Alien Rice; A Novel.

by Ichiro Kawasaki

  Within three years after his return to the Head Office, Saburo Tanaka was promoted to chief of the foodstuff section. He had been with the company for over fifteen years now, and except for the first three years, when he was assigned to the General Affairs section, or the secretariat of the Head Office, he had specialized in foodstuffs, not only in canned goods but in meat, poultry and grain, and in fact anything pertaining to foodstuffs. For all these items he had international prices and marketing conditions, both domestic and overseas, almost at his fingertips.

  While his promotion could not be said to have been rapid, Saburo's efforts now had been amply recognized by his appointment to the post of section chief. There were some fifty of his colleagues who had been recruited as regular employees in the same year as Saburo. Of these fifty, only about twenty had so far reached the level of section chief, so Saburo was much above the average. The next objective in scaling the pyramidal hierarchy of the Tozai Trading Company was to become a director of a department, for which another five or six years' unstinted service would be required. After departmental director, director of a division was the next step.

  It might be mentioned, parenthetically, that the post of a division director was equal, or almost tantamount to, that of a member of the board of directors, the senior-most post a regular employee could hope to attain, apart from that of president or vice-president. Tozai had nearly five thousand employees, not counting foreign local employees, so it was obvious that to become a president was a one-in-five-thousand chance, more difficult than to win in the Irish Sweepstakes.

  "I was promoted to section chief today, Alice," Saburo announced proudly.

  "Congratulations, Saburo."

  Alice was somewhat familiar with the Tozai hierarchy, so she knew that even the post of a section chief was hard to come by.

  "You get a raise in salary at the same time, I suppose?" Alice asked.

  "Yes, my basic salary now is 80,000 yen."

  "How much does a department director make?"

  "130,000 yen or thereabouts."

  "Even that would not be enough to live on comfortably in Tokyo with a family."

  "No. That is why we all hang on to the company. You know, even a member of the board of directors nowadays finds it hard to keep up his standard of living once he leaves the office. So he either has to stay in the company as an advisor or parachute into a directorship of an affiliated company."

  "What about the president or vice-president? Is he reasonably wealthy?"

  "Well, he is no better off, unless he has secured a big block of shares in the company during his tenure of office. Today even a president is called a salaried man. Once I happened to visit the house of the previous president, who retired five years ago. He lived in a small house in Osaki, just outside Tokyo.

  "I still remember what he said to me at that time. He said, 'Every nice thing comes to an end the moment you reach the retirement age. You have no automobile of your own but have to go round by bus and subway. It's only after you leave the company that you start to appreciate what it is to be in the employ of the company,' the former president said.

  "I was very surprised by his frank admission, but it must be the feeling most employees share when they reach retirement age. In fact, everyone in Tozai dreads the prospect of retirement. Precisely for that reason everyone enjoys the life of a company employee, however harsh, so long as it lasts."

  "Is it because the pension of a president or any other company employee is so small?" Alice asked.

  "Yes, that is one reason. Most of us have no private means, no savings. We lost everything in the war. We live a life of hand to mouth, so to speak."

  "From what little I've observed, Saburo, the main reason for the small salary of everyone in the company seems to be expense-account spending. I thought that dinner the other day for the Talbots was very nice. But how much did that party cost, per head? Have you any idea?"

  "I would say something like 10,000 yen per head. Geisha fees are very high, you know."

  "Well, we never do such extravagant things in England or America. You are throwing money, time and energy-everything—into the gutter. Suppose the company stopped or cut such extravagance by half, they could easily double your salary," Alice suggested.

  "It cannot be done because of the present tax system. Expense-account spending is accounted for tax-free."

  "Then why don't you change your tax laws?"

  "It has been suggested and the government is studying the question. But it won't be easy. Owners of all these restaurants and bars would go out of business."

  Alice thought it was useless to argue any further. It was a vicious circle which could not be broken at any point. The Japanese simply had no moral courage and loathed to take the initiative in any just cause. Those grumbling foreigners in the Union Club of Yokohama, though some of them might be scoundrels, were right, Alice thought to herself.

  The Anglo-Japanese conversation school was now entering into its third year under Alice's management. Mrs. Enami had died the year before, of stomach cancer. Alice went to the funeral rites, for she had liked Mrs. Enami very much and was sad indeed over the loss of her friend.

  Alice was a kindhearted and patient woman, though she was outspoken at times. Though endowed with business acumen, she was compassionate. Above all, she did not have the affected air of superiority some of her countrymen assumed, especially when they were in the East. For these reasons people Liked and respected Alice. She was a popular principal at the institute among the staff and students alike.

  One afternoon the chief of the foreign affairs section of All Japan Radio, a middle-aged man, came to see Alice, armed with a letter of introduction from a friend of Saburo's who was working in Radio Tokyo.

  "Madame, your English institute is very well known in Tokyo. In fact quite a few of our staff members are attending your classes in the evening. It would be a great honor if you could see your way to give lessons over our nationwide network. Could you consider our offer favorably?"

  Alice had been told that in Japan sometimes it would be more dignified to reserve a reply to a request of that nature. The All Japan Radio representative, on his part, did not mention the terms of engagement, let alone fees for the service. But he was under strict instructions to get Alice's consent by all means.

