An Artist of the Floating World (17 page)

will bring me these other paintings. I would be most interested to see them." I thought for a moment, then said: "I would, of course, be most grateful for Sensei's opinions of them. However, I am not at all certain as to where I left them." "But you will endeavour to find them, I trust." "I will, Sensei. In the meantime, I will perhaps relieve Sensei of the other paintings to which he was so kind as to give his attention. No doubt they are cluttering up his quarters, so I shall remove them as soon as we return." "No need to bother with those paintings, Ono. It will be sufficient if you find the remaining ones and bring them to me." "I regret, Sensei, that I will not be able to find the remaining paintings." "I see, Ono." He gave a tired sigh, and I could see him once again gazing up at the sky. "So you do not think you will be able to bring me those paintings of yours." "No, Sensei. I fear not." "I see. Of course, you have considered your future in the event of your leaving my patronage." "It had been my hope that Sensei would understand my position and continue to support me in pursuing my career." He remained silent, so eventually I went on: "Sensei, it would cause me the greatest pain to leave the villa. These past several years have been the happiest and most valuable of my life. My colleagues I look upon as brothers. And as for Sensei himself, why, I can hardly begin to estimate what I owe him. I would beg you to look once more at my new paintings and reconsider them. Perhaps, in fact, Sensei will allow me when we return to explain my intentions in each picture." He still gave no sign of having heard me. So I continued: "I have learnt many things over these past years. I have learnt much in contemplating the world of pleasure, and recognising its fragile beauty. But I now feel it is time for me to progress to other things. Sensei, it is my belief that in such troubled times as these, artists must learn to value something more tangible than those pleasurable things that disappear with the morning light. It is not necessary that artists always occupy a decadent and enclosed world. My conscience, Sensei, tells me I cannot remain forever an artist of the floating world." With that, I turned my attention back to the lanterns. After a few moments, Mori-san said: "You have been for some time now my most accomplished pupil. It will be a matter of some pain to me to see you leave. Let us say, then, that you have three days to bring me those remaining paintings. You will bring those to me, then turn your mind back to more proper concerns." "As I have already said, Sensei, it is to my deep regret that I will be unable to bring you those paintings." Mori-san made a sound as though he were laughing to himself. Then he said: "As you point out yourself, Ono, these are troubled times. All the more so for a young artist, practically unknown and without resources. If you were less talented, I would fear for your future after leaving me. But you are a clever fellow. No doubt you have made arrangements." "As a matter of fact, I have made no arrangements whatsoever. The villa has been my home for so long, I never seriously contemplated it ceasing to be so." "Is that so. Well, as I say, Ono, were you less talented, there would be cause for worry. But you are a clever young man." I saw Mori-san's silhouette turn to face me. "You will no doubt succeed in finding work illustrating magazines and comic books. Perhaps you will even manage to join a firm like the one you were employed by when you first came to me. Of course, it will mean the end of your development as a serious artist, but then no doubt you"ve taken all this into account." These may sound unnecessarily vindictive words for a teacher to use to a pupil whose admiration he knows he still commands. But then again, when a master painter has given so much in time and resources to a certain pupil, when furthermore he has allowed that pupil's name to be associated in public with his own, it is perhaps understandable, if not entirely excusable, that the teacher lose for a moment his sense of proportion and react in ways he may later regret. And though the manoeuvrings over the possession of the paintings will no doubt appear petty, it is surely understandable if a teacher who has actually supplied most of the paints and materials should forget in such a moment that his pupil has any right whatever over his own work. For all that, it is clear that such arrogance and possessiveness on the part of a teacher--however renowned he may be--is to be regretted. From time to time, I still turn over in my mind that cold winter's morning and the smell of burning growing