“I’m glad they’re still there.” Ogata-San took a sip from his teacup. Then he sighed and said with a laugh: “What an kild war-lord that Watanabe is.”
Shortly after breakfast, Ogata-San suggested we should go and look around Nagasaki—“like the tourists do”, as he put it. I agreed at once and we took a tram into the city. As I recall, we spent some time at an art gallery, and then, a little before noon, we went to visit the race memorial in the large public park not far from the centre of the city.
The park was commonly known as “Peace Park’—I never discovered whether this was the official name—and indeed, despite the sounds of children and birds, an atmosphere of solemnity hung over that large expanse of green. The usual adornments, such as shrubs and fountains, had been kept to a minimum, and the effect was a kind of austerity; the flat grass, a wide summer sky, and the memorial itself—a massive white statue in memory of those killed by the atomic bomb— presiding over its domain.
The statue resembled some muscular Greek god, seated with both arms outstretched. With his right hand, he pointed to the sky from where the bomb had fallen; with his other arm—stretched out to his left—the figure was Supposedly holding back the forces of evil. His eyes were dosed in prayer.
It was always my feeling that the statue had a rather cumbersome appearance, and I was ever able to associate with what had occurred that day the bomb had fallen, and those terrible days which followed. Seen from a distance, the figure looked almost comical, resembling a policeman conducting traffic. It remained for me nothing more than a statue, and while most people in Nagasaki seemed to appreciate it as some form of gesture, I suspect the general feeling was much like mine. And today, should I by chance recall that large white statue in Nagasaki, I find myself reminded primarily of my visit to Peace Park with Ogata-San that morning, and that business concerning his postcard.
“It doesn’t look quite so impressive in a picture," I remember Ogata-San saying, holding up the postcard of the statue which he had just bought. We were standing some fifty yards or so from the monument. “I’ve been meaning to send a card for some time,” he continued. "Ill be going back to Fukuoka any day now, but I suppose it’s still worth sending. Etsuko, do you have a pen? Perhaps I should send it straight away, otherwise I’m bound to forget."
I found a pen in my handbag and we sat down on a bench nearby. I became curious when I noticed him staring at the blank side of the card, his pen poised but not writing. Once or twice, I saw him glance up towards the statue as if for inspiration. Finally I asked him: Are you sending it to a friend in Fukuoka?”
“Well, just an acquaintance.’
“Father’s looking very guilty,” I said. “I wonder who it can be he’s writing to.”
Ogata-San glanced up with a look of astonishment. Then he burst into loud laughter. Guilty? Am I really?”
“Yes, very guilty. I wonder what Father gets up to when there’s no one,to keep an eye on him.”
Ogata-San continued to laugh loudly. He was laughing so much! could feel the bench shake. He recovered a little and said: “Very well, Etsuko. You’ve caught me. You’ve caught me writing to my girl-friend—he used the English word. “Caught me red-handed.” He began laughing again.
“I always suspected Father led a glamorous life in Fukuoka.”
“Yes, Etsuko”—he was still laughing a little—“a very glamorous life.” Then he took a deep breath and looked down once more at his postcard. “You know, I really don’t mow what to write. Perhaps I could just send it with 0thing written. After all, I only wanted to show her what Se memorial looks like. But then again, perhaps that’s rather too informal.”
“Well, I can’t advise you, Father, unless you reveal who this mysterious lady is.”
“The mysterious lady, Etsuko, runs a small restaurant in Fukuoka. It’s quite near my house so I usually go there for my evening meals. I talk to her sometimes, she’s pleasant enough, and I promised I’d send her a postcard of the peace memorial. I’m afraid that’s all there is to it.”
“I see, Father. But I’m still suspicious.’
“Quite a pleasant old woman, but she gets tiresome after a while. If I’m the only customer, she stands and talks all through the meal. Unfortunately there aren’t many other suitable places to eat nearby. You see, Etsuko, if you’d peach me to cook, as you promised, then I wouldn’t need to suffer the likes of her.”
