A Father's Kisses

by Bruce Jay Friedman

  Looking at those proud yet playful red horses, I felt as if I had stepped into a fairytale.

  My hotel had a giant lobby. Here again, I wondered how the Japanese people could complain about their lack of space and then go ahead and have a lobby that was as big as a small town. My feelings were confirmed when I saw my tiny room—not that there wasn’t everything I needed in there once I had stopped being offended and looked around.

  As an example, there were twenty different kinds of teas lined up on a vanity table. (I am not a tea drinker, but that is beside the point.) Yet for all the conveniences, I could barely stand up in the little room, which made me wonder, once again, why they hadn’t carved up some of the giant lobby and attached it on to the little rooms for added comfort.

  It seemed important for them to put on an impressive front; no doubt this was due to their complex culture and their weird and isolated position on the map.

  Since my appointment with Kevin was not until the early evening, I took a little walk around the hotel and soon realized I was in the home district of a mystery writer whose work I admired. His books featured the world’s most patient detective, who had solved one murder case by walking for miles along a railroad track, looking for clues that the murderer may have thrown out of a window.

  Naturally, he spotted one, due to his patience.

  I found a stretch of railroad track, and to amuse myself, I followed it for a while, pretending I was that detective. But I soon ran out of patience and decided to get some lunch.

  The first restaurant I came to had a sign above it that said, CHINESE FOOD, and I thought I’d try it, just as a novelty. I had come down with a cold on the way over and decided to get some soup to see if I could clear it up. There was a picture of a soup bowl on the menu, and when the waitress came by, I pointed to it; she got the idea and before long had placed a big bowl in front of me that had everything in it but the kitchen sink. By the time I got halfway through with it, my cold was gone, just as if I’d spent a month in the country.

  And I could hardly wait to tell Lettie that I had had the best Chinese food I’d ever eaten, in Japan of all places.

  To put myself over the top, I did have a cup of green tea and then I returned to my hotel to prepare for the meeting with Kevin Kurosawa.

  Along the way, I spotted exactly one homeless person, a cheery fellow with a red nose and a nice-sized paunch, who was stretched out comfortably on a grass highway divider. Except for a hole in his shoe, he was neatly dressed and seemed to be having the time of his life, waving to passersby, some of whom came over and presented him with bunches of flowers and colorfully wrapped gift packages. Far from bringing down the neighborhood, you could argue that he had spruced it up. I concluded that the Japanese certainly did have a handle on their homeless problem. Shouldn’t they be given credit for that? (Unless they had them all stashed away in some section that I had not visited—which I doubt. They don’t seem to be that way.)

  I had sent my blue suit jacket with the gold buttons down to the valet for a quick dry cleaning, and when I showed up at my room, a delegation of six fellows was there, each one with a long explanation of why they could not get a spot out of the sleeve. It must have been a blow to their national pride, and they apologized profusely. I said I understood, and they said they appreciated that and finally bowed out of my room, leaving me some cookies. Though the cookies were excellent, the visit resulted in my being twenty minutes late for my appointment. It was at a club in the Rappongi area that was not easy to find, which didn’t help matters.

  As I stepped out of the cab, I saw a tall, wiry fellow pacing up and down in the front of the club and chewing his lip while a plumpish and pleasant-looking American woman looked on patiently. He had on a business suit and tie, with his shirt collar open, and he wore a black patch over one eye. As I approached the club, he appeared to recognize me. Since I did not know another soul in the whole country, I gathered, correctly as it turned out, that this could only be Kevin Kurosawa.

  “Jesus Christ, Binns,” he said, holding his head in his hands and charging forward to greet me. “What happened? I thought you’d never get here. I was worried sick, and it’s a good thing my wife was here to calm me down. She’s the sane one in the family, and I’m lucky to be married to her. Sandy has stuck with me for twenty years and believe me, I’m not that easy to live with. I’d be nothing without her, Binns. Nothing!

