The Ink-Keeper's Apprentice (9 page)

"We'd better move on, Tokida; we're blocking the way," I whispered to him.

In the end I had to drag him outside. He would have lingered there till closing time.

"How do you expect to see anything with all those idiots climbing all over you?" he complained. "I'm coming back here tomorrow when they first open. I've never seen paintings like those."

"They're nothing like the reproductions, are they?"

"Did you see those eyes?"

"How could I? You were hogging the painting most of the time."

"You really don't have to have a great deal of technique, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"I never painted portraits because I always thought eyes were too hard to paint. Eyelashes, eyelids, and all that. But he painted them like anything else. I mean he painted everything in the same way, do you know what I mean? He sort of drew them in with the brush, no smoothing out the edges, no fancy strokes. I want to start painting. We ought to talk to Sensei about it."

"I thought you weren't interested in becoming a painter."

"I'm not. But there's nothing wrong in painting a few pictures. I want to paint in oils for a while; it's so different from watercolor."

"I've never used oils either. They say it's easier than doing watercolors. If you make a mistake you can go right over it. Let's ask Sensei about it."

We walked along the main boulevard until we came to the Kabuki theater.

"Have you ever seen a Kabuki play?" asked Tokida.

"Once, the one about the famous
yakuza.
I couldn't understand a word of what they were saying. They speak in old Japanese."

"Sensei says even the old-timers can't make out what they say," he said and looked up at the tiers of tiled roofs on the tall theater. "Did you know that Delacroix said an artist has to be able to draw a man falling from the top of an opera house and finish it by the time the man hits the ground?"

"That's kind of hard on the model, isn't it?" I asked. Tokida burst out laughing.

"That's a good one, Kiyoi; we have to tell it to Sensei. Hard on
the model!" I didn't think it was that funny, but it was good to see him laugh.

After lunch we took a trolley and got off by the Imperial Palace and walked along the moat.

"Let's go to the park and draw trees or something," I said, and we headed toward the Hibiya Park.

The day was bright and hot, and it was pleasant to stroll by the deep moat and watch the water birds. The area was one of the few places in Tokyo where you had the feeling you were in a wide open space. It was lunchtime, and office workers in shirtsleeves were eating lunch on the grass.

Suddenly we heard sirens. First a policeman on a white motorcycle sped by, then two police cars, and two more after that, followed by a caravan of open trucks loaded with battle-ready policemen, wearing helmets and holding long wooden staffs straight up in the air like lances. In the distance we heard people shouting and singing. The noise was coming from the direction of the park entrance.

"It might be a riot," Tokida said. "Let's go and see."

"What do you want to see a riot for?"

"Who says it's a riot? It's probably a demonstration."

"What's the difference? They always turn into bloody riots."

"Don't be a coward. Don't you want to see some action? Have you ever seen a demonstration?"

"I've never been in one, if that's what you mean. And I don't intend to get mixed up in one."

"Don't be stupid; nothing is going to happen to us. And if you're afraid to come, I'll go by myself. I want to see what it's like."

"All right." I gave in. "But if you join them I'll leave."

"Of course I'm not going to join them. Let's go."

A huge crowd was gathering in front of the park entrance. They were mostly university students in white shirts and black trousers. There were also quite a few women milling around and I felt a little better. Many were waving placards and signs denouncing the government and the prime minister. Several men with rolled-up sleeves and headbands were directing the crowd,
shouting through megaphones and telling the people the route they were to take, not to be afraid of the police, to keep calm, and so on. A convoy of trucks was parked nearby and the policemen were lining up along the boulevard like infantry soldiers before a big assault. They looked grim and ominous in their spotless black uniforms.

"It's a protest march," said Tokida.

"What are they protesting?" I asked.

"Who knows? I think they want to put the Socialist party in power. That's what they're always talking about anyway."

More and more demonstrators converged around the gate like bits of iron filings toward a magnet. Suddenly I realized that Tokida and I were inside the large circle of policemen. They kept their distance, but they had surrounded the demonstrators, and us. It probably wasn't too late for me to walk across the police line to the other side, but I was afraid to be confronted by those fearful policemen with their six-foot riot sticks. Tokida, also realizing that we were surrounded, grasped me by the arm and started to walk toward the crowd.

