by Allen Say
"I don't mean for you to decide now, but my family, especially my father, would like very much to meet you."
"I'd like that," I said. "It would be an honor to meet your family."
"Will this Saturday be too soon?"
"No, I have nothing planned."
"It's best if I meet you somewhere. You'll never be able to find our house."
"I can meet you in front of the dog statue," I said without thinking.
"Would two o'clock be all right?"
"Yes, that's fine."
"I'm glad you can come." She bowed and left me standing in the narrow lane. I had my first date in front of the dog statue after all.
She was there before me, and I almost didn't recognize her in a smart blazer and a wool skirt. It was wonderful to see her waiting for me. As I crossed the square and walked toward her, she spotted me and smiled nervously. She was very pretty.
"Have you been waiting long?" I asked, even though I knew I was on time. She shook her head and looked away.
"Do we have to go to your house right away?" I asked.
"No, but I'd like you to have supper with us."
"With your family? But that's too much trouble."
"It won't be anything special. My father likes to meet young people. Can you?"
"Yes, if you're sure it's all right."
"Father will be honored."
"Do you like coffee?"
"Sometimes, if it isn't too strong."
"Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?"
"Yes."
I took her to a fancy cafe in the neighborhood, telling myself there wasn't anything wrong with what we were doing. We didn't look at each other all the while we walked and talked, with me doing most of the talking. Her constant nodding made me uncomfortable.
When we came to the cafe Michiko stuck her head through the doorway as if to make sure the place was respectable. "Is this all right?" I asked. She hesitated for a second, then said yes.
The dark cafe was the kind of place where you would ordinarily sit with one cup of coffee for hours, for, as Mori used to say, you were paying for the rent. But we drank our coffee quickly and hurried out. I'd never felt so young in a public place, and Michiko did look like a girl in a middle school. We were also afraid we might run into someone we knew, and Michiko insisted on paying for her cup of coffee.
"Won't you let me pay for this?" I asked.
"You must let me pay for mine," she said seriously.
"Why?"
"Mother would be angry with me if I accepted a treat."
I let her pay for her share. At least she didn't say her mother wouldn't approve.
Michiko lived in a big rambling house on the outskirts of Tokyo where most of the houses had a lot of land and trees around them. It was quiet there, away from the city noise, and a little gloomy. A housemaid greeted us in the dark porch and laid out a pair of house slippers for me, and led us through the seemingly empty house. There was something eerie about the stillness of the place, the kind of place where you unconsciously lowered your voice, as in a hospital. We went up a flight of stairs and entered a spacious, elegant room, with an alcove in the corner where an old scroll was hanging. There were four or five oil paintings on the walls and I knew at least one of them was a work of a great painter. Next to the alcove was a rack that held three samurai swords with lacquered scabbards. But the thing that really caught my attention was a pair of kotos lying side by side on the floor. A koto is a kind of large Japanese zither with thirteen silken strings.
"Chie, a pot of tea, and please tell Sister we're here," said Michiko to the maid. The maid bowed and shuffled out of the room. It was strange to see Michiko lording it over a grown woman.
"Do you play?" I pointed at the kotos.
"I only pluck at it; my sister is the expert. I've always wanted to study the violin, but Father thinks koto is more ladylike. It must be wonderful for you to be able to study with your master."
"Yes, I'm very lucky; my parents don't object. But I don't see why you can't study the violin if you really want to. Can't you take lessons without telling your father?"
"No, I can't do that. I'm only a girl."
That's what they all say. I'm only a girl. There isn't much you can say to that, and I never knew whether it was a complaint or envy.
"I'll probably take it up some day," she said, "and find out I have no talent for it."
"I like music," I told her.
"I do, too. Classical music. Do you?"
I nodded and looked around the room. Two framed photographs on the writing table caught my eye. They were old-fashioned photographs, slightly yellowing; one was of a man in a white military uniform with medals on his chest, and the other was of a boy about my age, with hair cropped short, wearing a school uniform.
"That's my father." Michiko pointed to the man. "He was an admiral. It's been a family tradition with us. My grandfather was also an admiral."
Her father did look like an admiral, with an impressive handlebar mustache, holding a sword as casually as one would hold a walking cane.
"And that is my older brother. He would be twenty-three this year. He died right after the war."
I wanted to say something but the maid came in with the tea things. She was followed by a young woman in a flowered kimono. The woman was about twenty, and looked beautiful with faint makeup.
"So you are Sei-san," she said and bowed. "I'm Yoko, Michi's sister. We've heard some fascinating things about you, so we know a little more about you than you know about us. It isn't fair, is it?"
I didn't know whether she was flattering or teasing me.
"You're embarrassing Sei-san." Michiko frowned at her sister.
"I'm sorry." Yoko smiled.
We sat on silk pillows and talked over tea and cakes. I was glad when Michiko asked her sister to play the piece she'd been practicing.
"My playing is only an amateur's delight," Yoko said politely and played the long instrument.
