by Spence, Alan
‘I moved to Tokyo. I grew rich. I grew powerful. I grew comfortable.’ He paused. ‘I grew old.’
He closed his eyes, breathed deep. Then he sipped at his tea.
Lawrence waited, then tried to draw him out again. ‘There had been these … setbacks, immediately after the rebellion.’
‘It was inevitable,’ said Glover. ‘It was a period of great turbulence, upheaval.’
‘Interesting Times!’
‘Aye.’
‘You were effectively bankrupt.’
‘I don’t like to use the word, but yes.’
‘And you clawed your way back.’
‘I’d made a fortune, I lost it, I made another one.’
‘Then it was Mitsubishi and the move to Tokyo.’
‘And the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘But you kept one foot in Nagasaki?’
‘I kept the house there.’
‘Ipponmatsu.’
‘Couldn’t bear to sell it.’
‘Too many memories?’
‘Indeed. But aside from sentiment, it’s a matter of practicality. My son Tomisaburo still lives there with his charming wife Waka. I myself return there frequently. My daughter Hana is also happily married, to a decent young fellow, an Englishman by the name of Bennett. They have four children, so I’m a grandfather four times over! Unfortunately her husband works for my old partner Ringer, and the work took him to Korea, so the whole family had to up and move.’
‘And your son Tomisaburo never followed in your footsteps?’
‘In what sense?’
‘He wasn’t a gung-ho adventurer? He didn’t make fortunes and lose them again? Didn’t bring about a revolution?’
The old man smiled. ‘Perhaps Tomi lacked a certain … fire. But he’s made a decent enough life for himself. By nature I suppose he’s rather reserved, studious. He visited your country, you know. Studied Biology at the University of Pennsylvania.’
‘Is that a fact?’
‘On his return he went into shipping, so I suppose I influenced him a little. With my help he negotiated the purchase of Japan’s first steam trawler – the Smokey Joe! – built in Aberdeen. It revolutionised the fishing industry.’
‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’
‘Perhaps not! Tomi’s interest was always more academic. He’d be down at the dock every day, checking the catch, but not for commercial reasons. Biology was his first love, and he’d be examining the fish, cataloguing them. He’s been working for years on a project to make a kind of atlas of all the fish in the area. He’s employed artists to make detailed drawings. It’s quite an undertaking.’
‘Do you and your son get along?’
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘I just thought you must have been, as they say in vaudeville, a hard act to follow!’
Glover grunted.
Lawrence changed tack. ‘Speaking of vaudeville, there’s a litle ditty doing the rounds of the bars in San Francisco. You might like it.’
He cleared his throat, sang in an exaggerated, nasal twang, beating time on the arm of the chair.
Hot ginger and dynamite,
There’s nothing but that at night,
Back in Nagasaki
Where the fellers chew tabacky
And the women wicky wacky woo!
Glover’s eyes opened wide, then he roared with laughter. ‘Wicky wacky woo!’ But the laughing made him cough, splutter, red-faced, gasp for breath, clutch his hand to his side as if in pain.
Yuko hurried in, brought a glass of water, watched him sip it, saw him calm as the spasm passed.
‘It’s a bugger,’ he said.
‘I should go,’ said Lawrence. ‘You’re tired.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Glover. ‘Just don’t make me laugh, that’s all!’ He handed his glass to Yuko. ‘Biiru, kudasai. Uisukii. Arigato.’
She looked uncertain, almost reluctant, then bowed, threw a look at Lawrence, left the room.
‘I just asked her to bring something a bit stronger,’ said Glover. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘Hot ginger and dynamite!’
‘Indeed!’
Yuko returned carrying a lacquer tray, set it down on the table. On it were two bottles of beer and two pint-glasses, a decanter of whisky and two cut-glass tumblers. With the same grace and adeptness she had brought to serving the tea, she unscrewed the bottletops and poured the beer, angling each glass so the froth was just right. Then she poured a measure of whisky into each of the tumblers, added a little more at Glover’s unspoken command, his finger and thumb held an inch apart. He nodded, smiled. Again she bowed, backed out of the room.
