A Knife Edge Read Online Free PDF Page A

your first impressions?” She took her hat off and tamed her straw-colored hair, running her fingers through it. I smelled lavender.
    “It reminds me of a pinball machine I used to play, lit up for five times bonus and extra ball.”
    Durban smiled. “You want to grab something to eat?”
    I didn't need to give the invitation too much thought. The alternative was heading back to the Hilton and reading the hotel's brochure on its extensive range of gym equipment. “Sure. What you got in mind?”
    A short while later we were sitting on high stools eating raw fish, delivered by a stream of robots. A glorified cigarette machine with red lips and bumps on its chest area crafted to resemble breasts on a cold day delivered something to us that jiggled on the plate. The machine said something in Japanese in a breathy voice that sounded like it wanted to exchange brake fluids with me. Before I could say
“Domo arigato,”
the only words I'd managed to learn from the Lonely Planet phrase book, the machine did a one-eighty and rolled off into the crowd.
    To kick the evening off, I said, “So, what do you call a woman with one leg?”
    “What?”
    “Eileen. What do you call a Japanese woman with one leg?”
    Durban shrugged.
    “Irene.”
    She laughed. “That's not funny.”
    “Hmm,” I said. “Maybe I need to work on my delivery.” An awful sound coming through the ceiling speakers distracted me. There was a karaoke stage. A businessman sweating sake was tonguing the microphone, his tie loosened and his belly hanging over his belt like he was six months pregnant. The song was vaguely familiar but at the same time not. And then I recognizedit, The Beatles' “Hard Day's Night”—in Japanese. If I were one of the Fab Four, I'd be suing him for damages. Several women who were far too young and pretty to be accompanying him clapped excitedly, adoringly. This had to be the sort of behavior men paid for. Escorts, obviously.
    “Those women—they're not what you think they are,” said Durban, doing a little mind reading.
    “No?” I said. “What do I think they are?”
    “I saw the way you looked at them.”
    I wondered how I looked at them and decided not to respond with another question, in case Durban mistook me for a shrink.
    “Japanese women handle things differently from Western women.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah, they missed the whole feminist thing here. In fact, this place is almost feudal in some of its attitudes toward women. The men believe they are superior beings. The women don't challenge that belief. Not directly, anyway.”
    “So, are you talking complete subservience to every male whim?” I found myself smiling at the two young Japanese women. Superior beings, eh? One of the women caught me looking at her and twittered to her friend. They both giggled at me from behind their hands.
    Durban set me straight. “I meant, made to
feel
like superior beings.”
    “Thanks for ruining it,” I said.
    She shook her head. “Haven't you figured it out yet?” she said. “Yes, dear… No, dear… whatever. It's always an act. The women here work with what they've got. It's just a different angle.”
    “So, despite appearances, they're no different from the women back home?”
    “And what are we like?”
    “You want an example?”
    Durban nodded. “I can take it.”
    “OK… A man goes to the doctor and brings his wife along.He has a checkup. Afterward, the doctor calls her into the office. He says, ‘Your husband is extremely sick, and his fragile state is compounded by huge amounts of stress. If you don't follow my instructions explicitly, he'll die. In the morning, you have to let him sleep late. When he gets up, you have to fix him a good breakfast. Do not stress him out with chores. At lunch, make him something really delicious. Let him sleep in the afternoon. For dinner, cook something special again. Be nice, friendly, and for God's sake don't load him up with your own problems and concerns. The name of