ever stronger in my nostrils. It was the winter before the outbreak of war and I was standing anxiously at the door of Kuroda's house--a shabby little affair he used to rent in the Nakamachi area. The burning smell, I could tell, originated from somewhere within the house, from where also came the sound of a woman sobbing. I pulled the bell rope repeatedly and shouted for someone to come and receive me, but there was no response. Eventually I decided to let myself in, but as I pulled back the outer door, a uniformed policeman appeared in the entryway. "What do you want?" he demanded. "I came looking for Mr Kuroda. He is home?" "The occupant has been taken to police headquarters for questioning." "Questioning?" "I advise you to go home," the officer said. "Or else we'll be wanting to start checking on you too. We"re interested now in all close associates of the occupant." "But why? Has Mr Kuroda committed any crime?" "No one wants his sort around. If you don't go on your way, we'll have you in for questioning too." Inside the house, the woman--Kuroda's mother, I assumed--continued to sob. I could hear someone shouting something at her. "Where is the officer in charge?" I asked. "On your way. You want to be arrested?" "Before we go any further," I said, "let me explain that my name is Ono." The officer showed no recognition, so I continued a little uncertainly: "I am the man on whose information you have been brought here. I am Masuji Ono, the artist and member of the Cultural Committee of the Interior Department. Indeed, I am an official adviser to the Committee of Unpatriotic Activities. I believe there's been some sort of mistake here and I would like to speak with whoever is in charge." The officer looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then turned and disappeared into the house. Before long, he came back and gestured for me to step up. As I followed him through Kuroda's house, I saw everywhere the contents of cupboards and drawers emptied out over the floor. Some books, I noticed, had been piled up and tied into bundles, while in the main room, the tatami had been lifted and an officer was investigating the floorboards beneath with a torch. From behind a closed partition, I could hear more clearly Kuroda's mother sobbing and an officer shouting questions at her. I was led out to the veranda at the back of the house. In the middle of the small yard another uniformed officer and a man in plain clothes were standing around a bonfire. The plainclothes man turned and came a few steps towards me. "Mr Ono?" he asked, quite respectfully. The officer who had led me in seemed to sense his earlier rudeness had been inappropriate and quickly turned back into the house. "What has happened to Mr Kuroda?" "Taken for questioning, Mr Ono. We'll take care of him, don't you worry." I stared past him at the fire, now almost burnt out. The uniformed officer was poking the pile with a stick. "Did you have authorization to burn those paintings?" I asked. "It's our policy to destroy any offensive material which won't be needed as evidence. We"ve selected a good enough sample. The rest of this trash we"re just burning." "I had no idea", I said, "something like this would happen. I merely suggested to the committee someone come round and give Mr Kuroda a talking-to for his own good." I stared again at the smouldering pile in the middle of the yard. "It was quite unnecessary to burn those. There were many fine works amongst them." "Mr Ono, we"re grateful for your help. But now the investigations have been started, you must leave them in the hands of the appropriate authorities. We'll see to it your Mr Kuroda is treated fairly." He smiled, and turning back to the fire, said something to the uniformed officer. The latter poked the fire again and said something under his breath which sounded like: "Unpatriotic trash." I remained on the veranda, watching with unbelieving eyes. Eventually, the plain-clothes officer turned to me again and said: "Mr Ono, I suggest you return home now." "Things have gone much too far," I said. "And why are you interrogating Mrs Kuroda? What has she to do with anything?" "This is a police matter now, Mr Ono. It doesn't concern you any longer." "Things have gone much too far. I intend to discuss this with Mr Ubukata. Indeed, I may well take it straight up to Mr Saburi himself." The plain-clothes man called to someone in the house and the officer who had answered the door to me appeared at my side. "Thank Mr Ono for his help and show him out," the plain-clothes man said. Then as he turned back to the fire, he gave a sudden cough. "Bad paintings make bad smoke," he said with a grin, beating at the air about his face.

