“Ooh, that hot water was amazing…”
Masamichi made his way through the curtains at the entrance to the large bathhouse and sighed, feeling content, fanning himself at the chest of his yukata kimono.
What the shoe-tending employee said earlier about the inn having no reservations for the day seemed to be a way to get rid of suspicious visitors (i.e., him and Shino).
There were several other guests in the large bathhouse, spending quiet time in the tiled indoor tub, the Japanese garden–style bath outside, and the cozy but authentic sauna, each in their way.
The bathhouse itself wasn’t exactly as big as a swimming pool, since the inn itself was small. However, Masamichi could stretch out his arms and legs in the tub, and it was particularly invigorating to sit in the open-air bath with a view of the well-kept garden.
I’m still warm all over. No wonder. Shino said it was a hot spring bath the ancient gods found, after all.
Either the mineral-rich hot spring water was highly effective for health, or Masamichi got carried away and spent too long soaking in the tub, or maybe it was a combination of both. His whole body felt like it was on fire, and at this rate, he would be drenched in sweat despite bathing.
He looked around to see if he could at least find a fan, to cool off.
The large space in front of the bathing room seemed to be a rest area and a place to meet. It had benches, magnificent massage chairs that could easily pass for couches, and a bar that offered soft drinks free of charge.
A chic fan without wings was placed casually in front of a bench.
Gee, they think of everything.
Feeling happy, Masamichi went to the bar where a sign read, COMPLIMENTS OF OUR INN.
His eyes lit up when he saw the offerings: detox water; water infused with fruits, herbs, and vegetables; orange juice; green tea; carbonated drinks that appeared to be a local specialty; and even popsicles.
He took a milk-flavored popsicle without hesitation, adorned with a slice of strawberry on the side, which was very pretty.
He sat at the end of the bench, working his way around the massage chairs two older women were enjoying, so he wouldn’t disturb them, enjoying the sweet, ice-cold popsicle while feeling the comforting breeze from the fan on his cheeks.
Come to think of it, this is a really high-class inn. I guess that’s why they don’t have the coffee-flavored milk you find everywhere that people could glug down.
As he had such thoughts, he cooled down internally, thanks to the popsicle, and externally via the fan, and he began feeling more and more comfortable.
Now in a better state of mind to appreciate his surroundings, Masamichi finally noticed that music was playing in the rest area.
The volume was subdued enough not to get in the way of people chatting, so he hadn’t realized it until then.
Is it Japanese music…? It sounds like the dragon flute that Shino sometimes plays. Is it gagaku—traditional court music? I think it’s the first time I’ve heard gagaku being played at a hot spring inn.
Masamichi was familiar with the typical gagaku piece called etenraku, which was often played at shrines. But the music he was now hearing was a combination of instruments like hichiriki, ryuuteki, and shou, which even an amateur like him could make out, with a completely different melody.
I don’t know that song.
He carefully used his front teeth to scrape the last of his popsicle remaining on its stick, listened to the music in a daze, and happened to overhear the exchange between the two women in the massage chairs.
“Isn’t Master Kagiroi performing?”
“Kagiroi?”
“You know, the super-hot gagaku performer everyone’s talking about.”
“Oh, a gagaku performer who’s super hot? I didn’t know there was one like that.”
“He appears on TV now and then. This is an original piece of his. I’m sure of it. I know because I bought his CD.”
“You sound like a dedicated fan.”
Masamichi listened to the lazy conversation and tuned into the music himself.
No wonder it didn’t sound familiar, if it was an original piece by a gagaku master.
Now that he’d heard a bit about it, it did sound like it had some modern elements in the tempo and melody, though that might be an amateur’s shallow assumption.
“This Kagiroi—is he that wonderful, making you want to call him master?”
“He’s fabulous. Sometimes, he dresses like a Heian nobleman, and sometimes, he wears a suit, but he’s beautiful either way, like a Kabuki actor. The music is fabulous, too. Oh, boy, I wish I could go to his concert.”
“Then go.”
“I can’t. I can’t get a ticket. The tickets sell out in an instant. My husband’s assistants have tried their best to get me a ticket, but it hasn’t worked.”
“Oh dear. How about through your husband’s business connections? He must know many people.”
“I’ve tried that, but he says it’s impossible. The guest seats sell like hotcakes, too.”
“Wow.”
“He’s totally amazing. His concerts are fainting concerts!”
“Oh my goodness.”
