15 I Am a Japanese WriterI was in the corner of a four-mat room. The walls were Japanese paper screens. The center of the room had a low, black table with a lacquered gold dragon breathing painted fire in my direction. On the table were an iron teapot and two small, empty teacups. I looked across the table, and there was Gina. Her hair was up in Geisha style, and she wore a plain white kimono with a black obi. She was on her knees, looking down at the teapot. I tried to call her name, but no sound came out. I heard the swish of a sword through the air, and all went black. I had a sensation of falling, falling, falling through the darkness.
I awoke with a thump. I was in my bunk onboard Blue Rose. The early rays of the dawn sun were seeping through the portlights. I could hear water lappin
