Chapter Four

I was in the kitchen one afternoon preparing the supper before my husband came home from work, when I heard a strange Sound coming from the living room. Estopped what I was doing and listened. It came again—the Sound of a violin being played very badly. The noises continued for a few minutes then stopped.

When eventually I went into the living room, I found Ogata-San bowed over a chess-board. The late afternoon sun was streaming in and despite the electric fans a humidity had set in all around the apartment. I opened the windows a little wider.

“Didn’t you finish your game last night?" I asked, coming over to him.

“No, Jiro claimed he was too tired. A ploy on his part, I suspect. You see, I have him in a nice corner here."

“I see."

“He’s relying on the fact that my memory’s so foggy these days. So I’m just going over my strategy again.”

“How resourceful of you, Father. But I doubt if Jiro’s mind works quite so cunningly.”

“Perhaps not. I dare say you know him better than I do these days.” Ogata-San continued to study the board for several moments, then looked up and laughed. “This must seem amusing to you. Jim sweating away in his office and here I am preparing a game of chess for when he comes home. I feel like a small child waiting for his father.”

“Well, I’d much rather you occupied yourself with chess. Your musical recital earlier was hideous.”

“How disrespectful. And I thought you’d be moved, Etsuko.”

The violin was on the floor nearby, put back in its case. Ogata-San watched me as I began opening the case.

“I noticed it up there on the shelf,” he said “I took the liberty of bringing it down. Don’t look so concerned, Etsuko. I was very gentle with it.”

“I can’t be sure. As you say, Father’s like a child these days.” I held up the violin and examined it. “Except small children can’t reach up to high shelves.”

I tucked the instrument under my chin. Ogata-San continued to watch me.

“Play something for me," he said. “I’m sure you can do better than me.”

“I’m sure I can.” Once morel held the violin out at arm’s length. “But it’s been such a long time.”

“You mean you haven’t been practicing? Now that’s a pity, Etsuko. You used to be so devoted to the instrument.”

“I suppose I was once. But I hardly touch it now.”

“A great shame, Etsuko. And you were so devoted. I remember when you used to play in the dead of night and wake up the house.”

“Wake up the house? When did I do that?”

“Yes, I remember. When you first came to stay with us.” Ogata-San gave a laugh. “Don’t look so worried, Etsuko. We all forgave you. Now let me see, who was the composer you used to admire so much? Was it Mendelssohn?”

“Is that true? I woke up the house?”

“Don’t look so worried, Etsuko. It was years ago. Play me something by Mendelssohn.”

“But why didn’t you stop me?”

“It was only for the first few nights. And besides, we didn’t mind in the least.”

I plucked the strings lightly. The violin was out of tune. “I must have been such a burden to you in those days,” I said, quietly

“Nonsense.”

“But the rest of the family. They must have thought I was a mad girl.”

“They couldn’t have thought too badly of you. After all, it ended up with you marrying Jim. Now come on, Etsuko, enough of this. Play me something.”

“What was I like in those days, Father? Was I like a mad person?”

“You were very shocked, which was only to be expected. We were all shocked those of us who were left,. Now, Etsuko, let’s forget these things. I’m sorry I ever brought up the matter.”

I brought the instrument up to my chin once more.

“Ah,” he said, “Mendelssohn.”

I remained like that for several seconds, the violin under my chin. Then! brought it down to my lap and sighed. “I hardly play it now,”! said.

“I’m sorry, Etsuko.” Ogata-San’s voice had become solemn. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have touched it.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “So,” I said, “the little child is feeling guilty now.”

“It’s just that! saw it up there and I remembered it from those days.”

“I’ll play it for you another time. After I’ve practiced a little."

He gave me a small bow, and the smile returned to his eyes.

“I’ll remember you promised, Etsuko. And perhaps you could teach me a little.”

“I can’t teach you everything, Father. You said you wanted to learn to cook."

“Ah yes. That too.”

“I’ll play for you the next time you come to stay with us.”

“I’ll remember you promised,” he said.

After supper that evening, Jiro and his father settled down to their game of chess. I cleared up the supper things and then sat down with some sewing. At one point during their game, Ogata-San said:

“I’ve just noticed something. If you don’t mind, I’d like to make that move again.”

“Certainly,” said Jim.

