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ssed while drunk。 Everything could be forgiven then； there was no loss of face； no shame at being sentimental or showing weakness。
They had gone from bar to bar and； as the night wore on； found themselves in darker and meaner sections of the city。 They were not unaware of this； rather； they weled the proximity of danger。 There was about the entire night a sense of machismo that Ton was unable to understand until she looked back from the perspective time gave her。 At first she had believed that Greg； NASA pilot； astronaut in training； had been responsible for that febrile aggressiveness。 But then she realized that much of the machismo had stemmed from her； and Greg was following her lead。 That had been a switch。
She had followed Greg in everything： sports； mathematics； school； teams； the works。 That had been their father's doing。 Ellis Nunn had wanted to ensure that she was prepared for the hard； petitive world she would one day be thrown into。 If you can pete with your brother； you 'II be ready for anyone； he had told her。 Don't plain and don't try to weasel out。 I'm doing you the favor my father never did for me。
But； of course； she was doomed to failure at every turn。 Greg was the golden boy； superb in sports； mathematics； excelling in each school he attended。 Not that she didn't do her best to excel…and succeeded most of the time。 She just could not match Greg's level。 He seemed to revel in the milieu Ellis Nunn threw him into； she despised it。
So； in the end； she ran away； all the way across the Pacific to Japan； as if she needed to get as much distance as she could between herself and the life she had been forced to live。 But her flight was more than away from pain； it was toward a lifestyle that in its enigma drew her steadily on。 Like Odysseus on his arduous quest； Tori could hardly have done anything different。 She was made for Japan and it was made for her。
For one thing； the stringent asceticism at the martial arts school she joined was such a wele relief from the opulence and endless money； her parents' insatiable appetite for acquisitions； that she nearly wept for joy the first week at the school。 Alone； lying on her simple futon bed after a full day's mental and physical work； staring up through the garden at the moon and the stars； Tori had at last known a peace she had once thought could never be hers。
For another thing； there was sensei； a small； quick…gestured man； who nevertheless moved with a deliberation so profound； it actually seemed to be the opposite。 His stratagems appeared to be inadvertent； haphazard； wholly unexpected。
〃This is more difficult to achieve than you as a Westerner could possibly imagine；〃 he had told her when she had reached the fourth of his six levels of training。 〃This is not a racist remark； merely the truth。 You see； we Japanese abhor randomness。 Nature in its pure； unadulterated state frightens us； which is why we have created deities such as the fox goddess to reinforce that fright。〃
〃But sensei； look out there；〃 Tori had said； pointing to the exquisite garden。 〃You are always surrounded by nature。 I don't understand。〃
Sensei had smiled。 〃I urge you to look again at the garden on which I lavish so much attention。 Is it nature？ When we wander the lush hillsides of Yoshino； that is nature； when we climb the alps to the north； that is nature。 But this garden？ No。 It is a product of my imagination。 Everything is made； dwarfed； bonsaied； controlled by me or by one of my students。 This garden is what I want it to be； nothing more； certainly not nature。 Not yet。
〃The perfect garden； Tori…san； is a simulacrum of nature； it merges with nature to bee one with it。 But there is no such thing as a perfect garden； and there never will be。 The result； though we work all our lives toward it； is too frightening a prospect； because if it ever came about； we would； by definition； lose our control over it； and that can never be allowed。〃
Facades and a sense of control； these were the principles of Japanese gardens； microcosms of the Japanese culture itself。 And these were what Tori thought of the night she went carousing the wild side of Tokyo with Greg。 Because she was； at last； tired of both。
Sake was a good antidote to regimentation。 Something quite strong was needed to blur the lines； the grids； the bars of the life of an acolyte。 Because that was just what she and Greg were； acolytes： she had joined the samurai religion of the past； he the scientific religion of the future。 The two of them met here at this moment in time； amid the neon burning of a Tokyo night； in the primitive jungle within the world's most civilized city； bound in the present they were creating。
Or so Tori had thought； until they hit a place called The Lemon Crush。 It was at the wrong end of Shinjuku； a kind of akachochin； an after…hours joint； posh and potent； where the price tags were hot and the action even hotter。
They were； by this time； two liters into sake； and Tori felt as if an electric wire had been slipped into her veins。 Greg's eyes crossed at intervals； and he couldn't keep the sweat from glistening in his short； blond hair。
〃Wow！〃 he had exclaimed； when they had taken the Lucite elevator down to the main floor of The Lemon Crush。 〃I don't ever want to leave this place！〃 Greg had always been prone to theatrical overstatement； a trait he had unconsciously picked up from their mother。
They had been given a table on the upper level that circled the main floor。 Blue and yellow neon rimmed everything： floor； tables； steps； railings； and on the gigantic screen of the ceiling； projected origami were continually unfolding like exotic flowers in yet another display of the Japanese trying to control nature；
Tori and Greg were on their second round of sake； soaking up the sights； the sounds of Heaven 17 singing 〃Fascist Groove Thang〃 at teeth…rattling volume； when Tori sensed Greg's attention wandering。 She followed his gaze； saw him staring fixedly at a beautiful young woman； tall； lissome； exotic as the origami unfolding overhead。
〃Hubba； hubba！〃 Greg said； and slipped out of his chair before Tori could do anything to stop him。 This was Japan； but Greg had no conception of what that meant； especially in his current state。
〃Damnit； Greg！〃
But he couldn't hear her。 As Tori watched him make his way down toward the beautiful young woman； she thought of the kind of place this was； and what that said about its habitues。 Drug dealers and sex peddlers were only the tamer elements wending their way through the yellow…and…blue…lit throng。 The Lemon Crush； it was whispered； was a favored hangout of the Yakuza。
Tori had never met a Yakuza； and even through her sake…induced buzz she thought that this was not the night to do so。 Macho was one thing； suicide quite another。 Greg would not understand this。 Tori did not think they had enough time together for her to adequately explain the inner workings of the Yakuza mind to him。
Now she could see Greg talking to the woman； could see her smiling in return。 Greg was so handsome； he had never had trouble getting girls； just the opposite； in fact。 Tori could remember when he was in high school； there were too many girl…friends to