  Outright yes or no, in a case like that, would be embarrassing to both parties. If the answer were no, the section chief would get a rebuff and lose face. If, on the other hand, Alice did accept the offer right away, before the broadcasting company specified the terms, there would be room for unpleasant argument afterward about the amount of fees and other conditions. Hence, vagueness or impreciseness is often considered a virtue in Japanese life.

  "I'll think it over. For I have to see if I can fit it in with my other work. I'll let you know as soon as I can," Alice simply replied.

  "I'll expect your favorable consideration of the matter." So saying, the visitor left a basket of assorted fruits as a gift.

  A few days later Alice conveyed her agreement to All Japan Radio and worked out the details. She was to give lessons twice a week and the fee for the class was to be a fabulous 100,000 yen a month.

  As a result of this new arrangement, Alice Tanaka's name had become almost a household word throughout the country. The man in the street had come to know the name of this British language instructor.

  In due course the Anglo-Japanese Institute became one of the largest of its kind in the metropolitan Tokyo area and perhaps the most successful, from the financial point of view, thanks to Alice's supervision and management.

  Alice had set aside a quarter of a million yen each month for her own investment. She had been to Karuizawa frequently since that summer weekend with her husband. However, she was now going there not as a vacationer, but more as a businesswoman. Alice had since found two choice properties. One was a large villa owned by a German during the war. Another was a 1,000-tsubo lot on a hillside in the Mikasa section of Karuizawa.
Alice paid three million yen for the villa and two and a half for the land.

  Saburo knew what she was doing. In fact, there had been few, if any, secrets between Saburo and Alice since their marriage. For one thing, Alice realized that, however independent she might be, she was living in her husband's land and was in his custody after all. If something untoward happened, all around her would be strangers, or at any rate people not of her own kind, and she would find herself utterly defenseless. Smiling, friendly faces could turn into hostile, threatening ones overnight.

  Saburo, on his part, was irrevocably linked to Alice now that he had an heir apparent, who could not grow without Alice's motherly love.

  "How is your Karuizawa business these days?" Saburo asked his wife one evening.

  "I've got three properties now. The villa I bought lately is well built and is in quiet surroundings. We could live there if you were chucked out of the company," Alice jestingly said.

  "No, I don't want to live in Karuizawa all the year round. I don't mind spending summers there, though."

  "Why not? It would be good for Toshio's health."

  "I prefer to live near Tokyo. It's a big city. Many places to go. Many friends to meet and talk to. I would be too lonely in Karuizawa."

  What Alice learned from this conversation with her husband confirmed her previous suspicion that the Japanese people, by and large, were gregarious and liked to get together. They abhorred loneliness. Another sign of their lack of individuality, Alice concluded.

  The next summer Saburo took a few days' leave and went with Alice to Kyoto. Japan was not a big country, yet Alice was surprised how little she knew of the country apart from the metropolitan Tokyo-Yokohama region. She was not the only one; so few foreigners, except for diplomats who had more time, ventured out to explore the country.

  The landscape along the Tokyo-Kyoto trunk railway was changing all the time. Paddy fields rose in tiers like amphitheaters on both sides of the train as it made its way into a valley ; then came a long tunnel and the vast blue waters of the Pacific suddenly came into view, as though a theater curtain had been raised, the moment the train emerged on the other side. The train then dashed along a narrow coastal strip barely separated from the sea, with Mount Fuji towering majestically over the hills.

  In the train it was very hot and sultry, and not a few men nonchalantly shed their trousers and sat in their thin white underwear, which looked much like pajama bottoms. Alice was taken aback.

  "What is that outlandish garment they are wearing?"

  "That is suteteko. Most Japanese men wear these thin pants in the summer and lounge in them in order to keep cool," Saburo explained.

  Alice was somewhat disappointed when she arrived at Kyoto. Right in front of the railway station she saw an ungainly skyscraper tower protruding over the old Japanese temple roofs. The small, shallow river which ran through the city was filled with trash. There were more Western-style buildings than typically Japanese structures, and both were mingled in a disorderly, discordant fashion.

  However, some of the temples, shrines and gardens she visited were incomparably beautiful; so were those wooden houses with latticed windows and sliding doors.

  "There will be Gion festival tomorrow, one of the most celebrated of all shrine festivals in Japan. You must see it, by all means," Saburo told Alice.

  "What is the main feature of the festival?"

  "It is a portable shrine, what we call mikoshi in Japanese, which large groups of young men bear on their shoulders through the city. The procession lasts several hours, with thousands of spectators marking the way," Saburo explained.

  "Oh, that sounds exciting," Alice said. "Let's not miss it tomorrow."

  The next day the couple went early in order to find a good spot to watch the time-honored procession. Husky youngsters carried the portable shrine above their heads with gusto and fanfare. Their march was not straight but took a zigzag course. The procession was an extremely boisterous affair. It went on amid great uproar. Everyone who took part in the shrine bearing was excited, worked hard and exerted himself to the utmost. But progress was slow and much energy seemed to be wasted in the process. An important-looking person sat in the carriage immediately preceding the mikoshi but he did nothing, let alone direct the march. He was being tossed around but seemed to enjoy the ride. It was altogether a strange, wild march, but the mikoshi finally reached its destination.