But this is all of limited relevance here. I believe I was recalling the events of that day last month when Setsuko was down on her short visit; in fact, I was recounting how Taro had got us all laughing around the supper table with his anecdotes about his work colleagues. As I remember, supper continued to proceed in a most satisfactory manner. I could not, however, avoid some discomfort in observing Ichiro whenever Noriko poured out sake. For the first few times, he would glance across the table at me with a conspiratorial smile, which I did my best to return in as neutral a way as possible. But then as the meal progressed, and sake continued to be poured, he ceased to look at me, but would stare crossly at his aunt as she refilled our cups. Taro had told us several more amusing stories about his colleagues, when Setsuko said to him: "You make such fun, Taro-san. But I learn from Noriko that morale is very high at your company just now. Surely, it must be most stimulating to work in such an atmosphere." At this, Taro's manner became suddenly very earnest. "It is indeed, Setsuko-san," he said, nodding. "The changes we made after the war are now beginning to bear fruit at all levels of the company. We feel very optimistic about the future. Within the next ten years, provided we all do our best, KNC should be a name recognised not just all over Japan but all over the world." "How splendid. And Noriko was telling me your branch director is a very kindly man. That too must make a big difference to morale." "You"re indeed right. But then Mr Hayasaka is not only a kindly man, he is someone of the greatest ability and vision. I can assure you, Setsuko-san, to work for an incompetent superior, however kindly, can be a demoralising experience. We are very fortunate to have someone like Mr Hayasaka to lead us." "Indeed, Suichi too is very fortunate in that he has a very capable superior." "Is that so, Setsuko-san? But then I would expect as much of a company like Nippon Electrics. Only the best sort of people would hold responsibility in such a firm." "We are so fortunate that seems to be the case. But I am sure it is equally true at KNC, Taro-san. Suichi always speaks highly of KNC." "Excuse me, Taro," I put in at this point. "Of course, I"m sure you have every reason to be optimistic at KNC. But I"ve been meaning to ask you, is it in your opinion entirely for the good that so many sweeping changes were made at your firm after the war? I hear there is hardly any of the old management left." My son-in-law smiled thoughtfully, then said: "I appreciate very much Father's concern. Youth and vigour alone will not always produce the best results. But in all frankness, Father, a complete overhaul was called for. We needed new leaders with a new approach appropriate to the world of today." "Of course, of course. And I"ve no doubt your new leaders are the most capable of men. But tell me, Taro, don't you worry at times we might be a little too hasty in following the Americans? I would be the first to agree many of the old ways must now be erased for ever, but don't you think sometimes some good things are being thrown out with the bad? indeed, sometimes Japan has come to look like a small child learning from a strange adult." "Father is very right. At times, I"m sure, we have been a little hasty. But by and large, the Americans have an immense amount to teach us. Just in these few years, for instance, we Japanese have already come a long way in understanding such things as democracy and individual rights. Indeed, Father, I have a feeling Japan has finally established a foundation on which to build a brilliant future. This is why firms like ours can look forward with the greatest confidence." "Indeed, Taro-san," Setsuko said. "Suichi has just that same feeling. He has expressed on a number of occasions recently his opinion that after four years of confusion, our country has finally set its sights on the future." Although my daughter had addressed this remark to Taro, I had the distinct impression it had been made for my benefit. Taro too seemed to take it that way, for rather than reply to Setsuko, he continued: "In fact, Father, just the other week I attended a reunion dinner of my school graduation year and for the first lime since the surrender, all those present from every walk of life were expressing optimism for the future. It is then by no means just at KNC there is a feeling things are coming right. And while I fully understand Father's worries, I"m confident that by and large the lessons of these past years have been good ones and will lead us all on to a splendid future. But perhaps I am to be corrected, Father." "Not at all, not at all," I said, and gave him a smile. "As you say, no doubt your generation has a splendid future. And you are all so confident. I can only wish you the best." My son-in-law seemed about to respond to this, but just then, Ichiro reached across the table and tapped the sake flask with his