Captive in Kyoto

I had come to Kyoto over three years ago to teach English, and later began to work as a translator for a large company. Because I was fluent in Japanese, and could both read and write it, I was a considered very employable. I had a graduate degree in Asian Studies, and I had spent most of my life learning the language and culture, so I knew it was time to move to Japan and make use of my degree and background. Even though I knew I wanted to live in Kyoto, nothing could have prepared me for the way I felt when I arrived and settled in. For me, it was coming home. My friends and family didn’t understand the deep attraction I had, or the affinity I felt for Kyoto and the people, but I never questioned my Kyoto connection.

I made a few American friends, as well as some good Japanese friends, and I enjoyed visiting temples and learning about the arts and culture of the city I had adopted. I knew that my world would change the day I met Kenji. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and I began to believe in love at first sight. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, and I couldn’t believe it when he asked me out. I considered myself somewhat attractive, but certainly a far cry from drop-dead gorgeous. My name was Page Queenan, and my blonde wavy hair and green eyes gave away my Northern European ancestry. In a country like Japan, where the majority of people have straight dark hair and dark eyes, I stood out like the gaijin that I was, and there were men who were interested in me for those very attributes. Until I met Kenji, I had a dated a few men in Kyoto, but I had not found anyone interesting enough to hold my attention for long.

Once I got past the physical attraction I felt toward Kenji, I was excited to find how much I enjoyed him as a person. He was intelligent and kind and very funny, and the more time I spent with him, the more time I wanted to spend. He was Harvard educated and fluent in English, so we had no trouble communicating. We often found we needed no words at all to communicate our feelings, and we had the most sensual and romantic relationship I could ever have imagined.

I had no idea how difficult it would be to be married to the only son of a wealthy and prominent Japanese family. Kenji’s parents, Hideo and Akiko, often seemed to think the worst about me, suspect me of things I hadn’t done, and look for a hidden agenda I didn’t have. I never quite knew if I would ever measure up in their eyes, but I suspected I wouldn’t. I truly believed they wanted their son to marry a Japanese girl from a good family, but instead they got me, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

Kenji’s family owned a huge import-export business as well as many other businesses they purchased to diversify. Kenji ran the Kyoto branch of the business, and his graduate degree in Asian Art helped him in his work. He collected rare netsuke, tiny figures used in ancient times as an accessory to the kimono men wore. I had learned so much about art and antiques since I met Kenji. I had a personal interest in textiles, and I often visited the Nishijin orimono, the textile factory where the fabric was made. I loved the silk brocade fabric, and I owned several obis and a kimono made from it.

After Kenji and I married, I left my job and took a position teaching two courses at Kyoto University. I loved teaching there, and the fact that I only taught two courses left me with plenty of free time to travel with Kenji. We often visited his family in Kamakura and Tokyo, and we had traveled to London, Paris, and Boston in the past year. My family lived in Fitchburg, about fifty miles from Boston, but because it was such a long trip from Japan, we didn’t go there often.