Choto Temple Ch. 02

He paused again, like a teacher waiting to make sure his student was paying attention.

"What do we do? We talk about life, take walks around the mountain trails, eat and drink together, and have quite a bit of sex."

"The Choto Temple women sound a lot like my impression of what a geisha would be," I observed. "Except that they're volunteers."

"Yeah, that seems about right," Zerzinski said.

"Presumably they're also looking to be, um, inoculated?" I asked. "Do you get tired of having sex with at least two or three women every day, if I'm getting the right idea? Do you feel drained from having so many orgasms?"

I felt odd asking such direct questions about such things. Sex is a hot topic in the pages of my publication, to be sure. But usually not quite so front and center in an interview.

In any case, I was trying to cover some stuff right away that I knew my editors would be asking about later if I didn't. I was relieved to see that Zerzinski seemed fairly at ease with such questions at this point.

"I learned a long time ago that for me, more than two orgasms a day is pretty unsustainable on a lot of levels. So no, they're not necessarily expecting that, unless they're at the end of their first cycle. Which is usually their only one.

"If I can't keep up, I can do make-up work during weekends, and on holidays, when I don't have visitors from the Purification Temple."

"Holidays?" I asked, stupidly.

"You travel around the world interviewing rock stars most of the time, as far as I can tell, Dan. Do you need a holiday from that?"

"Point taken."

"This," Zerzinski continued, "is why there is a profoundly socially alienating aspect to being in my position. Perhaps I wouldn't want to trade it for the world - but not many people can relate. Even a presumably oversexed, globe-hopping journalist for Rolling Stone."

At that point Mariko slid the door open and brought a tray of goodies in. Several rice balls wrapped in seaweed on a plate, and two cappuccinos. I wasn't sure about the combination, but independently of each other, both the rice balls and the cappuccinos looked great.

"You made a tree!" I observed, looking at my drink, impressed by Mariko's expertise as a barista. "I've been trying to do designs like that with the milk for years, but I never get the hang of it."

Mariko looked at Zerzinski, who seemed to be translating what I had said. She said something to him in return.

"She says she'll teach you if you want," Zerzinski said.

"Arigato," I said, thinking it was a good time to use one of my five words of Japanese.

"Doi doshimashte," she said as she slid the door open to leave the room. I looked at Zerzinski. He could tell that that wasn't one of my five words of Japanese.

"She said 'you're welcome.'" He looked a bit smug. "You're blushing," he said to me.

I then realized that I was. My face was hot. I wanted a lesson in making little designs out of milk. Though I was also concerned about doing something inappropriate under these unusual circumstances, not really having any idea how the term "appropriate" might even be defined in this place and time and cultural environment. But I was enough of a traveler to know I didn't know. And I gave a shit enough to care.

Mostly I was blushing because Mariko was so beautiful, and she had almost spoken to me. And the thought that that had basically been the source of my being flustered made me even more flustered.

It was all getting very complicated in my head when Zerzinski made everything better with a sentence.

"You should really feel free to take Mariko-chan up on that lesson. Evenings are probably best for her."

I was liking this guy more by the minute, despite my cynical veneer, which at the moment seemed uncomfortably thin. I tried to regain my composure and ask Zerzinski another question, as I sipped my cappuccino, which tasted as good as it looked. It was dark roast. Most yuppies seem to prefer medium roast these days, but not me, and apparently not Zerzinski either.

"Robert," I asked, "how about you tell me about your life just before the diagnosis? What high school were you teaching at? What was going on in your life?"