finger, as he had done once before. Taro turned to him, saying: "Ah, Ichiro-san. Just who we needed for our discussions. Tell us, what do you think you'll be when you grow up?" My grandson continued to regard the sake flask for a moment, then glanced over towards me with a sullen look. His mother touched his arm, whispering to him: "Ichiro, Uncle Taro's asking you. You tell him what you want to be." "President of Nippon Electrics!" Ichiro declared loudly. We all laughed. "Now are you sure of that, Ichiro-san?" Taro asked. "You don't instead wish to lead us at KNC?" "Nippon Electrics is the best company!" We all laughed again. "A great shame for us," Taro remarked. "Ichiro-san is just who we'll need at KNC in a few years." This exchange seemed to take Ichiro's mind off the sake, and from then on, he seemed to enjoy himself, joining in loudly whenever the adults laughed at something. Only towards the very end of our meal did he ask in a quite disinterested voice: "Is the sake all finished now?" "All gone," Noriko said. "Would Ichiro-san like more orange juice?" Ichiro refused this offer in a well-mannered way, and turned back to Taro, who had been explaining something to him. For all that, I could imagine his disappointment and felt a wave of irritation at Setsuko for not being a little more understanding of her little boy's feelings. I got my chance to talk alone with Ichiro an hour or so later when I went into the small spare room of the apartment to say good-night to him. The light was still on, but Ichiro was under the quilt, on his front, a cheek pressed against his pillow. When I turned off the light, I discovered the blinds did not prevent light from the opposite apartment block coming into the room to throw shadowy bars across the walls and ceiling. From the next room came the sounds of my daughters laughing over something, and as I knelt down beside Ichiro's quilt he whispered: "Oji, is Aunt Noriko drunk?" "I don't think so, Ichiro. She's just laughing at something, that's all." "She might be a little bit drunk. Don't you think, Oji?" "Well, perhaps. Just a little. There's no harm in that." "Women can't handle sake, can they, Oji?" he said, and giggled into his pillow. I gave a laugh, then said to him: "You know, Ichiro, there's no need to be upset about the sake tonight. It really doesn't matter. Soon you'll be older, and then you'll be able to drink sake as much as you like." I rose and went to the window to see if the blinds could not be made more effective. I opened and shut them a few times, but the slats remained sufficiently separated so that I could always see the lighted windows of the block opposite. "No, Ichiro, it's really nothing to get upset about." For a moment, my grandson gave no response. Then I heard his voice say behind me: "Oji's not to worry." "Oh? Now what do you mean by that, Ichiro?" "Oji's not to worry. Because if he worries, he won't get to sleep. And if old people don't sleep, they get ill." "I see. Very well then, Ichiro. Oji promises not to worry. But you"re not to be upset either. Because really, there's nothing to be getting upset about." Ichiro remained silent. I opened and closed the blinds again. "But then, of course," I said, "if Ichiro had actually insisted on sake tonight, Oji was ready to step in and see to it he got some. But as it was, I think we were right to let the women have their way this time. It's not worth getting them upset over such little things." "Sometimes at home," Ichiro said, "Father wants to do something and Mother tells him it's not allowed. Sometimes, even Father's no match for Mother." "Is that so," I said, with a laugh. "So Oji's not to worry." "There's nothing for either of us to worry about, Ichiro." I turned away from the window and knelt down again beside his quilt. "Now you try and fall asleep." "Is Oji staying the night?" "No, Oji's going back to his own house soon." "Why can't Oji stay here too?" "There's not enough room here, Ichiro. Oji has a large house all to himself, remember." "Will Oji come to say goodbye at the station tomorrow?" "Of course, Ichiro. I'll do that. And no doubt, you'll be down to visit again before long." "Oji's not to worry he couldn't make Mother give me sake." "You seem to be growing up very fast, Ichiro," I said, laughing. "You'll be a fine man when you"re grown. Perhaps you really will be head of Nippon Electrics. Or something just as grand. Now, let's keep quiet for a while and see if you fall asleep." I went on sitting beside him for several more moments, giving quiet replies whenever he spoke. And I believe it was during those moments, as I waited in that darkened room for my grandson to fall asleep, listening to the occasional burst of laughter from the neighbouring room, that I began turning over in my mind the conversation I had had that morning with Setsuko in Kawabe Park. That was probably the first opportunity I had had to do so, and until that point, it had not really occurred to me to be so