Alien Rice; A Novel. (8 page)

"No, I don't want Toshio to go through such an ordeal. It will kill his initiative and his personality and may ruin his health in the bargain. I'm dead against such a course for our son."

Alice's opposition was firm and peremptory.

Mr. John Talbot, export manager of Tozai's London office, was visiting Japan with his wife for the first time. They were on a vacation tour of the country at the expense of the company. Tozai had nearly two thousand foreign employees in its fifty-odd overseas branches throughout the world. The unpublicized staff regulations provided that any foreign employee, irrespective of his job category, was entitled to a three-weeks' paid holiday with his wife, after twenty-five years' service. Transportation to Japan and back and other expenses were all home by the company. This generous provision was characteristic of the paternalistic employment system of the Japanese business firm and was a factor in ensuring the lifelong devotion of employees to management.

Director Sasaki of the foodstuff department and Mrs. Sasaki were to throw a party at a typically Japanese-style restaurant in Akasaka to welcome the Talbots, and Saburo and Alice were also told to be present, as they had known the Talbots in London. It was indeed the first time Alice had been invited to a company's expense-account feasting. Up to that time any such parties were strictly stag affairs and only Saburo reveled in wining and dining with his male colleagues. So Alice looked forward to that evening.

The restaurant was a gorgeous place, authentically Japanese in every detail. As one entered the compound of the establishment, there was a tiny garden with bamboo shrubs, a pebbled pathway and a stone lantern, softly lit at night. The garden was tidy and most enchanting.

On the threshold of the Japanese house, one took off his footwear and stepped onto the straw-matted floor of the entrance hall. There the woman manager and the girl servants greeted the guests with deep bows. After walking along a narrow corridor for some time, accompanied by the girls, the guests were ushered into a large room, covered with immaculately clean straw matting. The decor of the room was sternly austere; there was no furniture save for a low, long lacquered table and an alcove in one corner, where a big scroll was hung and a vase of flowers was placed as a soft accent.

The participants-there were twelve all told that evening-had to sit all around the long black table, and John Talbot and his wife were invited to take seats in front of the alcove, the place of honor.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, fluttered half a dozen young geishas, all dressed in gorgeous kimonos, each of different design and coloring. These were professional waitresses, who sat by the guests, poured sake, or rice wine, and engaged them in small talk and jokes. The food, also Japanese-style, was similar to the first dinner Alice had had with Saburo in the Japanese Club in London. Clear fish soup was served, with raw fish, broiled fish, and boiled vegetables, all arranged artistically on each different plate, bowl and saucer, with the inevitable plain cooked rice and bean soup.

Alice was struck by the symplicity and refinement of everything she saw in this establishment. It was a product of Japanese culture of the last millennium, so unique and superb.

In the meantime Director Sasaki rose ceremoniously to make a speech of welcome.

"I deem it a great pleasure to welcome you here, Mr. and Mrs. Talbot of our London office. You have worked assiduously for our company for the last twenty-five years and we greatly appreciate your unstinted service. Dinner this evening, as you see, is a humble one but I hope you both will relax and enjoy the evening."

John Talbot responded suitably. After that the conversation around the table lapsed into awkward stiffness. Only the host occasionally spoke to the Talbots and asked commonplace questions as to the visitors' impression of the country and their intended itinerary. All the other participants refrained from taking part in the conversation, for fear that their boss might think ill of them for being too talkative and frivolous. So it was largely up to Talbot to keep the conversation going and the Japanese hosts listened passively.

Toward the end of the meal an elderly geisha woman enacted a solo dance with a gilded fan in her hand, to the accompaniment of a quaint Japanese string instrument. The rhythm was somewhat slow but the dance was beautifully executed.

Since she arrived in Japan Alice had seen only all-pervading ugliness, gaudy modernity and cheap imitation of everything Western—hotels, amusement centers and the company apartment where she lived. Now she was in the midst of a truly Japanese ambiance which was stunningly harmonious and artistic. Why did the Japanese try to do away with all this fine cultural heritage of their own? Alice wondered.