  “Say hello to Sandy.”

  I shook hands with Kevin’s wife and apologized for being late, telling them about the dry cleaners and how they were unable to get the spot out of my suit jacket.

  “That’s understandable, Binns,” said Kevin. “You’re in a foreign country. Try not to forget that. You may not approve of the way they do things, but it is their country, and they have a perfect right to do things their way. Would you agree to that?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Some of the things they do, such as their worship of Madonna—and don’t get me wrong, she’s got a lot of talent—some of the things they do turn my stomach. But I am half Japanese and proud of it. Anybody who insults them, I’ll put them right through a wall. Isn’t that correct, Sandy?”

  “Yes, it is,” said his mild-mannered wife.

  I told Kevin that I had no intention of saying anything against the Japanese people, which seemed to satisfy him. Then I took a good look at him and saw that he did indeed appear to be half-Japanese. His hair and his one good eye and his nose were all Japanese-looking. The same held true for his sloping belly, which I had noticed on other Japanese fellows. Yet apart from those features, he could have passed for an American.

  I followed Kevin and Sandy into the club, a huge, noisy space that was decorated in purple and chrome and that I found to be on the flashy side. Most of the club members were young men in business suits who appeared to be half-Japanese and half-American, just as Kevin was.

  Though the club was named the Blue Parrot, I thought a more appropriate name would be the Half and Half, although obviously the owners didn’t see it that way.

  After we had sat down at one of the chrome tables and ordered drinks, Kevin said: “Admit it, Binns. You want to know about the eye. Don’t be embarrassed. I can’t say that I blame you. If the situation was reversed, I’d want to hear about your eye.”

  I said I wouldn’t mind hearing about the eye, but only if he wanted to tell me about it.

  “I appreciate that, Binns. You’re a gentleman. Val told me you had excellent manners, and I can see that he was right. Doesn’t he have excellent manners, Sandy?”

  “Yes, he does,” said Sandy, a bit uncomfortably.

  “Here’s the scoop. My stepfather nicked me with a dart in the rathskeller of our home in suburban Illinois. Some say it was deliberate—the sonofabitch did hate me, although I have to admit he treated mom like a queen. But what are you gonna do! It’s true I missed out on the state basketball championship and to this day, my fallaway jumper sucks—I can still drive to the hoop—but that’s life. I had a choice—piss and moan, or get on with my life, which I did, with the assistance of my lovely wife who you just met.

  “Without Sandy,” he said, pounding the table, “I’d be dogmeat, Binns. Dogmeat.”

  “I lost my wife,” I told him, supportively. “And without her I would have been dogmeat. For all I know I may be dogmeat anyway.”

  “You’re not dogmeat,” said Kevin. “If you were, we would have heard about it. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” said Sandy, breaking her silence and covering my hand with hers.

  “You see that, Binns,” said Kevin. “You see how sensitive she is. God knows where I’d be without her. I don’t even want to think about it. And I’m sorry to hear about your wife, too. Anytime you want to talk about it, any hour of the day or night, I’ll be there. Just don’t insult my people, that’s all I ask.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “Good. I knew I could count on y
ou.”

  One of the half-Japanese and half-American fellows approached us, tapped Kevin on the shoulder and pointed to the rear of the club where a dozen young executive types were seated around a banquet table.

  “We’re all waiting for you, Kev,” he said.

  “Tell them not to get nervous. I’ll be right over.”

  Then he turned to me and said: “Forgive me, Binns. I rarely do this, and Sandy will tell you I’m one of the most considerate people you’ll ever meet. But I have to give an inspirational speech to those putzes back there. I plan to lead off with a story about a cross-country trip I took with my brother-in-law in the spring of ’76. It’s a terrific yarn, but there’s a possibility that they might not get it. If they don’t, all I can say is fuck ’em.

  “Sorry, Sandy,” he said, catching himself and burying his head in his hands. “Jesus Christ, when will I ever learn not to talk that way in front of her.”

