Her name is Keiko, his is Shin.
His profession is sumi-e,
Mostly he paints rocks – impossibly jagged rocks, ornamental rocks,
It is hard to get a sense of their scale.
You like best the lone sketch of a daikon radish, perhaps because it is not a rock.
At last you come to pictures of Shin and extended family posing at the top of a mountain. Where is this? Asamayama, he says.
Now you are excited. How did you get there
Your Japanese limits you to two-word sentences – Asamayama, where? Trail is? A map is consulted, and the question put to Satoshi, the hostel owner. He smiles, laughs, and shakes his head, all at the same time. Desu zono, he says, crossing his hands in an X. Death zone.
This is not what you hoped to hear, and you appeal to Shin, who has dared the death zone and come back alive. Closed is? He also smiles. There are many shades of smiling in Japanese. Actually there are probably just as many shades of smiling in English, and you have trouble even with those. Self-responsibility, he says.