　his　strategy　or　did　he；　in　fact；　have　none？
　Honno's　kenjutsu　sensei　had　told　her　that　it　was　far　better　to　overestimate　an　opponent　than　to　underestimate　him。　With　this　in　mind；　Honno　kept　her　concentration　strong　and　slowly　expanded　her　wa。
　She　did　not　seek　in　any　overt　way　to　take　control　of　the　match。　This；　she　suspected；　was　just　what　Fukuda　wanted　her　to　do；　and　in　being　careless；　to　fall　into　a　trap　he　had　tying　in　wait　for　her。　She　had　not　forgotten　me　lesson　learned　in　her　aikido　bout　with　Big　Ezoe；　and　she　was　determined　not　to　repeat　her　mistake。
　To　the　untrained　eye　nothing　appeared　to　have　altered　in　the　match。　Fukuda　was　still　dictating　the　random　flow　of　strategies。　But　the　slow　expansion　of　Honno's　wa　was　making　its　presence　felt。　She　attacked　with　more　strength；　parried　with　greater　swiftness；　counterattacked　with　more　terror。　Slowly；　she　was　moving　the　field　of　battle　across　the　tatami　mats　of　the　dojo；　until　Fukuda　was　nearly　backed　up　against　the　edge　of　the　battlefield。　To　step　outside　the　perimeter　onto　the　polished　wooden　floor　would　mean　defeat。
　Now　Honno　expanded　her　wa　to　its　fullest　and；　as　she　did　so；　her　body　went　limp。　The　bokken　dropped　from　her　hands；　and　as　Fukuda's　wooden　sword　slashed　downward　at　her　head；　she　reached　up；　caught　it　between　the　palms　of　her　hands。
　Fukuda　immediately　stopped；　bowed　to　Honno。　〃Big　Ezoe　was　indeed　correct　about　your　warrior's　spirit。〃
　〃But　I　am　a　woman；〃　Honno　said。　〃And　history　records　so　few　women　warriors。''
　Fukuda　took　off　the　protective　mask；　and　Honno　gaped　at　the　face　beneath。　〃Is　that　you？〃　Honno　whispered；　ing　closer。　〃The　real　you？　〃
　The　face　that；　without　lipstick；　behind　a　pair　of　man's　sun…glasses；　had　seemed　so　handsomely　masculine；　had　now　been　transformed　into　a　paradigm　of　feminine　beauty。　And　in　that　transformation　Honno　saw　the　falseness　in　the　concepts　of　''handsome''　and　''beautiful〃　with　which　she　had　been　brought　up。　She　saw　only　the　truth　of　the　reality　that　Fukuda　had　brought　home　to　her：　perception　of　the　world；　and　how　it　was　constructed；　was　nothing　more　than　a　spiderweb　of　lessons　absorbed　with　your　mother's　milk。
　〃I；　too；　am　a　woman；　Mrs。　Kansei；〃　Fukuda　said。　〃I　am　sensei　in　sixteen　separate　martial　arts。〃　Her　dark　eyes　shone；　not　with　pride；　but　in　reflection　of　the　revelation　she　recognized　illuminating　Honno's　face。　〃I　have　defeated　more　men　than　I　can　count　in　the　kind　of　kenjutsu　match　we　have　just　pleted。　I　urge　you　to　believe　me　when　I　tell　you　that　the　warrior　spirit　resides　in　us　both。〃
　Now　they　left　the　dojo；　their　field　of　battle；　their　place　of　ing　together；　and　they　showered　together；　dressed　together；　and　went　back　out　into　the　waning　night。　It　was　close　to　five　A。M。；　and　Honno　wondered　what　they　were　going　to　do　until　six；　when　she　was　to　meet　Big　Ezoe　at　his　Ginza　club。
　She　soon　had　her　answer。　The　Mercedes　glided　back　toward　the　futuristic　colossi　of　Shinjuku。　The　streets　were　emptying　even　of　the　trucks。　Their　rumbling　across　the　bridges　spanning　the　Sumida　came　like　distant　thunder；　endless；　echoing　through　the　deep　canyons　of　the　city；
　In　twenty　minutes　they　were　back　in　front　of　the　udon　parlor。　In　the　rear；　the　gambling　was　still　going　full　force；　Honno　thought　they　might　have　been　gone　five　minutes　rather　than　five　hours。　The　place　stank　of　stale　cigarette　smoke　and　staler　bodies。　The　atmosphere　of　frenzy　had　not　abated；　and　with　a　quick　contraction　of　her　stomach；　she　remembered　her　father。　How　many　nights　had　he　spent　on　his　knees　throwing　away　money　in　just　such　a　gambling　house？　More　than　there　were　trees　in　the　forests　of　Yoshino。　His　fate　had　been　death　by　obsession；　a　finding　no　coroner　could　ever　make；　but　it　was　the　truth；　nonetheless。
　The　same　shirtless　Yakuza　knelt　on　the　floor；　their　fantastic　irizumi　sheened　with　sweat；　the　same　players　pushed　their　packets　of　money　onto　the　center　of　the　low　tables。　Though　the　long　night　was　near　its　end；　the　players　were　not　weary。　On　the　contrary；　their　eyes　were　fever…bright；　their　nerves　at　hair…trigger　level。
　Though　their　victory　was　still　as　far　away　as　it　had　been　when　the　night　began；　they　saw　it　as　being　closer　than　ever。　This　was　the　dangerous　delusion　of　their　obsession；　the　one　that　always　took　them　down；　now；　soon；　or　later。　It　didn't　matter；　because　that　one　end　would　e；　inevitably；　tragically。
　Honno　focused