  “That’s all right, Kev,” she said.

  “Thank you, Sandy,” he said. “That’s very understanding of you. I’ll be right back.”

  Sandy and I watched him cross the room to the banquet table and begin his speech. The young executives listened intently to him, but after a while they turned to each other with puzzled looks and began to squirm around in their seats, as if they were miserable. Whatever misgivings Kevin had about his opening anecdote were apparently justified.

  Since Sandy was not the conversational type, I took a minute to think about her husband. That he was a nonstop talker was evident. If there was something to say, he would say it. But as a listener, you could sit back and coast along on the shoulders, so to speak, of all that conversation, which was relaxing. He also seemed to be a sincere and open-mannered fellow who wore his heart on his sleeve. And I had no doubt that he would show up at any hour of the day or night if you needed him. The question was whether you wanted him to do that. And I had the feeling that he would show up whether you needed him or not. Finally, I was not sure he was the type of fellow you’d want to have along on a sensitive assignment, such as the one I had been given. But he had been chosen as my liaison man, which meant that Peabody must have seen something in him, just as he had spotted something in me.

  Some ten minutes later, Kevin returned to our table, sweating and mopping at his forehead with a napkin.

  “Can you believe it,” he said. “They hated the story. And all I can say is fuck ’em. Excuse me again, Sandy.”

  “That’s perfectly all right, Kev.”

  “Didn’t you sort of know they wouldn’t like it?” I said.

  “You’re right. I cannot believe how perceptive you are. I knew they would hate it, and I went ahead and told it anyway.

  “I must be crazy,” he said, smacking his head.

  “You’re not crazy, Kev,” said Sandy.

  “Thank you, Sandy. You, weren’t sitting over here and smirking at me, were you, Binns?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “I thought you were. And it threw off my timing.”

  “I don’t think he was, Kev,” said Sandy.

  “If you say so, Sandy. But it sure looked that way to me.”

  Rather than continue to insist that I hadn’t smirked—which is not in my nature—I decided to push on to more serious matters.

  “What about Matsumoto?” I asked, lowering my voice in a professional manner.

  “I’m glad you asked that question, Binns. Val said you were a hard-working fellow, and I can see that you are. He also said you were brilliant, brilliant, and I can see that, too. Not that it gives you the right to smirk during one of my stories.”

  “I didn’t smirk.”

  “All right, all right,” he said, mopping at his forehead with his sleeve. “Don’t get hot. Jesus Christ you’re sensitive. If you say you didn’t smirk, you didn’t smirk, and I’m willing to drop it, even though it’ll probably bother me for years …”

  “Tell him about Matsumoto, Kevin,” said Sandy.

  “What?” he asked, looking puzzled. “Oh, yeah. Now I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Binns, but Matsumoto is a prince among men.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I knew you would be. His workers worship the ground he walks on. I myself did PR for the man, and I have never been treated more decently. He said I could go back to work for him anytime I wanted to, and I have no reason to doubt his sincerity. You won’t meet many people like that, and I may have to take him up on his offer since I’m strapped for money these days. But don’t worry, I’m not going to hit you up for a loan, although I’d pay it back at the first opportunity, and there’d be no reason for you to lose any sleep over it.”

  “I’m in kind of a hole myself these days.”

  “I respect that, Binns, and I appreciate your honesty, although I wasn’t going to ask for much. But we’ll let that go.”

  “He must have some faults,” I said, changing the subject quickly.

  “He does have one,” he said, “but I’d rather not tell you about it in front of Sandy. Excuse us, darling.”

  “You go right ahead and take care of your business, Kev.”

  “Thanks, Sandy.”

  “What a doll,” he said.

  Then he took me aside and shielded his mouth with one hand.

  “About the only thing I can come up with is that Matsumoto can’t fuck the same woman twice.”

  “What’s that all about?”

