About that time Tam glanced up and realized they were passing under a large torii gate, entryway to a place that seemingly had nothing to do with the real world. Just beyond were the shrines, reminding her somewhat of a sanitized tropical village as imagined by Hollywood. Each of the cypress-wood buildings, set above the ground on stilts, was architecture at its most primal, a study in simplicity. Their polished wood was untouched by a speck of paint, while the foot-thick blanket of woven straw comprising their roofs had a creamy texture that looked like cheesecake. There was nothing in the world to compare.
What really made them unique, though, was something else entirely. Although the shrines were merely straw and natural wood, possessing none of the centuries-old authority of the cathedrals of Europe, in a curious way they were actually
older, for they had been rebuilt anew every twenty years since time immemorial.
Suddenly the real significance of that struck her. What other people had kept alive such a powerful symbol of their common heritage for centuries and centuries? Westerners had difficulty grasping the continuity this shrine represented. Little wonder Noda could galvanize his clan with some powerful new reminder of who they were. Shinto wasn't a religion; there were few rules and no payoff in the sky. Instead it was the mortar binding a race.
"The main shrines over there," he continued, pointing to a collection of buildings in an area enclosed by a high wooden fence, "are off limits to all save the Emperor himself and certain of the priests. That ground is the sacred link between our Emperor living now and those of times past. Even photographs are forbidden."
Tam noticed that many of the gables of the buildings were tipped in gold, burning amber when an occasional shaft of late sunlight reflected off them. Dusk was starting to settle in, and the evening birds and crickets had begun to add their eerie sound effects. She found herself deeply touched. What was it about the place that inspired such reverence? Was it the serenity? The purity?
Yes, this Shinto holy of holies possessed a secret power, the unassailable strength of nature. It moved her; how could it not? Somewhere inside she felt envy of them all, felt a yearning to share their absolute sense of' who they were.
While she reflected on that, surrounded by the white gravel and golden woods, she found herself looking anew at Ken. Being here with him at Ise made her question once again whether in his world, his austere yet deeply passionate world, she could never be anything but a gaijin, an outsider.
CHAPTER TEN
