Fishing for Stars

by Bryce Courtenay

  Later I came to realise that by maintaining a quiet aloofness Anna was signalling that she was not subservient to businessmen. She even grew to enjoy the attempts of the Japanese businessmen to hide the acute discomfort and even anger they felt when she trapped them with a question on finance or framed an answer indicating an astute insight that clearly surprised them.

  At first sight the Tokyo we entered seemed to be a Western paradigm, but we were to discover that this was not the case, despite the contemporary architecture. Tokyo remained unmistakably a Japanese city. Nestled seemingly in the cracks and crevices of the myriad high-rise towers would be a Shinto temple, a restaurant, home, traditional market or even a lamppost that was uniquely Japanese. These were the familiar touchstones of the city, its creature comforts and quiet assurances, lacking in Western cities, where the people appeared undaunted by the bland anonymity of the structures surrounding them. Tokyo was not only quintessentially Japanese, more than anything it was a city of and for people.

  We’d arrived after sunset and the Ginza district seemed to be pumping out sound and light. Facing one side of the Imperial Hotel was the world’s most dazzling light show, an explosion of neon colours that twinkled, spat, arched, zigzagged, spiralled, leapt and blinked, the colours singeing the edges of the towering buildings and tinting the clouds. The roar of the Ginza traffic, added to the visual shock, made me think that all colour and all sound coalesced in one place. Yet, somehow the major feature of the place remained the people. Looking down from our hotel window onto their dark heads, I thought they resembled an army of ants, teeming over the lighted pavement until it appeared to be an endlessly moving platform.

  We were to learn that in Japan nothing is what it seems to be. Even though we understood many of the subtle nuances of language, we simply never knew quite where we stood, and even the most formal conversations seemed to contain dark shadows we couldn’t penetrate.

  It might have been simpler if Anna hadn’t accompanied me to Mitsubishi, but we’d decided to do everything together for the added experience it would bring us, and although I said nothing, I felt it might prove that we were quintessentially a couple and diminish the ever-present spectre of Konoe Akira.

  We’d also agreed to speak English until such time as we both believed the people we were talking to could be trusted not to be duplicitous, which, I suppose, indicates duplicity on our part. We were instinctively arming ourselves in anticipation of the two deadly conversational m’s: mistrust and misunderstanding.

  By the standards of the giant shipbuilder, my purchase was small beer. They didn’t as a rule sell second-hand ships, but they possessed a small fleet of inter-island freighters they’d accepted as part of a deal to build four larger ships for a client in the Philippines. Anna had been informed of the existence of these freighters by a Japanese client who had been transferred from the Mitsubishi shipbuilding division to Sydney to drum up business in Australia and who had visited her on his frequent business trips to Melbourne. He had given us a letter of introduction to his head office, sending a copy on to them. It was normal procedure to deal with a broker who was usually retained by the larger shipbuilders to act on their behalf, but we hoped to use the introduction to avoid the middleman’s percentage and so secure a better deal with the shipbuilding giant. I was hoping to obtain one or even two freighters at a bargain price.

  It was the first time that I had stood to benefit from business conducted privately in a house of bondage, a world Anna never spoke about in detail and one I had never entered even to meet her. I must admit I initially felt a little uncomfortable briefing Anna on our requirements when she’d mentioned a client who seemed anxious to help. As the son of an Anglican missionary I was clearly still something of a prude, but somehow that letter of introduction felt dodgy, or even illegitimate. I could hardly say we had conducted our island business with the utmost propriety when it had begun with the money Kevin had made skimming his illicit commissions off the top of navy supply contracts. Still it felt strange and so I had spoken to both Kevin and Joe Popkin about the matter.

  Kevin didn’t blink an eye. ‘Nick, whatcha saying? Der sumthin’ wrong? You crazy! Business don’t need no office, don’t matter if it happen in da shithouse or da White House. Be grateful, grab it wid both fuckin’ hands. Then thank God or da devil for tappin’ you on da shoulder. Opportunity it like free pussy – you ain’t gonna ask too many questions when it come yer way.’