  “Beats me, Binns. I can’t make head or tail out of it.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Divorced. Fucked her once and that was it.”

  “How do I get a shot at him?” I asked, somewhat metaphorically.

  “I’ll show you where he lives after dinner. Now let’s get back to Sandy. God knows we’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

  After we had eaten our sushi dinners, which were excellent, Kevin and Sandy drove me out to Matsumoto’s house, which was situated in a quiet working-class neighborhood nearby. In marked contrast to the modest little frame houses that surrounded it, his place looked like a New York City skyscraper that had been shrunk down in size, while retaining its correct proportions. Unless I was mistaken, it was tilted slightly, as if a giant had used it as a plaything, then got tired of it and stuck it in the ground.

  There were some security guards at the front of the property who looked around warily as we drove by, and I could see that it was going to be difficult to get at Matsumoto in his place of residence. I pictured him walking around up there or perhaps watching some TV—or doing whatever he was doing at a tilted angle.

  “We’re out of luck, Binns,” said Kevin, taking note of the tight security. “But I did want you to see where the man lives—right in the middle of his workers. He wanted to have a house just like theirs, but his directors were dead set against it. They felt his house should stand out, and I don’t blame them.

  “The man is a saint, although it kills me to have to tell you that.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, “he’s a saint. But how do we get at him?”

  “Excellent question,” said Kevin as we left the neighborhood. “Jesus Christ you’re on the ball. But I’m way ahead of you. It hurts me to tell you this, but his workers are giving a parade for the man tomorrow, in honor of all the wonderful things he’s done for them. I do have a few connections left—not everyone has turned their backs on me—and I’ll get you into that parade. I’ll drive you there tomorrow, even though it’s out of my way. And I’ll take you back to the hotel now, although that’s out of my way, too.”

  “What about a cab?”

  “No cab will pick you up at this hour because of your Western features, although I’d appreciate it if you don’t hold that against my countrymen. If you do, we may have to duke it out. You’re a little bigger than I am and can probably kick the shit out of me, but you never know. I have fast hands.”

  “I won’t hold it against them.”

  “Thanks, Binns. Where’s your home incidentally?
”

  I told him where I lived, and he asked if it happened to be near the ocean.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “What about a lake?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Not even a river?” he said.

  “We do have a river that cuts through town, although it’s mostly for show and doesn’t have any commercial traffic on it.”

  “Is that right,” said Kevin. “Well, maybe it will someday, you never know. As a matter of fact, Sandy and I have always wanted to be near a river. We’re going to be in your area next month and might drop by for a visit. Not that we’d expect you to put us up, although if the situation was reversed, you could stay with us for as long as you like.”

  Seeing that he had boxed me in and that I had no choice, I said that he could stay with me and Lettie.

  “That’s great,” said Kevin. “Now Lettie is your daughter, am I right? And I understand she got her period.”

  “How did you find that out?” I said, feeling my blood pressure go up a notch or two.

  “Oh, Jesus,” said Kevin, who couldn’t have failed to notice my irritation. “I can see you’re touchy about it, and I’m sorry I brought it up. But I would like to add—if you’ll bear with me—that it’s perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of. My sister, God bless her, got her period and is now a highly successful office manager in Edgemere, New Jersey. Sandy? The same thing, and I don’t have to tell you how she turned out. It’s part of life, Binns, and you might as well get used to it.”

  “I don’t need the whole world to know about it. And don’t call me Binns.”

  “Sorry about that. Do you prefer being called ‘Binny’?”

  “Try Matthew T. Morning.”

  “Matthew T. Morning,” he repeated softly trying out the name for himself. Seemingly satisfied, he said: “You got it. And you do have a point. I swear on my life, and Sandy’s life, too, that I’ll never say another word about your daughter’s period. I made a mistake. I am human. And thanks again for the invitation to stay with you and your lovely daughter. Not a word from now on about her period. The invitation is still on, isn’t it?”