“But then it’s rather unfair on you. Especially since I seem to have the better of you at the moment."

“No, not at all. Please take the move again."

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

They played on in silence.

“Jiro,” Ogata-San said after several minutes, “I was just wondering. Have you written that letter yet? To Shigeo Matsuda?”

I looked up from my sewing. Jiro appeared absorbed in the game and did not reply until he had moved his piece. “Shigeo? Well, not yet. I’ve been meaning to. But I’ve been so busy just recently.”

“Of course. I quite understand. I lust happened to think of it, that’s all."

“I don’t seem to have had much time just recently.”

“Of course. There’s no hurry. I don’t mean to keep pestering you like this. It’s just that it might be more appropriate if he heard from you fairly soon. Its a few weeks now since his article appeared.”

“Yes, certainly. You’re quite right.”

They returned to their game. For some moments neither of them spoke. Then Ogata-San said:

“How do you suppose he’ll react?”

“Shigeo? I don’t know. As I say, I don’t know him very well these days.”

“He’s joined the Communist Party, you say?”

“I’m not certain. He certainly expressed such sympathies when I last saw him.”

“A great pity. But then there are so many things in Japan today to sway a young man.”

“Yes, no doubt.”

“So many young men these days get carried away with ideas and theories. But perhaps he’ll back down and apologize. There’s nothing like a timely reminder of one’s personal obligations. You know, I suspect Shigeo never even stopped to consider what he was doing. I think he wrote that article with a pen in one hand and his books about communism in the other. He may well back down in the end."

“Quite possibly. I’ve just had so much work recently.”

“Of course, of course. Your work must take precedence. Please don’t worry about it. Now, was it my move?”

They continued their game, speaking little. Once I heard Ogata-San say: “You’re moving just as I anticipated. You’ll need to be very clever to escape from that corner.”

They had been playing for sometime when there was a knock at the door. Jiro looked up and threw me a glance. I put down my sewing and got to my feet.

When I opened the door, I found two men grinning and bowing at me. It was quite late by then and I thought at first they had come to the wrong apartment. But then I recognized them as two of Jiro’s colleagues and asked them in. They stood in the entryway giggling to themselves. One was a tubby little man whose face looked quite flushed. His companion was thinner, with a pale complexion like that of a European; but it seemed he too had been drinking, for pink blotches had appeared on each of his cheeks. They were both wearing ties, loosened untidily, and were holding jackets over their arms.

Jiro seemed pleased to see them and called to them to sit down. But they remained in the entryway, giggling.

“Ah Ogata,” the pale-faced man said to Jim, “perhaps we’ve caught you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. What are you doing in these parts anyway?”

“We’ve been to see Murasaki’s brother. In fact, we haven’t been home yet.”

“We came to disturb you because we’re afraid to go home,” the tubby man put in. “We didn’t tell our wives we’d be late.”

“What rabble you are, the pair of you, said Jiro. “Why don’t you take off your shoes and come up here?

“We’ve caught you at a bad time,’ the pale-faced man said again. “I can see you’ve got a visitor.” He grinned and bowed towards Ogata-San.

“This is my father, but how can I introduce you if you don’t come in?”

The visitors finally took off their shoes and seated themselves. Jim introduced them to his father and they began once more to bow and giggle.

“You gentlemen are from Jim’s firm?” Ogata-San asked.

“Yes, indeed,” the tubby man replied. “A great honour it is too, even if he does give us a tough time. We call your son 'Pharaoh’ in the office because he urges the rest of us to work like slaves while he does nothing himself.”

“What nonsense,” said my husband.

“It’s true. He orders us around like we’re his dog’s bodies. Then he sits down and reads the newspaper.”

Ogata-San seemed a little confused, but seeing the others laugh he joined in.

“And what’s this here?” The pale-faced man indicated the chess-board. “You see, I knew we’d interrupted something.”

“We were just playing chess to pass the time,” said Jiro.

“Goon playing then. Don’t let rabble like us interrupt.”

“Don’t be silly. How could I concentrate with idiots like you around.” Jiro pushed away the chess-board. One or two of the pieces fell over and he stood them up again without looking at the squares. “So. You’ve been to see Murasaki’s brother. Etsuko, get some tea for the gentlemen.” My husband had said this despite the fact that I was already on my way to the kitchen. But then the tubby man started to wave his hand frantically”

“Madam, madam, sit down. Please. We’ll be going in just a moment. Please be seated."