  Joe as usual thought for a while. ‘Nick, my man, it ain’t no problem of ours dat dis Japanese he like himself tied wid a rope so he all truss up and den he want to have himself some sweet conversation wid Miss Anna. We don’t pay him no bribe and all he wanna do is show his appre-ci-ation, be helpful. Ain’t no crime I can see in dat. You all go to the club, get pissed wid somebody, make a deal, and everthin’ gonna be all right, only contrak you got is a bottle Scotch whisky you done drink together.’ He spread his hands. ‘So what da difference?’

  In the foyer of the executive building at the Mitsubishi shipyard we were met by a young bloke wearing a merchant navy uniform with the Mitsubishi logo on his cap holding up a sign with our names printed on it in English. After making ourselves known, we were escorted to a small boardroom where we were met by two executives and a translator. ‘You are most welcome to Mitsubishi, sir,’ the translator said, bowing.

  ‘Thank you. My name is Nick Duncan and may I present Miss Anna Til,’ I said, indicating Anna.

  The translator looked unsmilingly at Anna, then turned and removed one of the chairs from the small boardroom table and placed it against the wall. Standing at rigid attention he gave a sharp nod of the head. ‘Please . . . you sit here,’ he instructed.

  I immediately realised that he thought Anna was my secretary, but explaining to him that she was my business partner would cause him to lose face. So I stepped forward and took a second chair and placed it beside the one intended for Anna. ‘Thank you,’ Anna said politely to the translator, and then, smiling at the two young executives, sat down. I joined her in the vacant chair making it appear that we thought this was correct Japanese business procedure. Whereupon the yet to be introduced executives, both of whom now wore decidedly bemused expressions, each removed a chair from the table and placed it beside me and sat down. Moments later the translator followed suit.

  The five of us were now seated in a line against the wall with the unoccupied boardroom table some two metres away. It wasn’t a propitious beginning.

  ‘You have not introduced us, you fool,’ one of the executives said to the translator in Japanese.

  Whereupon the seated translator, looking thoroughly confused, jumped to his feet. ‘This Mr Nakamura-san,’ he said, indicating the Japanese executive seated beside me. With a stiff nod of the head he then turned and repeated the gesture. ‘This Mr Fukuoka-san.’

  Both men jumped to their feet and snapped their heads forward in a simulated bow and grunted, ‘Hai!’

  ‘Also I . . . Mr Bando,’ the translator said, bowing a little more formally. All three had studiously avoided eye contact with Anna or any other form of recognition for that matter. Now they returned to their seats against the wall.

  ‘Ask the stupid gaijin who insults us by bringing his whore and robbing us of a night out eating and drinking what type of vessel he wants to buy,’ Fukuoka-san instructed Mr Bando.

  ‘Whatever it is, sir, we should make him pay dearly for our disappointment,’ Bando-san said, meanwhile leaning forward and smiling at me.

  ‘Duncan-san, Mitsubishi have many ship, what kind you want? Mr Fukuoka he ask you.’

  ‘A small freighter suitable for inter-island work, about fifty metres long, in good condition, no more than fifteen years old. It is all in my letter of introduction,’ I answered.

  The translator passed this on and the two Japanese conferred. Then one of them, Nakamura-san, stood up and went to the boardroom table and retrieved a manila folder and handed it to the second executive, obviously his senior. Fuk
uoka-san opened the folder and after riffling through several pieces of paper and what appeared to be a contract, the government purchase permit we’d obtained, survey certificates and a brochure, he finally extracted our letter, written by Anna’s client in Japanese. He looked at the document carefully to give the appearance of seeing it for the first time and when finally he’d completed reading it he placed it back in the folder and handed it to Bando-san who returned it to the table and then sat down again. Ignoring our presence Fukuoka-san spoke directly to Bando-san.

  ‘As you know the letter says they want a freighter, or if the price is right they may take another. Of the twenty-eight such inter-islanders we have laid up, eight of them are rust buckets equipped with short-range fuel tanks. Let’s make the gaijin settle for one of these. We’ll tell him we can’t keep up with the demand and have only two vessels for sale at present. If he’s prepared to offer us a good price he may take them off our hands. By the way, you’ll have to cancel the restaurant tonight. We can’t have him bringing the Chinese whore. Pity, there is a bar girl just around the corner who promised me a nice surprise – only ten thousand yen for fifteen minutes of her valuable time . . . You’d think they were queuing up outside for her favours!’ He smiled and then collected himself.