‘The beer is from my own brewery,’ said Glover, holding up his glass.
‘Kirin,’ said Lawrence. ‘I’ve sampled it. It’s a fine brew.’
‘The kirin is a mythical creature,’ said Glover, ‘half horse, half dragon, a symbol of good luck.’
‘An appropriate choice then,’ said Lawrence.
‘So it proved,’ said Glover, taking a sip. ‘It was the Dutch who introduced beer to Japan, and the Japanese quickly developed a taste for it! Initially, of course, it was all imported. Then an American opened a small brewery in Yokohama, Spring Barley it was called.’
‘Another fine name.’
‘Not as fine as Kirin,’ said Glover. ‘It failed for various reasons. But the idea was sound.’
‘There was a market for the product.’
‘Indeed. I saw the possibilities, took over the company, scaled up the operation, made it work.’
‘Impressive.’
‘It’s always the same story,’ said Glover. ‘It’s a case of getting the Japanese to manufacture their own products, here.’ He drained his glass, set it down, picked up the tumbler of whisky. ‘The Scotch, however, is from home. There are some things even the Japanese shouldn’t be trusted to copy!’
Lawrence laughed, raised his glass. ‘Your health!’
‘I’m afraid that’s long gone,’ said Glover. ‘Kanpai!’
They swigged their whisky. Glover grimaced, poured more, knocked it back in one go, stood and excused himself.
‘Nature calls.’
He was away an inordinately long time. Lawrence took the opportunity to look round the room, at the framed photographs on the wall.
The battleship Jho Sho Maru; a family group, Glover and Tsuru with Tomisaburo and Hana. Glover at his daughter’s wedding reception in the garden at Ipponmatsu; Glover as he was now, a distinguished old man, surrounded by Japanese naval officers, among them Admiral Togo; and on his own, in full formal dress with a medal pinned to his chest; Ito Hirobumi in an elaborate military tunic covered with medals, the photograph signed to Glover; Glover as a young man, standing with hands on hips, looking out at the world.
‘A whole life there,’ said Glover, coming back into the room. ‘Now it’s come to this. Aching, puffed-up, pissing blood.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I, laddie. So am I.’ He sat down in his armchair again. ‘The doctors reckon it’s Bright’s disease. Steady failure of the kidneys. It’s not pleasant.’
‘No.’
‘They said I shouldn’t be drinking or smoking, should be careful what I eat. I said For God’s sake why?’
Lawrence chuckled in spite of himself.
‘I mean,’ said Glover, ‘they’re all dead.’ A sweep of the arm took them all in, all his contemporaries. ‘All gone, all buggered off.’ He poured more whisky, for himself and Lawrence. ‘Tsuru passed away more than ten years ago. She’s buried in Nagasaki, at Sakamoto Cemetery. When I breathe my last I’ll join her there.’ He raised his glass again. ‘Cheers.’
‘Kanpai,’ said Lawrence, more subdued.
‘When Tsuru died, my sister Martha moved out here. Bless her. She’d lost her own husband, and a daughter. Our parents were long gone. I suggested the move to her, she said Why not?’
‘And did she like it here, did s
he settle to the life?’
‘Like a fish to water. She was always of a spiritual disposition and she converted to Catholicism, busied herself with good works. She was much loved. She too is buried in Sakamoto.’
Outside the day was growing dark. Yuko came in and lit the lamps, drew the curtains, stoked the fire in the grate.
Glover looked at the photographs on the wall, firelight glinting on the glass. ‘Ito’s gone too, of course. Killed by an assassin’s bullet. Some fanatical young Korean nationalist. Who would have believed it? Ito the great rebel, the great reformer, executed in the name of rebellion.’
‘It’s often the way of it,’ said Lawrence. ‘Each generation has to break in order to build anew.’
‘Ito kept in touch with me right to the end,’ said Glover. ‘He still wrote poems, and he sent me what may well have been his last verse. I can quote it from memory:
Nothing changes in the universe.
Past and present are as one.
Fish swim in deep waters.