When the party was over and just before parting, John Talbot came to Alice and whispered to her anxiously.

"Alice, how are things treating you? Are you happy in Japan?"

"Yes and no," was her reply.

The end of the year was a busy time, not only for Saburo Tanaka but for Alice as well. Saburo had to attend many feasts both in and out of the company, which were called
bonen-kai,
or parties to see the year out.

"Saburo, what is
bonen-kai?"
Alice asked. "At the institute today my chief assistant suggested to me that I give a
bonen-kai
for all the members of my staff."

"It's a time-honored custom. During the month of December numerous parties are held throughout the land, among one's friends and colleagues, with the ostensible purpose of bidding good-bye to the year which is just about to come to an end. This curious custom is due to the fact that Japan has always been a poor and sad country, with occasional disasters and other calamities, such as typhoons and earthquakes. The average Japanese is none too happy a person. He has endured hardships and experienced many unhappy and tragic things during the year. So we try to forget the year and to hope for a better one by getting drunk at these parties."

"Oh, what a strange custom!" Alice exclaimed.

"You should give your staff some money for them to hold a party, but you yourself had better stay away. They won't be able to enjoy themselves if you are in their midst," Saburo advised.

Alice was also surprised to see so many people send gifts at the year's end.

Now she remembered the first time she reluctantly took a present to Director Sasaki's house at her husband's urging. That was soon after her arrival in Japan. In England friends and relatives exchanged gifts at Christmas, but the Japanese practice was most extensive and far-reaching.

Many of her pupils at the institute sent various presents, some quite expensive, and Alice felt sorry for those students who evidently could ill afford it but still brought her gifts. The contractors who built an annex to her school during the year also sent her an expensive silk brocade as a year-end gift. Alice's chief assistant bought her a fancy carton box filled with sweets and candies. And so on down the line. In fact, as the year's end drew near the Tanakas' living room was piled high with all these gift items. Alice felt as though she were a queen whose vassals were piling tributes at her feet. Alice also imagined that the president and directors of the Tozai Trading Company were in similar situations.

CHAPTER
  8

Alice had been so busy with the baby and with the Anglo-Japanese Institute that she had not been to the Union Club for quite some time. One afternoon, however, she suddenly felt like visiting the club, as she had nothing much to do that particular day.

There she saw a familiar figure, a Tom Bowles, said to be an American, who apparently was an old Japan hand and was known to hang round the Bluff area. In other words, Bowles was a sort of leader in the foreign community of Yokohama.

Alice had never spoken to him before; as a matter of fact she was a bit wary of this unsavory character. That afternoon, however, while sitting in the main lounge, their eyes met just by chance. Bowles, a man a little over sixty, wore slightly disheveled clothes of obvious quality in bygone days, with strong preference for the color black, accented by white. His face, almost always red from constant drinking, wore the dissipated look of a gin-soaked colonial on the skids.

"Are you a newcomer, Madame?" the old man asked, starting to talk to Alice.

"Fairly new. I came from England a few years ago."

"How do you find the Japs? Do you have a lot to do with them?"

"Rather," Alice replied.

"I've been here in and out nearly fifty years, all told. was born in Yokohama. My father was a merchant seaman who became a trader here. Yokohama has seen better days. The Bluff used to be such a quiet, beautiful place, all reserved for us. Now the Japs are all over the place, buying land from us and building hideous houses. I've never had much respect for Japs, you know. They are filthy people, pissing in the street and all that."

"Why do you stay in Japan, then?" Alice interrupted.

"Because this country still is a paradise for us. Not like prewar years, of course. The Japs are cowards as individuals. You know they become bold and courageous once they get together and do unbelievable things. Like the last war. And they can't even play fair in sports. If a Jap is competing with a foreigner, mob psychology takes over. Did you know that boxing referees and judges hardly ever award decisions to foreign fighters? If a foreigner doesn't win by a knockout, he can't win at all. But individually, the Japs just can't get anything done. Chinks are different, though. There are plenty of them here in Yokohama but they do pretty well.