  I realised that they thought Anna was Chinese, which would have added greatly to their chagrin. Except for the Koreans, no people are less worthy in the eyes of the Japanese, who had committed bestial atrocities against helpless victims in the wars in China and Manchuria, among other things using Chinese civilians for live bayonet practice. We were to be punished for not only ruining their plans for an all-male night out at company expense, including a visit to a love hotel with a bar hostess, but also for the supreme insult of bringing a Chinese woman into the premises to negotiate with them. I guess it was three strikes and you’re out; a woman, a Chinese and an all-male banquet denied.

  ‘What if he knows his ships and isn’t fooled?’ Bando-san cautioned. ‘Didn’t his letter of introduction say he owned a small fleet?’

  Fukuoka-san was unimpressed. ‘Pfft! This gaijin who brings a woman with him to buy a ship can’t know much about ships or men. Take my word for it. He is an o−baka [a big idiot]. Besides, all eight vessels have had a lick of paint to cover the rust. There is a broker who wants six of them for an African buyer, a Nigerian, who can’t afford more, that’s why they’re not included in the brochure. He has offered sixty thousand US dollars each, a fair price. That leaves two of the eight leaky tubs.’

  ‘We don’t want to be too greedy, sir. The Africans want those six for short trips to load the bigger ships lying out to sea off Lagos. All the other prospective buyers have rejected them because of their limited fuel capacity – their cruising range is too short.’

  ‘This baka [fool], who brings with him this hafu [this half-breed], won’t know that.’ He turned to Mr Bando, the translator. ‘Tell the gaijin that unfortunately we have only two ships available, but even they are in demand. We are only talking to him because he has come a long way from Australia, and out of courtesy for our representative in Sydney. Tell him we regret, but he must take it or leave it. The two ships we hope will prove to be ideal for his purposes, but he will need to make up his mind in twenty-four hours and the cost is one hundred thousand US dollars each.’

  Bando-san looked momentarily doubtful, realising that Fukuoka-san had added a premium of eighty thousand US dollars for the two freighters. As Anna was sitting beside me I couldn’t see her face, which I knew would be perfectly composed while inwardly she’d be a raging inferno. But then Anna always looked coolest when she was fired up. I’d have to tread carefully. Anna had insisted on being thoroughly briefed on every specification. It was her way. No matter how small the business transaction, she did her homework so that she wouldn’t be caught out on some small neglected detail. On the plane, despite my insisting that I knew ships and how to buy one, she’d laughed, glancing at me with her blue eyes wide. ‘Nicholas, I couldn’t sit in a meeting and not understand every aspect of the negotiations. I must know, I must be able to think, to plan the next move. Knowledge is power!’

  ‘But, Anna, I will do all the negotiations,’ I insisted.

  ‘Yes, of course! But, Nicholas, you said they would take at least three days – our first meeting with them, our visit to the harbour to inspect the freighter the following day, then back for the final negotiations. We will need to discuss things each day when we get back to the hotel. If I don’t understand everything, then how can I be useful?’ she said appealingly, then added, ‘We have never done business together. I must not let you down, darling. My client told me about these two ships and the possibility of buying them in good condition for less than a new one would cost. I could never forgive myself if something went wrong. You must brief me, please.’

  Now, seated in this ridiculous row against the wall we listened to the ultimatum Fukuoka-san offered us. I sensed that Anna ached to have a go at them – they were small fry and not in her league but nevertheless needed to be taught a lesson. They’d fondly believed they’d set a trap for us and I’m sure she wanted to extract the cheese from it, leaving it unsprung and her would-be assailants totally bewildered.

  While I could handle myself in any boardroom and usually knew what I wanted to achieve, Anna was and always would be the better negotiator. She simply had the patience, cunning and intuition I lacked. Furthermore, she enjoyed the process immensely and needed to win for too many reasons in her past to discuss. This would be especially true against the Japanese. These two clever dicks conspiring to cheat us because of ‘the insult’ of her presence in the room she would regard as simply too good an opportunity to resist.