Seagulls soar across the sky.’
‘Very profound,’ said Lawrence. ‘Rather more so than Hot ginger and dynamite!’
‘But Ito would have enjoyed that too!’ said Glover. ‘Most definitely!’
‘I see you’re something of a music aficionado yourself.’ Lawrence nodded towards a gramophone resting on a small table, firelight giving a glow to the polished mahogany box, glinting on the brass horn.
‘A miracle of modern technology,’ said Glover. ‘Yesterday evening you would have sworn Count John McCormack was singing in this very room! But listen to this.’ He picked up a record in a brown paper sleeve. ‘Are you familiar with Mister Gilbert and Mister Sullivan?’
‘I’m not much of a one for opera.’
‘Nor am I. To sit through an entire evening of the stuff would leave me with my brain aching and my arse numb! But these fellows are wonderfully entertaining. This is from The Mikado, and I doubt if it would go down well in Japan! Someone at the Consulate bought it for me in London, thought I would be amused by it. Listen, this is what I want you to hear.’
He lifted the needle-arm, placed the record on the turntable, cranked the handle, set the arm down on the Bakelite disc, the stylus resting in the groove. There was a crackling and hissing, then the unmistakable sound of a band striking up.
‘There! That song being played – it’s the marching song of the kingire, the rebel troops who overthrew the Shogun. It was played at the launch of the Jho Sho Maru. The Japanese have a reputation for being stoical, unemotional. But I swear to God, old Ito had a tear in his eye.’
The song came to an end, the stylus clicked and hissed on the disc, stuck. Glover lifted the arm, looked quite moved himself.
‘If I may make so bold,’ said Lawrence. ‘Ito and his government have themselves been criticised.’
Glover met his gaze. ‘As you said yourself a moment ago, it is often the way of it.’
‘In particular they have been accused of being belligerent, warlike.’
‘You refer to the wars with China, with Russia.’
‘Both of which were initiated by the Japanese.’
‘They have learned from their erstwhile superiors. Like any developing nation they have to protect their borders.’
‘By seeking to expand them.’
‘The war with China was over disputed territory.’
‘Manchuria, and by implication Korea.’
‘Japan is a very small country surrounded by large predatory neighbours. It saw Korea as a buffer.’
‘And by subjugating that nation brought about the very hostility that resulted in Ito’s assassination.’
‘You’re discussing a friend of mine, sir. You’re stepping out of line.’
Glover was irked, Lawrence could see it, still cantankerous and fiery enough to be riled. Lawrence saw for a moment the young man he had once been.
Yuko had come into the room, anxious at Glover’s raised voice.
Lawrence took a step back. ‘I apologise, Mister Glover. I meant no offence.’
‘Aye, well,’ said Glover. ‘Just mind you’re in my house.’
‘Indeed.’ Lawrence looked at Yuko, shrugged and smiled. She didn’t respond, cleared away the tray, the empty glasses.
Glover waited till she’d gone, levelled his gaze again at Lawrence.
‘I don’t recall the British and American press being anything less than enthusiastic about the outcome of these skirmishes. In fact, there was general rejoicing, especially over the Russian Bear having its nose bloodied.’
‘By the Japanese Monkey!’ said Lawrence.
‘Quite,’ said Glover. ‘Ito was incensed by that particular caricature of his people.’
‘That’s journalists for you!’
The young man was trying to restore a measure of jocularity, amiability. But Glover remained serious.
‘I did hear other reports,’ he said, ‘after the fighting with China, but I tended to discount them.’
‘Tales of barbarism, brutality, excessive cruelty.’
Glover nodded. ‘Those were the rumours.’
‘It was documented by one of my countrymen who chanced to be present,’ said Lawrence, ‘a vagabond and gunrunner by the name of James Allan. He wrote a rather lurid account of the whole business, and it’s not for the squeamish. What he describes is nothing less than carnage, the Japanese army running amok with a savagery that beggared belief – wanton killing, beheaded corpses piled up in the street, severed heads impaled on spikes.’