She was very good. The beautiful haunting air made me think of my childhood, when there was hardly any Western music. The sound of old Japan.
After the solo, Michiko joined her sister and they played a duet. Their father entered the room so quietly I wasn't aware of him until I heard the rustling sound of a kimono and saw him sit next to me. I started to bow but he raised his hand, signaling me to be still. He sat with his back straight, like a samurai lord, and listened to the music with his eyes closed. He was an impressive man, with white hair and a huge mustache.
"Welcome to my humble home," he said when the music came to the end. He had a great bass voice. "You must forgive Michiko's mother for not joining us. She's been ill for quite some time, and even a recital like this would be too taxing for her."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"It's one of those strange ailments that no one seems to know anything about. How did you like the music? They're rather good, don't you think?"
We hadn't been introduced but it didn't seem necessary.
"Yes, I think they're wonderful," I replied.
"You like Japanese music then?"
"Yes, sir, especially koto music."
"I think our music has more of a soul than Western music."
"But Father," said Yoko, "you've never listened to a live symphony. Sei-san, you mustn't pay much attention to Father. He's so old-fashioned, he won't even see a movie."
"I say what does a movie have over a good stage play? Noh and puppet plays are more my pace. But then what do we old men know? I understand you're a classmate of Michiko's."
"Yes, since the new term," I said, trying not to look at Michiko. She had lied to her father, and that pleased me. He would be a hard man to lie to.
"Father," said Yoko, "Sei-san is a pupil of Noro Shinpei."
"So I understand. It's hard to believe that Michiko and Sei-san are the same age. Why, he appears to be a grown man next to her."
"That's not fair, Father," said Michiko. "Sei-san is the tallest boy
in school. He's taller than most of the teachers."
"Samurais of old were tall men. Height is a great advantage. You must take up kendo, Sei-san; you'd make a superb swordsman. We Japanese don't drink enough milk. How about some refreshments?"
Seeing me puzzled, Michiko said, "Father means sake. Will you have some?"
"Tea is fine for me, thank you," I said.
"Come, come, a little sake is a good thing. Why, in the old days men your age were sent into battle with nothing more than sake in their veins," he said and clapped his hands twice. The maid entered silently.
"Chie, warm some sake for us, four cups, and something to go with it."
We drank sake and he told us war stories. I'd heard a lot of war stories, but never from an admiral. His stories were fascinating, and he was a fine storyteller. He talked about Manchuria, the South Seas, even about America, where he was once a military attaché, and about the fabulous warships he'd commanded.
Perhaps because of my poor circulation sake never made my face turn red, and that impressed the admiral. He was the kind of man who judged other men by how much sake they could drink. I was relieved when the maid finally served our supper.
Michiko insisted that she see me off to the station, asking the maid to come after her in fifteen minutes. As we walked down the wide hallway I heard a door open behind me. I looked back and saw an ashen face of an old woman behind a partly opened door. The room was dark, and the woman's face stood out like a Noh mask, white and ghostly. Our eyes met briefly, then the door closed without a sound. I looked away quickly, realizing it was Michiko's mother.
Michiko and I walked on the deserted street, she casting a pool of light in front of us with a flashlight.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked.
"Why should I be angry? You mean about our being in the same class?"
"That, too, but for not warning you about Father's drinking. And Mother."
"No, of course not. He doesn't drink any more than Sensei. I think your father is wonderful."
"You saw my mother, didn't you?"
"She looks very ill."
"You see, she's never been the same since my brother died. She hasn't left her room in six years."
"She's been grieving all this time?"
"It's a long story. I don't know if I should tell you ... my brother killed himself; he committed suicide when the war ended. He killed himself because he could never be an admiral like Father and Grandfather. I think my mother has gone mad—we can't even talk with her. It's been very hard on Father. Girls aren't quite the same as boys to a military man. He has often asked me to invite boys to the house. He likes to talk to young men, but I've never asked anybody before. I thought you would understand."
"How old was your brother?"
"Sixteen."
I didn't know what to say to her. We walked in silence.
"You aren't drunk, are you?" Michiko asked.
"I'm all right.... No one at school knows this, but I live alone."
"What do you mean?"
"I live alone in an apartment. My parents are divorced."
"How terrible for you!" She stopped in the middle of the street. "I can't imagine such a thing. Do you have to do your own cooking?"
I laughed. "I eat out. And I wash my own underwear. You shouldn't think your family is so strange—at least you're together."
As we continued our walk, I told her about my parents and Grandmother. Gently she touched my hand, I squeezed her small hand, and she tightened her grip in answer. No one had held my hand since I was a small boy, and something like a lost memory came rushing back to me. Holding hands with her seemed like the most natural thing to do; I longed to walk like that through the night, not saying a word. If I reminded Michiko of her dead brother, I didn't mind.
Coming near the station we saw the dark forms of people and we unclasped our hands and walked a few paces apart.
"I'm very glad you came," said Michiko.
"Should I wait until the maid comes?" I asked her.
"No, please go now."
"Good night then."
"I hope you'll come again."