"What are you doing?" I cried in alarm. "I don't want to join these people," I said, and heard my voice crack.

"Look, nothing is going to happen to us, understand? It's just a protest march," he assured me.

Feeling angry and helpless, I looked over my shoulder and saw news photographers readying their big press cameras, safely behind the police line. My God, what if Grandmother sees my picture in the paper, I thought in a panic. What if Mother finds out I was demonstrating with university students? And what would they think of me at school? They wouldn't think. They'd throw me out before I could open my mouth. I felt a raging anger at Tokida. It was all his fault. Why had I listened to him?

But it was too late.

I was in it now, like a loach inside a bean cake. I had to get away from those photographers in a hurry. I had no choice but to join the crowd and get lost in it.

And how serious they looked! They were humming and singing
as if to work up courage. The smell of hair oil and perfume in the hot sun nauseated me, but I felt safe with all those bodies jostling around me. Tokida stood with his body pressed against my side, but I was too angry to talk to him. We stood in the tightly packed crowd for a good half hour, and I was beginning to worry about a place to urinate when the men with the megaphones shouted at us to move. The crowd stirred and surged forward. Three thousand? Five thousand? Maybe more, I had no idea. We took our first step awkwardly, like some gigantic centipede trying to coordinate its many legs. I was a dot in the sea of a faceless crowd. No camera would pick me out now. Why am I here? I kept asking myself. "Keep in line!" the leaders boomed at us. "Link up your arms! Don't break formation! Let's go!"

My sketchbook got in the way but somehow I managed to link arms with Tokida on my right and a university student to my left. For the first time I noticed Tokida was wearing his tennis shoes instead of the usual wooden clogs. Our linked arms were tense with excitement and I felt something like electricity run through my body. Soon we got into the rhythm of marching, the leaders keeping time with their silver whistles. The streets leading into the boulevard had been blocked off by the police, and we marched down the middle of the road and through the traffic lights. The white and yellow lines that divided the roads and the traffic signs that ordered the city life lost meaning. Common sense was forgotten; we were shouting in cadence in a thundering unison, like the men who carry the portable shrine during a summer festival. We zigzagged the width of the wide boulevard, weaving from sidewalk to sidewalk, unstoppable like the flow of lava, the marching army ants, mindless and devastating. There were faces sticking out of every window, and the sidewalks were lined with spectators. We were moving at half trot now, shouting at the top of our lungs, snaking like one enormous Chinese dragon, working up a frenzy. Nothing could stop us now. My pulse beat in time with the thousands of hearts all around me. There was a fever in my head, and I stopped thinking. I shouted till my lungs ached, though I didn't know why, and I could not hear my voice. I no longer had control
over my own mind and body. Caught in the tremendous excitement and the power of the mob, I no longer knew who I was, and didn't care.

It seemed we marched for a long time, going around the city in a vast circle. We weaved between tall buildings, our shouting echoing like thunder. We poured out into a wide open space and the sky seemed suddenly to clear up. Straight ahead of us I saw the Diet building, the seat of Japanese government, looming above the sea of black heads and white headbands swaying and waving like the rolling of the sea. Policemen were stretched out in a long line in front of the building, their helmets shining in the sun, their staffs held like bayonets. We charged at them, almost running. I felt the terrible power of the stampeding mob.

But the police held their ground, barring our way with their sticks. The crowd spread out, cursing and yelling denouncements, thousands of bodies piling up from the rear.