  For my part, I would have enjoyed nothing more than to stand up, grab both of them by the lapels of their cheap blue serge suits, lift them bodily off the floor and bang their heads together while castigating them in Japanese. I could even think of the precise phrase to use – baka wa shinanakuya naoranai [a fool is only cured by dying]. Alas that pleasure would have to wait.

  Fukuoka-san gave me an ingenuous smile as the translator announced the offer, stressing that we must make up our minds quickly.

  I returned the smile, almost neglecting to wait for the translator to finish. ‘Ah, thank you, Fukuoka-san. We would be greatly honoured to discuss this generous offer with you and your esteemed colleague,’ I said in the exaggerated formal Japanese manner while still speaking in English.

  Mr Bando, the translator, looked pleased, no doubt relieved that we hadn’t understood the previous conversation between the two executives. He quickly translated, retaining the formal style of my reply. Fukuoka-san and Nakamura-san smiled broadly, nodding their heads, both looking extremely pleased with themselves.

  I turned to Anna and smiled. ‘Whacko, Anna, over to you, give bib and bub their comeuppance.’ This was a sentence Mr Bando had no way of translating and he looked totally confused.

  Only the tiniest flicker in Anna’s eyes registered her surprise. ‘Thank you, Nicholas, however did you guess?’ she said, rising from her chair. She carried it to one end of the boardroom table where she seated herself. ‘Mr Bando, would you kindly bring your seat to the left side of the table. Mr Nakamura and Mr Fukuoka on the right side if you please and Nicholas at the other end.’

  Mr Bando was too astonished to react and stood looking at Anna and then at the two executives. I grinned and jumped up with alacrity, taking my chair and placing it at the opposite end to Anna and sitting down. The translator, overcome with apprehension as well as confusion, pointed wordlessly at the right side of the table then stammered, ‘She wants you to sit there.’

  Both men turned to look at each other, their expressions just as surprised as Mr Bando’s had been. It struck me that they hadn’t yet understood that somehow the tables had turned and the advantage no longer lay with them. They were both small men and now seated in front of them was a six-foot three-inch Caucasian male and a slim, incredibly beautiful
female who seemed perfectly composed and completely in control. She was also in the process of ordering them in the politest possible manner to do as she required, there being no way they could resist without remaining seated like supplicants against the wall of the boardroom.

  The two men brought their chairs over and positioned them at the table as they had been instructed, Fukuoka-san collecting himself enough to mutter ‘Kusatta gaijin! [Stinking rotten foreigners!]’

  Anna waited until they were properly seated then she pointed at the manila folder. ‘I noticed that you have a brochure in that folder. I would be grateful if you would tell us which of the two ships of the twenty it features are the ones not yet sold, Mr Fukuoka.’

  Bando-san translated and Fukuoka-san nodded his head vigorously. ‘No, no, those are all sold, we have two others.’

  Anna waited for the translation. ‘These two others, what is the survey status?’ she asked.

  The answer came from Mr Nakamura. ‘The vessels are from the Philippines; we have not yet translated the information.’

  ‘Oh, that will be no problem. Ship surveys in the Philippines are conducted in English. If you will let us have the papers we can read them ourselves,’ I said, as Anna wouldn’t have known this detail.

  ‘Not possible,’ Fukuoka-san said.

  ‘Confidential information,’ Nakamura-san added quickly.

  The tedium of translation proceeded.

  ‘Oh? But, of course, we would need to see the current survey certificates if we are to purchase the vessels,’ Anna insisted quietly.

  Fukuoka-san thumped the table. ‘This is Mitsubishi. You will trust us – we will not be insulted by you!’

  Anna did not react. ‘Can you tell us the cruising range, the capacity of the fuel tanks?’ she asked calmly.

  ‘Not available!’ Fukuoka-san yelled at Mr Bando. ‘Tell the kyabajo− [cabaret girl, ergo prostitute] we want a decision today or the vessels will be sold. We have a buyer waiting!’