“But it would be pointless,” I said, laughing. “Father would never get the hang of it.”
“Nonsense. You’re simply afraid I’ll surpass you. It’s host selfish of you, Etsuko. Now let me see’ he looked at his postcard once more—‘What can I say to the old woman?"
“Do you remember Mrs. Fujiwara?” I asked. ‘She runs a noodle shop now. Near Father’s old house.”
“Yes, so I hear. A great pity. Someone of her position running a noodle shop.”
“But she enjoys it. It gives her something to work for. She ten asks after you.”
“A great pity,’ he said again. “Her husband was a distinguished man. I had much respect for him. And now she’s running a noodle shop. Extraordinary.’ He shook his head gravely. “I’d call in and pay my respects, but then I suppose she’d find that rather awkward. In her present circumstances, I mean.”
“Father, she’s not ashamed to be running a noodle shop.:
She’s proud of it. She says she always wanted to run a business, however humble. I expect she’d be delighted if you called on her.”
“Her shop is in Nakagawa, you say?”
“Yes. Quite near the old house.”
Ogata-San seemed to consider this for some time. Then he turned to me and said: ‘Right, then, Etsuko. Let’s go and pay her a visit.’ He scribbled quickly on the postcard and gave me back the pen.
‘You mean, go now, Father?” I was a little taken aback by his sudden decisiveness.
“Yes, why not?”
"Very well. I suppose she could give us lunch.”
“Yes, perhaps. But I’ve no wish to humiliate the good lady.”
“She’d be pleased to give us lunch.”
Ogata-San nodded and for a moment did not speak. Then he said with some deliberation: “As a matter of fact, Etsuko, I’d been thinking of visiting Nakagawa for some time now. I’d like to call in on a certain person there.”
“Oh?”
“I wonder if he’d be in at this time of day.”
“Who is it you wish to call on, Father?”
“Shigeo. Shigeo Matsuda. I’ve been intending to pay him a call for some time. Perhaps he takes his lunch at home, in which case I may just catch him. That would be preferable to disturbing him at his school.”
For a few minutes, Ogata-San gazed towards the statue, a slightly puzzled look on his face. I remained silent, watching the postcard he was rotating in his hands. Then suddenly he slapped his knees and stood up.
“Right, Etsuko,” he said, “let’s do that then. Well try Shigeo first, then we could call in on Mrs. Fujiwara.”
I must have been around noon that we boarded the tram to take us to Nakagawa; the car was stiflingly crowded and the streets outside were filled with the lunchtime hordes. But we came away from the city centre, the passengers became more sparse, and by the time the car reached its terminus at Nakagawa, there were only a handful of us left.
Stepping out of the train, Ogata-San paused for a moment and stroked his chin. It was not easy to tell whether he was savouring the feeling of being back in the district, or whether he was simply trying to remember the way to Shigeo Matsuda’s house. We were standing in a concrete yard surrounded by several empty tram cars. Above our heads, a maze of black wires crossed the air. The sun was shining down with some force, causing the painted surfaces of the cars to gleam sharply.
“What heat,” Ogata-San remarked, wiping his forehead. Then he began to walk, leading the way towards a row of houses which began on the far side of the tram yard.
The district had not changed gr
eatly over the years. As we walked, the narrow roads twisted, climbed and fell.
Houses, many of them still familiar to me, stood wherever the hilly landscape would permit; some were perched precariously on slopes, others squeezed into unlikely corners. Blankets and laundry hung from many of the balconies. We walked on, past other houses more grand- Poking, but we passed neither Ogata-San’s old house nor tie house I had once lived in with my parents. In fact, the bought occurred to me that perhaps Ogata-San had chosen a route so as to deliberately avoid them.
I doubt if we Walked for much more than ten or fifteen minutes in all, but the sun and the steep hills became very tiring. Eventually we stopped halfway up a steep path, and Ogata-San ushered me underneath the shelter of a leafy tree that hung over the pavement. Then he pointed across the road to a pleasant-looking old house with large sloping roof-tiles in the traditional manner.