"I'd like that very much; I'd be honored."
FIFTEEN
After that I visited Michiko about once a month. The gloom in her house depressed me, and I felt tense, but her father seemed to enjoy my company. My visits were all alike: koto music, a few cups of sake, and supper that looked like it was ordered from a restaurant. Michiko was a good friend and I liked her. I wished I didn't think any more about Reiko, but I did.
Michiko was a straight A student, and that had an effect on me; I began to study harder. Once I stole a board that Sensei had discarded and gave it to Michiko. Tokida had done some of the background but I lied and told her it was all my work. She was delighted, and said she would have it framed.
A month before summer vacation I received a letter from my father. I was very surprised, because I hadn't heard from him in a long time. The first thing I saw in the envelope was a postal check for a large sum of money. I knew something had happened. This is what the letter said.
Koichi,
I trust that all is well with you. Enclosed is a money order which you may spend in any way you wish. Let me explain what has happened since I wrote to you last.
Do you remember Captain Powers, the American officer for whom I used to do translations ? He has left the service and now resides in California. As you know we had become quite good friends, and we have kept in touch over the years. He wrote me last week and kindly offered to sponsor me and my family to emigrate to America, and I have accepted. I have already begun the paperwork from this end. I have been told that the process will take about a year, which will give me ample time to sell our house and my business.
Captain Powers remembers you well, and has asked about you. And, of course, when I say my family you are naturally included. So my question: Would you consider going with us? And should you decide to do so I must know as soon as possible, for there would be additional paperwork to be processed. I realize this is rather sudden notice, and if you would like to think things over, do so. I will be happy if you decide to join us, and needless to say I will. be responsible for your education, lodging etc. I suggest that you talk to your mother about it, but let me stress the point that the decision is ultimately yours. Do let me know soon.
Father
I was dumbfounded. I'd known about Father's wish to leave Japan, but I never thought he would actually do it. And it seemed ironic that my father chose to emigrate to a country that was our enemy only a few years before. I remembered the fair-haired American army captain who used to come to our house with candies and Coca-Cola and patiently teach me the English alphabet. But the strange thing about Father's letter was that he was giving me a choice, not an order. Perhaps our long separation had made him a little timid, or perhaps he'd given me the choice out of fatherly obligation whether or not he really wanted me to go with him. I read the letter over and over, trying to read between the lines, but that only confused me. It wasn't something I could decide overnight. I wrote to Father and asked him to give me time to think things over. First, I had to talk with Mother.
The idea of going to America did excite me. I thought of the skyscrapers, cars zooming at incredible speed on cloverleaf highways, cowboys and Indians, gangsters with machine guns, Gary Cooper and Humphrey Bogart. Maybe I should quit school immediately and take a crash course in English conversation.
But leaving Sensei and Tokida would be more painful than I cared to think about. And Mother would be 6,000 miles away. This is a dog. No, it is a cat. That was about the extent of my English. They would make me go through schooling all over again once I got to America. I wasn't ready to go back to an elementary school.
I decided to consult Sensei before going to Mother with the news. I took some of the best charcoal drawings I had done at school so we'd have something to talk about if our conversation bogged down and went to the inn.
"You
did these?" asked Sensei. I nodded. "Pin this one up."
It was wonderful to watch Sensei study a drawing. He really looked at it. It was like watching someone eating a ripe peach.
"Superb," he declared. "I see you've been working very hard indeed. Here, pin the others up. What do you think, Tokida?"
"He's getting pretty good," he agreed. "I like that statue, the discus thrower. Maybe we ought to have one here, Sensei. I think Kiyoi should have drawn in the background, though."
"I agree," said Sensei. "Start putting in the background, Kiyoi. It's time you started paying attention to composition. Even if you only blacken the background, the drawing will stand out more. Do you find drawing nudes easier now?"
"A little, Sensei. It's so different from drawing plaster casts."
"They go hand in hand. You're concerned with shading in drawing the casts, but in life drawing line is the thing. Look at those beautiful grays. I'm impressed. Show me more, show me your sketchbooks."
While Sensei and Tokida looked over my drawings the kitchen maid brought in a pot of tea and some sweets. I was glad for the interruption, because Sensei's praise and Tokida's silence made me nervous.
"Excellent," said Sensei. "I have only one thing to say for now, and it may not be all that important. Taikan, the great painter, once said that whenever he couldn't muster a technique, he would go with his heart. You don't seem to have that problem. You're blessed with extraordinary dexterity and I get a feeling that I'm being seduced by your cleverness. Look at her leg, for instance." He pointed at one of the nudes. "You're drawing like Matisse. It's quite beautiful, really, but I feel you weren't really looking at her leg when you drew it, but drew it the way you thought her leg ought to look. It's important that you don't seduce yourself with your own talent. Do you see what I'm getting at?"
He was right, of course. With Sensei, you couldn't get away with anything.
"Do I hear you arguing silently?"
"I was thinking about something else, Sensei. My father is going to America."
"For a visit?"