“It’s no trouble," I said, smiling.

“No, madam, I implore you"—he had started to shout quite loudly—“We're just rabble, like your husband says. Please don’t make a fuss, please sit down.”

I was about to obey him, but then I saw Jiro give me an angry look.

“At least have some tea with us," I said. “It’s no trouble at all."

Now you’ve sat down, you may as well stay a while,’ my husband said to the visitors. “Anyway, I want to know about Murasaki’s brother. Is he as mad as they say he is?”

“He’s a character all right,” the tubby man said, with a laugh. “We certainly weren’t disappointed. And did anyone tell you about his wife?”

I bowed and made my way into the kitchen unnoticed. I prepared the tea and put onto a plate some cakes I had been making earlier that day. I could hear laughter coming from the living room, my husband’s voice amongst them. One of the visitors was calling him “Pharaoh’ again in a loud voice. When I returned to the living room, Jiro and his visitors seemed in high spirits. The tubby man was relating an anecdote, about some cabinet minister’s encounter with General Mac Arthur. I put the cakes near them, poured out their tea, then sat down beside Ogata-San. Jiro’s friends made several more jokes concerning politicians and then the pale-faced man pretended to be offended because his companion had spoken disparagingly of some personage he admired. He kept a straight face while the others teased him.

“By the way, Hanada,” my husband said to him. “I heard an interesting story the other day at the office. I was told during the last elections, you threatened to beat your wife with a golf club because she wouldn’t vote the way you wanted.”

“Where did you pick up this rubbish?"

“I got it from reliable sources."

“That’s right,” the tubby man said. “And your wife was going to call the police to report political intimidation.”

“What rubbish. Besides, I don’t have golf clubs any more. I sold them all last year.”

“You still have that seven-iron,” said the tubby man. “I saw it in your apartment last week. Maybe you used that.”

“But you can’t deny it, can you, Hanada?” said Jim. “It’s nonsense about the golf club.”

“But it’s true you couldn’t get her to obey you.”

The pale-faced man shrugged. “Well, it’s her personal right to vote any way she pleases.”

“Then why did you threaten her?” his friend asked.

“I was trying to make her see sense, of course. My wife votes for Yoshida just because he looks like her uncle. That’s typical of women. They don’t understand politics. They think they can choose the country’s leaders the same way they choose dresses.”

“So you gave her a seven-iron,” said Jiro.

“Is that really true?” Ogata-San asked. He had not spoken since I had come back in with the tea. The other three stopped laughing and the pale-faced man looked at Ogata-San with a surprised expression.

“Well, no.” He became suddenly formal and gave a small bow. “I didn’t actually hit her.”

“No, no,” said Ogata-San. “I meant your wife and yourself— you voted for separate parties?”

“Well, yes." He shrugged, then giggled awkwardly. “What could I do?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Ogata-San gave a low bow, and the pale-faced man returned it. As if the bowing were a signal, the three younger men started once more to laugh and talk amongst themselves. They moved off politics and began discussing various members of their finn. When I was pouring more tea, I noticed that the cakes, despite my having put out a generous amount, had almost all disappeared. I finished refilling their teacups, then sat down again beside Ogata-San.

The visitors stayed for an hour or so. Jim saw them to the door then sat down again with a sigh. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll need to turn in soon.”

Ogata-san was examining the chess board. “I think the pieces got jogged a little,” he said. “I’m sure the horse was on this square, not that one."

“Quite probably.”

“I’ll put it here then. Are we agreed on this?”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you’re right. We’ll have to finish the game another time, Father. I’ll need to retire very shortly.”

“How about playing just the next few moves. We may well finish it off.”

“Really, I’d rather not. I’m feeling very tired now.”

“Of course”

I packed away the sewing I had been doing earlier in the evening and sat waiting for the others to retire. Jim, however, picked up a newspaper and started to read the back page. Then he took the last remaining cake from the plate and began to eat nonchalantly. After several moments, Ogata-San said:

“Perhaps we ought to just finish it off now. It’ll only take a more moves."

“Father, I really am too tired now. I have work to go to in the morning.”