That’s Shigeo’s place,” he said. “I knew his father quite well. As far as I know, his mother still lives with him.” Then Ogata-San began to stroke his chin, just as he had done on first stepping off the tram. I said nothing and waited.
“Quite possibly he won’t be home,” said Ogata-San. He’ll probably spend the lunch break in the staff room with his colleagues.”
I continued to wait silently. Ogata-San remained standing beside me, gazing at the house. Finally, he said:
“Etsuko, how far is it to Mrs. Fujiwara’s from here? Have you any idea?”
“Its just a few minutes’ walk.’’
“Now I think of it, perhaps it may be best if you went on ahead, and I could meet you there. That may be the best thing."
“Very well. If that’s what you wish.”
“In fact, this was all very inconsiderate of me.”
“I’m not an invalid, Father.”
He laughed quickly, then glanced again towards the house. “I think it might be best,” he said again. “You go on ahead."
“Very well.”
“I don’t expect to be long. In fact” he glanced once more towards the house—“in fact, why don’t you wait here until I pull the bell. If you see me go in, then you can go on to Mrs. Fujiwara’s. This has all been very inconsiderate of me.”
“It’s perfectly all right, Father. Now listen carefully, or else you’ll never find the noodle shop. You remember where the doctor used to have his surgery?”
But Ogata-San was no longer listening. Across the road, e entrance gate had slid open, and a thin young man with spectacles had appeared. He was dressed in his shirt leeves and held a small briefcase under his arm. He squinted a little as he stepped further into the glare, then bent over the briefcase and began searching through it. Sigheo Matsuda looked thinner and more youthful than I remembered him from the few occasions I had met him in he past.
Chapter Nine
Shigeo Matsuda tied the buckle of his briefcase, then glancing about him with a distracted air came walking over to. our side of the road. For a brief moment he glanced our way but, not recognizing us, went walking on.
Ogata-San watched him go by. Then when the young man had gone several yards down the road, he called out:, “Ah, Shigeo!"
Shigeo Matsuda stopped and turned. Then he came towards us with a puzzled look.
“How are you, Shigeo?”
The young man peered through his spectacles, then burst into cheerful laughter.
“Why, Ogata-San! Now this is an unexpected surprise!" He bowed and held out his hand. “What a splendid surprise. Why Etsuko-San too! How are you? How nice to meet again.
We exchanged bows, and he shook hands with us both. Then he said to Ogata-San:
“Were you by any chance about to visit me? This is bad luck, my lunch breaks almost over now.” He glanced at his watch. But we could go back inside for a few minutes.”
No, no,” said Ogata-San hurriedly. Don’t let us interrupt your work. It just so happened we were passing this way, and I remembered you lived here. I was just pointing out your house to Etsuko.”
"Please, I can spare a few minutes. Let me offer you some tea at least. It’s a sweltering day out here.”
“No, no. You must get to work.”
For a moment the two men stood looking at each other. “And how is everything, Shigeo?” Ogata-San asked.
"How are things at the school?"
“Oh, much the same as ever. You know how it is. And you, Ogata-San, you’re enjoying your retirement, I hope? I had no idea you were in Nagasaki. Jiro and I seem to have st touch these days." Then he turned to me and said: “I’m always meaning to write, but I’m so forgetful.”
I smiled and made some polite comment. Then the two .en looked at each other again.
“You’re looking splendidly well, Ogata-San,” Shigeo Iatsuda said. “You find Fukuoka to your liking?”
“Yes, a fine city. My hometown, you know."
There was another pause. Then Ogata-San said; “Please don’t let us keep you. If you have to hurry away, I quite understand.”
“No, no. I have a few minutes yet. A pity you weren’t passing a little earlier. Perhaps you’d care to call in before you leave Nagasaki.”
“Yes, I’ll try to. But there’s so many people to visit.”
“Yes, I can understand how it is.”
“And your mother, is she well?”
"Yes she’s fine. Thank you.”
For a moment, they fell silent again.