  "What do you think of mikoshi, Alice?" Saburo asked.

  "Very interesting, I must say. I didn't see much sense in it, but all the same it was a show well worth watching."

  "Alice, whenever I watch a mikoshi procession I think of my company or any other business concern and the way Japanese business is conducted," Saburo began.

  "In the first place, there are far too many people taking part in this shrine-carrying business and precisely for this reason the shrine does not go straight but meanders. The efforts of the bearers are not concerted or coordinated, but are largely wasted. The march is wild and everyone seems to enjoy it so long as it lasts. Once started, the bearers cannot very well stop but must somehow carry the shrine on to its final destination, no matter what happens. Isn't it very much like the Tozai Company anJ the way we work?" Saburo asked.

  "That is a very interesting analogy, Saburo. I've never thought of that. And who was that fellow sitting in the carriage with a fan in his hand?"

  "He is a boss of the town or somebody. I always liken him to the president of our company."

  "Why?"

  "Because that chap is not really directing the march of the shrine ; he is being tossed and shoved round by the carriers and is merely sitting in the place of honor. He prefers not to take a positive action but rather to follow the trend within the company. The rest of the crowd does the work."

  Alice found Saburo's observations quite fascinating.

  "On the other hand, the way you Westerners do business or run a corporation is like rowing a boat. Eight members of the crew follow the cox's leadership and none of the crew errs or digresses. The crew's efforts are concerted and no energy is wasted. The movement of the boat is swift and it reaches the destination without much ado or fanfare. This I thought when I watched the Oxford-Cambridge regatta on the Thames."

  Alice was very much interested in what Saburo had to say. She was glad Saburo was aware of the irrational and wasteful practices of Japanese business corporations. But he had never openly criticized or condemned them until that day when she saw the mikoshi in Kyoto, presumably because he had been resigned to his fate.

  Alice was glad she had come to Kyoto after all.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Toshio was now three years old. Because of Alice's strict upbringing, the boy did not cry as boisterously as did the other babies in the neighborhood. His eating and sleeping times were strictly observed by the maidservant. So Alice could often go out and leave the child with the servant or with a young babysitter, a high-school girl who lived close by. Since the babysitter had a key to the apartment, the nursemaid often went home after putting the child to bed.

  One evening Saburo and Alice were invited to a dinner by the British consul in Yokohama. The consular residence stood in the best location of the Bluff, commanding a panoramic view of the harbor. It was an imposing building designed by a British architect and was a fitting symbol of Britain in the days when she ruled the seven seas.

  Ian Morris, the consul, was exceedingly affable.

  "I hear you live near Yokohama," he said to Alice. "You must have many interesting experiences living and working among the Japanese. We never seem to get to know the people, however much we try. For instance, I've been here two years now, but have never once been invited to a Japanese home."

  "That is not your fault really. Japanese society is very much a closed world for non-Japanese, judging by my experience," Alice answered.

  To Saburo, the consul was very diplomatic.

  "How did you like England, Mr. Tanaka? I'm sure you wil
l be a bridge to span Japan and England, so to speak, in the years to come."

  At about 9:30 P.M., when the dinner was over and the guests were enjoying their coffee and liqueur, the Tanakas heard a fire-engine siren shrieking past the consulate.

  The consul heard the siren, too, and told his Japanese servant to find out where the fire was. All the engines seemed to be going in the direction of the Tozai compound. Both Saburo and Alice were alarmed and stood up nervously.

  In the meantime, the servant came back to tell the consul that, according to the police, the Tozai dormitory outside Yokohama was afire. Alice was frantic. Saburo hurried out of the consulate to hail a taxicab, and the Tanakas rushed back to their apartment without so much as bidding good-bye to Consul Morris and his wife.

  When they arrived at the Tozai compound their section of the flats was enveloped in thick black smoke and firefighters were busy at work, holding huge water hoses in their hands. A crowd of curious onlookers blocked the Tanakas' way. Alice was wailing. Saburo was quieter but apprehensive nonetheless. They were stopped at a police cordon. Saburo explained that he was the resident of Apartment B3, around where the fire had started, and wanted to get back to rescue his son.

  Flames had already been put out, but the ruins were still smoldering. The Tanakas could only get as far as Apartment BS, two doors away from their own, where they found, to their great relief, Toshio coolly sitting on the lap of Mrs. Watanabe, the Tanakas' immediate neighbor, and smiling.

  It transpired that when the fire broke out in B2, Mrs. Watanabe's apartment, she tried to run down to safety by an emergency staircase. But it occurred to Mrs. Watanabe that, since she had heard no one enter the Tanaka apartment after the maid left, Toshio must be alone there. So Mrs. Watanabe smashed the window glass of the Tanaka apartment and went in to look for Toshio. Sure enough, he was fast asleep on his cot, with nobody else in the house. Seizing the boy in her arms, Mrs. Watanabe fled to the fire escape and descended before the fire engulfed the Watanabe and Tanaka apartments.