"Whenever an official comes from the local tax office to get my tax declaration form I just shout at him and off he goes. Never comes back again. They talk about enforcing tax collection more strictly from us foreigners but it never works. Their tax laws are full of loopholes; just like putting water in a bamboo basket.

"You are considered a resident if you lived here on December 31st each year and are liable to income tax payment. So I go away every year for a couple of days to Seoul or Taipei soon after Christmas. Most foreigners do that, you know. Doesn't cost much. Think of what you would have to pay in income tax if you stayed here on December 31 st.

"Their exchange control is kind of funny, too. You are supposed not to change yen into dollars beyond a very small amount. But there are a hundred and one ways of outsmarting the Japs. An American chap, now living in California, recently wanted me to buy his deposit certificate of ten million yen at a discount. I paid him in dollars. You can also take out a bundle of yen notes in a trunk. But be sure to go on a Japanese boat. Japs at this end and at the other end also do not fuss very much, if you are a foreigner."

Alice listened to this fat old man with mixed feelings, as he rambled on. She was married to a Japanese and, legally at any rate, was a Japanese citizen. The old man's abuse of her husband's people made her feel unpleasant, to say the least. But she also wondered if Tom Bowles's words did not contain some grain of truth.

One weekend during the next summer, Saburo took Alice to Karuizawa. This was the first time Saburo had gone out of the city with his wife. That summer was particularly hot and sultry, and the cool mountain air and beautiful pine groves were a welcome change from the sweltering heat of Tokyo and Yokohama.

Karuizawa, located some hundred miles north of Tokyo, was first developed as a summer resort by Alice's compatriot, a missionary named Shaw, sometime in the 1880's. His bronze statue still stood at the end of Main Street in Karuizawa. Alice had heard the history of this famed summer retreat and wondered why it was a countryman of hers, rather than a Japanese, who had discovered and developed the place. Now she remembered what Mrs. Hertz had told her about the Japanese lack of initiative.

Alice fell in love with Karuizawa. It was a delightful place. Though the town itself was small and often congested in the summer season, the surrounding countryside was spacious and Mount Asama, with its smoke-belching volcanic cone, stood out nobly over the area.

"Even today many Japanese come to Karuizawa because so many foreign residents have beautiful summer houses here, and the resort is sometimes called the St. Moritz of Japan," Saburo told Alice.

"A few years ago the Crown Prince spent one summer here and got to know his consort while playing tennis. Since that time, the resort has suddenly become very popular, especially among girls, who associate the place with romance and come here in large numbers."

In the afternoon the couple went for a long walk. In Yokohama Alice seldom went out for a walk, much as she would have liked to, for the streets were narrow and congested and the air polluted. There simply was no place for pedestrians. For the first time in several years, then, she really enjoyed walking in the countryside.

As they returned to town Alice noticed a small shop with a big bulletin board posted on the front. On the board many white stickers with various inscriptions were pasted.

"What are those stickers on the board?" Alice asked Saburo.

"This is a real-estate dealer's office and each sticker gives a description of various properties offered for sale."

Still very curious, Alice asked what were the properties for sale, and their prices. Saburo said that, for instance, there was a villa with a 300-
tsubo
parcel of land which cost 1,500,000 yen. Alice was interested.

"Couldn't we go and see these properties?" she asked.

"That can easily be arranged, Alice. I'll ask the manager inside."

In those days the Japanese were still busy buying and building their own houses in Tokyo and other urban areas, after the total destruction during the war. Few could afford to buy villas in the country and few, if any, thought of having a country house in Karuizawa. Hence offerings were many and prices low. Alice, then and there, decided to take a 500-
tsubo
section of land for 1,800,000 yen. The agent agreed to give her a 10 percent discount on the advertised price. She was to get the money from her Anglo-Japanese Institute account.

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.