“Yes, of course."

Jim went back to his newspapers. He continued to eat the cake and I watched several crumbs drop on to the tatami. Ogata-San continued to gaze at the chess-board for some time.

“Quite extraordinary”, he said, eventually, “what your friend was saying.”

“Oh? What was that?” Jim did not look up from his

newspaper.

“About him and his wife voting for different parties. A few years ago that would have been unthinkable.”

“No doubt.”

“Quite extraordinary the things that happen now. But that’s what’s meant by deogacy, I suppose.” Ogata-San gave a sigh. “These things we’ve learnt so eagerly from the Americans,y aren’t always to the good.” 

“No, indeed they’re not."

“Look what happens. Husband and wife voting for different parties. It’s a sad state of affairs when a wife can’t be relied on in such matters any more.”

Jiro continued to mad his newspaper. “Yes, it’s regrettable,” he said.

“A wife these days feels no sense of loyalty towards the household. She just does what she pleases, votes for a different party if the whim takes her. That’s so typical of the way things have gone in Japan. All in the name of democracy people abandon obligations.”

Jiro looked up at his father for a brief moment, then turned his eyes back to his paper. “No doubt you’re very right,” he said. “But surely the Americans didn’t bring all bad.”

“The Americans, they never understood the way things were in Japan. Not for one moment have they understood. Their ways may be fine for Americans, but in Japan things are different, very different.” Ogata-San sighed again. “Discipline, loyalty, such things held Japan together once. That may sound fanciful, but it’s true. People were bound by a sense of duly. Towards one’s family, towards superiors, towards the country. But now instead there’s all this talk of democracy. You hear it whenever people want to be selfish, whenever they want to forget obligations.”

“Yes, no doubt you’re right.” Jiro yawned and scratched the side of his face.

“Take what happened in my profession, for instance. Here was a system we’d nurtured and cherished for years.

The Americans came and stripped it, tore it down without a thought. They decided our schools would be like American schools, the children should learn what American children learn. And the Japanese welcomed it all. Welcomed it with a lot of talk about democracy"—he shook his head—“Many fine things were destroyed in our schools."

Yes, I’m sure that’s very true.” Jiro glanced up once more. “But surely there were some faults in the old system, in schools as much as anywhere.”

“Jim, what is this? Something you read somewhere?”

“It’s just my opinion.”

“Did you read that in your newspaper? I devoted my life to the teaching gi the young. And then I watched the Americans tear it all down. Quite extraordinary what goes on in schools now, the way children are taught to behave. Extraordinary. And so much just isn’t taught any more. Do you know, children leave school today knowing nothing about the history of their own country?”

“That may be a pity, admittedly. But then I remember some odd things from my schooldays. I remember being taught all about how Japan was created by the gods, for instance. How we as a nation were divine and supreme. We had to memorize the text book word for word. Some things aren’t such a loss, perhaps."

“But Jim, things aren’t as simple as that. You clearly don’t understand how such things worked. Things aren’t nearly as simple as you presume. We devoted ourselves to ensuring that proper qualities were handed down, that children grew up with the correct attitude to their country, to their fellows. There was a spirit in Japan once, it bound us all together. Just imagine what it must be like being a young boy today. He’s taught no values at school—except perhaps that he should selfishly demand whatever he wants out of life. He goes home and finds his parents fighting because his mother refuses to vote for his father’s party. What a state of affairs."

“Yes, I see your point. Now, Father, I’m sorry, I must go to bed.”

“We did our best, men like Endo and I, we did our best to nurture what was good in the country. A lot of good has been destroyed.

“It’s most regrettable.” My husband got to his feet. “Excuse me, Father, but I must sleep. I have another busy day tomorrow.”

Ogata-San looked up at his son, a somewhat surprised expression on his face. “Why, of course. How inconsiderate of me to have kept you so late.” He gave a small bow.

“Not at all. I’m sorry we can’t talk longer, but I really ought to get some sleep now.”

“Why, of course.”

Jim wished his father a good night’s sleep and left the room. For a few seconds, Ogata-San gazed at the door through which Jiro had disappeared as if he expected his son to return at any moment. Then he turned to me with a troubled look.

“I didn’t realize how late it was,” he said. “I didn’t mean to keep Jim up.”