Society, Part 9
The $579 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Zero Down
Shark America Ten Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 181
Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
My Advice to You is Seek the Beauty, Beauty Heals.
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (9)
Today's code is "82nd Day, Last Year".
We have a very interesting double code today. "Omegane! Omegane", it is about something very big you are soon likely to see in the sky.
I don't think there is a market for my advance documention of this event, so I will just await it with pleasure.
Other than that, it is a slow news day at I.C. News, so let's return to our story, The Not-Forgetting Society, the second of three stories that lead us to the Secret Story, the hidden history of how God's Space Sailors rescued the Japanese race in about 660 BC.
Society, Part 9
At noon there came a gentle tapping at Tea's door.
Tea's first consciousness told him he was hungry; his second that he was alone on the futon; his third that there was a rapping at his door; his fourth that the storm was still blowing.
"Please enter," he called out in quiet, polite Japanese.
The door slid open.
A maid was sitting formally on her knees and heels. Breakfast was on a lacquer tray on the floor in front of her. She rose, picking it up as she did so. She entered the room, then knelt again, setting the tray down and sliding the door closed. She turned toward him and bowed her head deeply, saying a sunny "Good morning!" in Japanese, and asked if he had slept well, also in Japanese.
Tea, still covered with bedding, returned the greeting and said yes he had slept very well.
As Tea spoke the maid rose with the tray and carried it to a low table in front of another set of sliding paper and pine doors, which were closed.
Through the paper came a soft light from the window four feet beyond it.
The diffused stormy noon light bathed the maid, setting off her checkered kimono of brick red and pale blue. A wide, silk maroon obi circled her waist and formed a large, playful bow at her back. Her hair was black and shiny and bobbed as if a bowl had played a part in the design of its cut. Tea guessed her age to be 15 and wondered if she was an apprentice or the daughter of the Swallow's owners.
She knelt by the table and set the tray on the floor beside it, then took from it dishes of food, a tea pot, a single handle less cup, and a pair of disposable chopsticks in a paper wrapper, and arranged them on the low little table before a cushion on the tatami floor.
She then rose and opened the paper and pine doors revealing the windows, allowing Tea to see the wild sea. A gull was flying into the wind, making slow progress.
Tea, naked, remained under the covers until the maid left, exchanging pleasantries with her in Japanese as she worked. Was there any damage to the inn? Not much. That's good, isn't it? Yes, isn't it? She asked if he would prefer a western breakfast. No, he said, honestly.
Out of politeness he avoided looking at her too much. She seemed vexed with shyness, and Tea wondered if she had ever come in contact with a foreigner before; few ever visiting the back side of Japan, and fewer still staying at exclusive inns like Swallow.
There was a moon roundness to her face, and an actual rose tint to her cheeks.
Having finished setting Tea's table, the maid left Tea's room, taking the empty tray with her, reversing the pattern of kneeling, rising and bowing she had performed upon entering, a pattern centuries old and as naturally adhered to as bees to their dance language.
Tea rose, put on a fresh yukata, and exited the room, visiting the communal toilet and washroom again, where he brushed his teeth again with a complimentary tooth brush which left bristles in his mouth, and shaved with a scratchy complimentary throw-away razor. Then he returned to his room to his pleasantly anticipated rural Japanese breakfast.
He found it to be much as he had expected and hoped. There was white rice at near room temperature, a raw egg to break over it and mix into it, some pickled radish, some seasoned greens, and a single broiled fish about eight inches long.
Tea sat formally on knees and heels as he ate alone. He ate slowly, viewing the stormy sea through his window.
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 82nd day of its last year.
Jews Jaws Zero Down
Shark America Ten Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 181
Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
My Advice to You is Seek the Beauty, Beauty Heals.
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (9)
Today's code is "82nd Day, Last Year".
We have a very interesting double code today. "Omegane! Omegane", it is about something very big you are soon likely to see in the sky.
I don't think there is a market for my advance documention of this event, so I will just await it with pleasure.
Other than that, it is a slow news day at I.C. News, so let's return to our story, The Not-Forgetting Society, the second of three stories that lead us to the Secret Story, the hidden history of how God's Space Sailors rescued the Japanese race in about 660 BC.
Society, Part 9
At noon there came a gentle tapping at Tea's door.
Tea's first consciousness told him he was hungry; his second that he was alone on the futon; his third that there was a rapping at his door; his fourth that the storm was still blowing.
"Please enter," he called out in quiet, polite Japanese.
The door slid open.
A maid was sitting formally on her knees and heels. Breakfast was on a lacquer tray on the floor in front of her. She rose, picking it up as she did so. She entered the room, then knelt again, setting the tray down and sliding the door closed. She turned toward him and bowed her head deeply, saying a sunny "Good morning!" in Japanese, and asked if he had slept well, also in Japanese.
Tea, still covered with bedding, returned the greeting and said yes he had slept very well.
As Tea spoke the maid rose with the tray and carried it to a low table in front of another set of sliding paper and pine doors, which were closed.
Through the paper came a soft light from the window four feet beyond it.
The diffused stormy noon light bathed the maid, setting off her checkered kimono of brick red and pale blue. A wide, silk maroon obi circled her waist and formed a large, playful bow at her back. Her hair was black and shiny and bobbed as if a bowl had played a part in the design of its cut. Tea guessed her age to be 15 and wondered if she was an apprentice or the daughter of the Swallow's owners.
She knelt by the table and set the tray on the floor beside it, then took from it dishes of food, a tea pot, a single handle less cup, and a pair of disposable chopsticks in a paper wrapper, and arranged them on the low little table before a cushion on the tatami floor.
She then rose and opened the paper and pine doors revealing the windows, allowing Tea to see the wild sea. A gull was flying into the wind, making slow progress.
Tea, naked, remained under the covers until the maid left, exchanging pleasantries with her in Japanese as she worked. Was there any damage to the inn? Not much. That's good, isn't it? Yes, isn't it? She asked if he would prefer a western breakfast. No, he said, honestly.
Out of politeness he avoided looking at her too much. She seemed vexed with shyness, and Tea wondered if she had ever come in contact with a foreigner before; few ever visiting the back side of Japan, and fewer still staying at exclusive inns like Swallow.
There was a moon roundness to her face, and an actual rose tint to her cheeks.
Having finished setting Tea's table, the maid left Tea's room, taking the empty tray with her, reversing the pattern of kneeling, rising and bowing she had performed upon entering, a pattern centuries old and as naturally adhered to as bees to their dance language.
Tea rose, put on a fresh yukata, and exited the room, visiting the communal toilet and washroom again, where he brushed his teeth again with a complimentary tooth brush which left bristles in his mouth, and shaved with a scratchy complimentary throw-away razor. Then he returned to his room to his pleasantly anticipated rural Japanese breakfast.
He found it to be much as he had expected and hoped. There was white rice at near room temperature, a raw egg to break over it and mix into it, some pickled radish, some seasoned greens, and a single broiled fish about eight inches long.
Tea sat formally on knees and heels as he ate alone. He ate slowly, viewing the stormy sea through his window.
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 82nd day of its last year.
posted by Virgil Kret at 7:52 PM
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