irritated by Setsuko's words. But by the time I left my sleeping grandson to rejoin the others in the main room, I believe I had become quite annoyed with my elder daughter, and this no doubt accounts for my saying to Taro, not long after I had sat down: "You know, it's odd when one thinks about it. Your father and I must have been acquainted for over sixteen years, and yet it's only over this past year we"ve become such good friends." "Indeed," said my son-in-law, "but I suppose it's often that way. One always has so many neighbours one does no more than exchange good mornings with. A great pity when you think about it." "But then of course," I said, "as regards Dr Saito and myself, it wasn't simply that we were neighbours. Connected as we both were with the art world, we knew of each other by reputation. All the more pity then that your father and I didn't make more effort to be friends from the beginning. Don't you think so, Taro?" As I said this, I gave a quick glance towards Setsuko to make sure she was listening. "A great pity indeed," Taro said. "But at least you had the chance to become friends in the end." "But what I mean, Taro, is that it's all the more pity since we knew each of other's reputations in the art world all that time." "Yes, a great pity indeed. One would think the knowledge that a neighbour was also a distinguished colleague would lead to more intimate relations. But then I suppose, what with busy schedules and the next thing, this is too often not the case." I glanced with some satisfaction towards Setsuko, but my daughter showed no sign at all of registering the significance of Taro's words. It is possible, of course, that she was not really attending; my guess, though, is that Setsuko had indeed understood, but was too proud to return my glance, confronted as she was with proof that she had been quite mistaken in making her insinuations that morning in Kawabe Park. We had been walking down the wide central avenue of the park at an easy pace, admiring the autumnal trees lined on either side of us. We had been comparing our impressions on how Noriko was taking to her new life, and had agreed that to all appearances, she was very happy indeed. "It's all very gratifying," I was saying. "Her future was becoming a grave worry to me, but now everything looks very good for her. Taro is an admirable man. One could hardly have hoped for a better match." "It seems strange to think", Setsuko said with a smile, "it was only a year ago we were all so worried for her." "It's all very gratifying. And you know, Setsuko, I"m grateful to you for your part in it all. You were a great support to your sister when things weren't going so well." "On the contrary, I could do so little, being so far away." "And of course," I said, with a laugh, "it was you who warned me last year. "Precautionary steps"--you remember that, Setsuko? As you see, I didn't ignore your advice." "I"m sorry, Father, what advice was this?" "Now Setsuko, there's no need to be so tactful. I"m quite prepared now to acknowledge there are certain aspects to my career I have no cause to be proud of. Indeed, I acknowledged as much during the negotiations, just as you suggested." "I'm sorry, I"m not at all clear what Father is referring to." "Noriko hasn't told you about the miai? Well, I made sure that evening there"d be no obstacles to her happiness on account of my career. I dare say I would have done so in any case, but I was nevertheless grateful for your advice last year." "Forgive me, Father, but I don't recall offering any advice last year. As for the matter of the miai, however, Noriko has indeed mentioned it to me a number of times. Indeed, she wrote to me soon after the miai expressing surprise at Father's... at Father's words about himself." "I dare say she was surprised. Noriko always did underestimate her old father. But I"m hardly the sort to allow my own daughter to suffer simply because I"m too proud to face up to things." "Noriko told me she was extremely puzzled by Father's behaviour that night. It seems the Saitos were equally puzzled. No one was at all sure what Father meant by it all. Indeed, Suichi also expressed his bewilderment when I read him Noriko's letter." "But this is extraordinary," I said, laughing. "Why, Setsuko, it was you yourself who pushed me to it last year. It was you who suggested I take "precautionary steps" so that we didn't slip up with the Saitos as we did with the Miyakes. Do you not remember?" "No doubt I am being most forgetful, but I am afraid I have no recollection of what Father refers to." "Now, Setsuko, this is extraordinary." Setsuko suddenly stopped walking and exclaimed: "How wonderful the maples look at this time of year!" "Indeed," I said. "No doubt they'll look even better further into the autumn." "So wonderful," my daughter said, smiling, and we began to walk again. Then she said: "As a matter of fact, Father, it so happened that last night we were discussing one or two things, and