‘You describe the imagined scene with some relish, Mister Lawrence. Perhaps you should turn your hand to the writing of penny dreadfuls. I am sure your Mister Allan could do the same.’
‘To my knowledge,’ said Lawrence, ‘he has written nothing other than his account of this atrocity and what he deemed his miraculous escape.’
‘You called him a vagabond,’ said Glover. ‘Perhaps he embellished his story somewhat.’
‘Perhaps.’
They were silent a while, Glover staring into the fire, then they both spoke at once.
‘I …’
‘It …’
‘Pray continue,’ said Lawrence, deferring.
‘I was going to say it may have been that the Japanese soldiers grew drunk on the ease of their success. This was Japan’s first military engagement outside its own borders for two hundred years.’
‘Well then,’ said Lawrence. ‘They are making up for lost time. Their defeat of Russia was as swift as it was unexpected.’
‘Russia had been belligerent ever since the Chinese affair. They have had their own designs on the region, of course, backed up by the persuasive power of their navy, and they forced the return of the disputed territories. For the Japanese it became a matter of honour.’
‘Isn’t it always?’
‘They live by a code,’ said Glover. ‘And that is not something to be dismissed so lightly.’
Mounted on the wall, in its sheath, was Matsuo’s sword.
Lawrence was looking at the photographs, indicated the one of Glover with the naval officers.
‘I see you have made the acquaintance of Admiral Togo.’
‘On more than one occasion,’ said Glover. ‘I know him well.’
‘His handling of the Russian campaign was described by one observer as bushido in action, his attacks like the swift stroke of a samurai sword.’
‘I am sure the Admiral would be proud of such a description. You know, as a young boy he manned a gun emplacement at the bombardment of Kagoshima.’
‘Indeed?’
‘And instead of making him angry, it filled him with admiration, the desire to match and emulate that British and American sea power.’
‘I would say he’s well on the way to fulfilling that desire,’ said Lawrence. ‘With no little assistance from you.’ He looked at the portrait of Glover, wearing his medal. ‘I take it that’s the decoration you received from the Emperor.’
‘Just a year
ago,’ said Glover, straightening his back. ‘The Order of the Rising Sun. I was greatly honoured.’
Again he took a sharp intake of breath, as if in pain.
‘Forgive me,’ said Lawrence. ‘I’ve taken up a great deal of your time.’
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ said Glover, recovering. ‘For the most part!’ He shook the young man’s hand, his grip still firm, his gaze still clear, direct.
‘Thank you,’ said Lawrence. ‘You’re part of the history of this country, these times.’
‘An ancient monument!’
‘You changed things,’ said Lawrence. ‘How many of us can say that?’
Glover looked again at the photographs on the wall.
His life.
‘I don’t think any of us realised how quick the changes would be. Japan’s gone from the Middle Ages to the twentieth century in forty years. And of course it’s been messy. But what we have here is a dynamic, forward-looking nation. I think Ito and the others have worked wonders. They not only got rid of the Shogun and the all-controlling Bakufu, they took power away from the Daimyo, stopped the samurai strutting the streets with their overweening arrogance, expecting everyone to kowtow. You know there were whole strata of society, the poorest working folk, the eta, lower down the social scale than the peasants, in fact right off the scale altogether. They had no rights whatsoever.’
‘Like the untouchables in India.’
‘Exactly so. Legally they did not exist at all, and were completely ignored. Except, of course, when it came to the dirty work that nobody else would touch. Slaughtering animals and butchering the carcasses, burying the dead, assisting at executions.’
‘And their situation has changed?’
‘The Emperor has decreed it. The eta are human beings, have rights and freedoms. They can live and work where they choose, and like the peasants they are now known as heimin, the common people.’
‘Progress!’ said Lawrence.
‘It is,’ said Glover, narrowing his eyes, staring Lawrence down. ‘Not democracy yet, but a step in that direction.’
‘A democracy presided over by the Emperor, the Son of Heaven.’
‘He is a figurehead. He leads by example in embracing the new ways. When he cut off his top-knot, half the nation’s menfolk copied him!’