“I’m glad everything’s going well,’ Ogata-San said, eventually. “Yes, we were just passing this way and I was Biting Etsuko-San you lived here. In fact, I was just remembering how you used to come and play with Jiro, then you were both little boys.”
Shigeo Matsuda laughed. “Time really flies by, doesn’t “ he said.
“Yes. I was just saying as much to Etsuko. In fact, I was St about to tell her about a curious little thing. I happened remember it, when I saw your house. A curious little thing”
Oh yes?”
Yes. I just happened to remember it when I saw your house that’s all. You see, I was reading something the other day. An article in a journal. The New Education Digest, I think it was called"
The young man said nothing for a moment, then he adjusted his position on the pavement and put down his brief case.
“I see” he said.
“I was rather surprised to read it. In fact, I was quite astonished.”
Yes. I suppose you would be.”
It was quite extraordinary, Shigeo. Quite extraordinary.”
Shigeo Matsuda took a deep breath and looked down at the ground. He nodded, but said nothing.
“I’d meant to come and speak to you for some days now,” Ogata-San continued. “But of course, the matter slipped my mind. Shigeo, tell me honestly, do you believe a word of what you wrote? Explain to me what made you write such things. Explain it to me, Shigeo, then I can go home to Fukuoka with my mind at rest. At the moment, I’m very worried.”
Shigeo Matsuda was prodding a pebble with the end of his shoe. Finally he sighed, looked up at Ogata-San and adjusted his spectacles.
“Many things have changed over the last few years," he said.
Well, of course they have. I can see that much, What kind of answer is that, Shigeo?"
“Ogata-San, let me explain.” He paused and looked down at the ground again. For a second or two, he scratched at his ear. "You see, you must understand. Many things have changed now. And things are changing still. We live in a different age from those days when . . when—you were an influential figure”
“But, Shigeo, what has this to do with anything? Things may change, but why write such an article? Have I ever something to offend you.?"
"No, never. At least, not to me personally."
“I should think not. Do you remember the day I introduced you to the principal at your school? That wasn’t so long ago, was it? Or was that perhaps a different era too?”
”Ogata-San”—Shigeo Matsuda had raised his voice, an air of authority seemed to enter his manne
r—"Ogata-San, I only wish you’d called in an hour earlier. Then perhaps I’d have been able to explain at greater length. There isn’t time to talk the whole thing over now. let me just say this much. Yes, I believed everything I wrote in that article and still do. In your day, children in Japan were taught terrible things. They were taught lies of most damaging kind. Worst of all, they were taught not see, not to question. And that’s why the country was plunged into the most evil disaster in the entire history."
“We may have lost the war,” Ogata-San interrupted, but that’s no reason to ape the ways of the enemy. We lost the war because we didn’t have enough guns and tanks, not because our people were cowardly, not because our society was shallow. You have no idea, Shigeo, how hard we worked, men like myself, men like Dr Endo, whom you also insulted in your article. We cared deeply for the country worked hard to ensure the correct values were reserved and handed on.”
I don’t doubt these things. I don’t doubt you were sincere and hard working. I’ve never questioned that for one moment. But it just so happens that your energies were spent in a misguided direction, an evil direction. You weren’t to know this, but I’m afraid it’s true. It’s all behind flow and we can only be thankful."
”This is extraordinary, Shigeo. Can you really believe us? Who taught you to say such things?” Ogata-San, be honest with yourself. In your heart of hearts, you must know yourself what I’m saying is true. And to be fair, you shouldn’t be blamed for not realizing the true consequences of your actions. Very few men could see where it was all leading at the time, and those men were prison for saying what they thought. But they’re free now, and they’ll lead us to a new dawn.”
“A new dawn? What nonsense is this?”
“Now, I must be on my way. I’m sorry we couldn’t discuss this any longer.”
"What is this, Shigeo? How can you say these things? You obviously have no idea of the effort and devotion men like Dr Endo gave to their work. You were just a small boy then, how could you know how things were? How can you know what we gave and what we achieved?”
A Pale View of Hills Page 13