What the heck? Fainting concerts? Does that mean he faints? Or the audience? Either way, it’s dangerous. Fainting at a gagaku concert…? Could that really happen? It can’t be because the music is intense. This Kagiroi person must be really hot.
Masamichi had finished eating his popsicle, which made him more and more tuned in to the women’s conversation.
That was when a calm voice called out to him, “Mr. Adachi.”
“Yes?! Oh! Um.”
“Henri.”
Henri Yoshida, the manager of the inn, was standing in front of Masamichi. He was the man who had graciously welcomed him and Shino when they suddenly showed up at the inn earlier in the evening.
He had taken off his jacket and was now wearing a happi coat with the inn’s name and crest dyed into the fabric over his shirt and tie, just like that older man who handled guests’ shoes.
He was a picture-perfect example of a blend of Japanese and Western styles. The styles matched strangely naturally and created a unique atmosphere.
“Thank you for hosting us.”
Henri held out a hand to stop Masamichi from standing up on reflex.
“I hope you don’t mind me joining you,” he said as he sat beside him at a comfortable distance. “So, what do you think of our inn? Do you like it?”
Still red from the heat, Masamichi’s face turned an even darker red.
“Everything is so nice, and I feel sorry for being so out of place. I didn’t expect all the rooms to be individual units…”
“You thought at first that we were a small inn, didn’t you?” Henri asked with amusement in his eyes, and Masamichi readily agreed.
“Uh-huh. I heard it was a hidden getaway and imagined it was a place that was limited to one party of guests a night or something.”
“Yes, a hidden getaway is what we are. That’s why each guest room is an individual villa. They all have a private bath and garden, so you can stay without seeing anyone if you wish to play hide-and-seek.”
“I can see that. Our guest room is a lovely, authentic Japanese-style one-story house… I feel like I’m in an old film. If it weren’t for the TV, the bed, and the audio setup, it really would be like stepping back in time.”
Henri agreed, looking a little regretful.
“That it is. The beds are important, since we have guests with disabilities, but we really wanted to do without the TV, audio set, and Wi-Fi. But that would be an inconvenience to our guests. Japanese people aren’t good at relaxing and doing nothing. It stresses them out to be at loose ends.”
His curiosity piqued by what Henri was saying, Masamichi nodded.
“I think I understand what you’re saying. I feel kind of restless when I have nothing to do, too.”
“As a Frenchman, it’s hard for me to understand that. But our guests can choose not to use these electronic devices if they don’t need them. Still, I have placed the TV sets behind sets of double doors so they don’t stand out,” Henri said, chuckling. Then he gestured, as if he were opening those doors.
Despite his youthful smile, there was a fair mix of gray strands in his chestnut hair, and he had deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Masamichi figured he was probably over forty.
“By the way, where is Mr. Tatsumi? Is he still taking a bath?”
Masamichi shook his head with a wry smile.
“No, Shino…I mean, Tatsumi doesn’t like taking baths with other people and said he’d enjoy the hot spring water in our room,” Masamichi explained, softening what Shino had said earlier: “I am in no way inclined to bathe in the same water as a herd of humans.”
“I see. Mr. Tatsumi is surprisingly shy, is he? Well, he’s mystery, so that may explain it.”
“Mystery?”
“Oh, uh… I meant, mysterious.”
After rephrasing his words with excellent Japanese pronunciation, Henri got on his feet to greet another male guest who had come to the main bath and politely bowed to see him off.
Then he sat down again and said in a somber tone, “It’s truly thanks to Mr. Tatsumi that we can welcome guests to enjoy this inn.”
Not wanting to miss the opportunity, Masamichi asked, “What do you mean? Did Tatsumi do something…um, mysterious…spiritual…? Like, uh, solve some incident to do with ghosts?”
Henri’s eyes lit up.
“Precisely! No wonder you’re his assistant. You know him well. But you weren’t around five years ago. Mr. Tatsumi was alone then.”
“Right. I started working for him this spring. May I ask what happened?”
Henri glanced at the female guests still lounging in the massage chairs and said in a low voice, “Would you care to take an evening walk with me?”
Apparently, it wasn’t a story he wanted the other guests to hear. Masamichi agreed and left the bathhouse with Henri.
“It’s dark outside in the garden, so let’s take a stroll inside the inn. We only have three parties of guests staying with us today, including you and Mr. Tatsumi, so we should have some privacy.”
Henri led Masamichi to the main building, the first area that Masamichi had stepped into earlier, with the front desk.