"Bring out the prime minister!" I shouted with them. We pushed against the police and the police pushed back. Suddenly the immense mass of bodies staggered forward. The police line broke. Like water gushing out of a broken dam, the demonstrators burst through the gap and rushed toward the Diet building. Policemen were everywhere. Furiously they swung their sticks and the air was filled with the sound of heavy blows, screaming, and groaning. The man who had been linking arms with me stumbled forward as Tokida yanked away violendy. My sketchbook fell to the ground and was instantly trampled. There was no more formation, no more order, no more cadence. People scattered and ran and tripped over one another. Some were throwing rocks and pebbles, anything they could get their hands on. Policemen jabbed and rammed their sticks. Blood flowed. I was crying from fear. Stricken with terror and confusion, I couldn't even move. From the corner of my eye I saw Tokida. His face was white. His cap was gone and he didn't have his glasses on. A thought flashed in my head: The fool can't see a thing without his glasses! Something glinted in his hand. The switchblade knife! Without thinking I leaped at him. "It's me,
it's me! Drop that thing, you fool!" I screamed in his ear, grabbing his arm with both hands. I pulled him frantically, trying to change direction in the mad stampede. I knew instinctively that if we fell, we'd be trampled to death. I held on to Tokida with one hand and with the free arm swung at anybody who came our way. It was like fighting in a dream—there was no strength in my arm. But my grip on Tokida was like the grasp of an iron vise. Because of my height I could see where the police were; I shoved and elbowed and kicked our way, changing direction when I saw a helmet gleaming. The rioters were retreating now, dragging the wounded, women screaming, blood flowing bright on white shirts.

Abruptly the police stopped chasing the mob, as if on a cue, but kept their distance and began to regroup. The men with megaphones began to shout again, taunting the police and urging their comrades to get back into formation. I wouldn't have any of it. I kept running in the opposite direction, dragging blind Tokida by the arm.

"Let go! You're hurting my arm!" he shouted. "Let me put my glasses on, will you."

So he hadn't lost his glasses; he had taken them off when he saw the fight coming. But how could he see without them? I'd forgotten about the incident at the cutlery shop. Then I remembered Tokida's comment about slashing van Gogh's paintings. I should have known then he had a knife. As Tokida took out his glasses from his trouser pocket I saw blood on his hand.

"What's that from?" I pointed at his hand, feeling sick to my stomach.

"Thanks to you, I nearly lopped off another finger. When you grabbed me like an idiot and started to drag me, I tried to fold back the blade and the stupid thing cut me," he said, sucking on his index finger.

"Did you stab somebody?"

"Don't talk like a fool. Of course I didn't stab anybody."

"Why don't you try a sword next time, the kind you open up your belly with."

"Don't be an idiot. I was trying to protect you."

"Me! Protect me? Next time just worry about yourself. I never wanted to join those idiots. You could've killed somebody."

"What are you talking about? Do you know those brutes were ready to kill us? Stop talking so noble. Look at yourself; you've peed all over yourself."

I looked down at myself and sure enough I'd wet my pants and didn't even know it. But I was too angry to care.

"Who wanted to be in the demonstration in the first place? And what about that stupid knife of yours? You promised me you weren't going to buy it. You're a liar!"

"I promised you nothing. And if it wasn't for you grabbing me, I'd still have the knife."

"Why did you join them? What the hell were they demonstrating about anyway? Tell me that!"

"Wait a minute, Kiyoi, wait just one minute. I don't have to stand here and listen to a thirteen-year-old lecture me."

"I'm going to be fourteen in a few days."

"I beg your pardon," he sneered. "So tell me, old man, what's wrong with demonstrations? Or strikes? What's wrong with people wanting better jobs, more money, or a better government? Maybe you were raised with everything you ever wanted, but most people aren't that lucky. What's wrong with people trying to change this stupid world? Remember that woman at the department store? How would you like to do that for ten hours every day? You wouldn't last a day. Did you ask for the war? Did you ask your ma and pa to get a divorce? You think I asked to be born into this world, with a father as vicious as one of those brutes out there? Do you think my old man and ma thought about me when they first had sex? I don't give a damn about any of them; I hate them all! Sensei's the only good man I know."

"But you almost had us killed," I said, losing steam. "Look, they're still going at it." I nodded toward the Diet building.

"It's no good talking like this," said Tokida. "Let's get out of here. Here, take this and cover yourself." He handed me his raggedy jacket. "And don't tell Sensei any of this."