The Pure Land (35 page)

‘T
his old man Glover has nothing to tell you.’

That was how he had begun the interview, seated in his old leather armchair, in the living room of his spacious house in Tokyo.

The young journalist, Lawrence, had thought at first the old man was serious, that his journey through the cold and snow had been a wasted one. Then he’d caught the twinkle in the old man’s eye.

Two hours later he had scribbled down pages of notes, struggling to keep up as Glover told the story of his first ten years in Japan. The old man’s style was terse, direct, only occasionally boastful.

‘Say what you like, son,’ he’d told him. ‘I was the greatest rebel. Without me the new Japan would not exist. It’s as simple as that.’

And the story he told was indeed remarkable, a ripping yarn, a tale of derring-do. From his arrival as a callow twenty-year-old, in a land intensely hostile to outsiders, he had gained an unparalleled pre-eminence, established himself as one of the most powerful men in the country, and all by the age of thirty. It was the stuff of fiction, romance.

‘You certainly burned bright,’ said the young man.

‘Aye,’ said Glover. ‘I was a bit of a firebrand right enough. Now, can I offer you some tea?’

The tray was brought by a young Japanese maid. She caught Lawrence’s eye, smiled that way, poured the tea into two delicate china cups.

‘Miruku?’ she asked.

‘Milk,’ he said. ‘Sure, thanks,
arigato
.’

She smiled again, amused at his accent, bowed and took her leave.

‘I see you too are susceptible to their charms,’ said Glover.

‘She’s exquisite,’ said Lawrence.

‘Indeed,’ said Glover. ‘Yuko-san is a treasure.’ He stirred his tea. ‘Now, where were we?’

‘The rebels triumphant,’ said Lawrence. ‘The Shogun overthrown, the Emperor restored, Ito-san established as Prime Minister, the new, industrialised Japan on the march, with the three-diamond banner of Mitsubishi in the vanguard.’

‘Glorious.’ Glover seemed to wince a moment, in pain. But it passed and he composed himself, motioned to Lawrence to continue.

‘You’re sure you’re well enough?’

‘I’m not in the best of health. Now, what else do you want to know?’

Perhaps it was just the effort of talking for two hours that had exhausted the old man. But Lawrence felt it was more than that. In telling his tale, he’d been reliving those ten years, the years when he’d been fully, vividly alive. Now a light had gone out.

‘I moved to Tokyo. I grew rich. I grew powerful. I grew comfortable.’ He paused. ‘I grew old.’

He closed his eyes, breathed deep. Then he sipped at his tea.

Lawrence waited, then tried to draw him out again. ‘There had been these … setbacks, immediately after the rebellion.’

‘It was inevitable,’ said Glover. ‘It was a period of great turbulence, upheaval.’

‘Interesting Times!’

‘Aye.’

‘You were effectively bankrupt.’

‘I don’t like to use the word, but yes.’

‘And you clawed your way back.’

‘I’d made a fortune, I lost it, I made another one.’

‘Then it was Mitsubishi and the move to Tokyo.’

‘And the rest, as they say, is history.’

‘But you kept one foot in Nagasaki?’

‘I kept the house there.’

‘Ipponmatsu.’

‘Couldn’t bear to sell it.’

‘Too many memories?’

‘Indeed. But aside from sentiment, it’s a matter of practicality. My son Tomisaburo still lives there with his charming wife Waka. I myself return there frequently. My daughter Hana is also happily married, to a decent young fellow, an Englishman by the name of Bennett. They have four children, so I’m a grandfather four times over! Unfortunately her husband works for my old partner Ringer, and the work took him to Korea, so the whole family had to up and move.’

‘And your son Tomisaburo never followed in your footsteps?’

‘In what sense?’

‘He wasn’t a gung-ho adventurer? He didn’t make fortunes and lose them again? Didn’t bring about a revolution?’

The old man smiled. ‘Perhaps Tomi lacked a certain …
fire
. But he’s made a decent enough life for himself. By nature I suppose he’s rather reserved, studious. He visited your country, you know. Studied Biology at the University of Pennsylvania.’

‘Is that a fact?’

‘On his return he went into shipping, so I suppose I influenced him a little. With my help he negotiated the purchase of Japan’s first steam trawler – the
Smokey Joe
! – built in Aberdeen. It revolutionised the fishing industry.’

‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’

‘Perhaps not! Tomi’s interest was always more academic. He’d be down at the dock every day, checking the catch, but not for commercial reasons. Biology was his first love, and he’d be examining the fish, cataloguing them. He’s been working for years on a project to make a kind of atlas of all the fish in the area. He’s employed artists to make detailed drawings. It’s quite an undertaking.’

‘Do you and your son get along?’

‘What kind of question is that?’

‘I just thought you must have been, as they say in vaudeville, a hard act to follow!’

Glover grunted.

Lawrence changed tack. ‘Speaking of vaudeville, there’s a litle ditty doing the rounds of the bars in San Francisco. You might like it.’

He cleared his throat, sang in an exaggerated, nasal twang, beating time on the arm of the chair.

Glover’s eyes opened wide, then he roared with laughter. ‘Wicky wacky woo!’ But the laughing made him cough, splutter, red-faced, gasp for breath, clutch his hand to his side as if in pain.

Yuko hurried in, brought a glass of water, watched him sip it, saw him calm as the spasm passed.

‘It’s a bugger,’ he said.

‘I should go,’ said Lawrence. ‘You’re tired.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Glover. ‘Just don’t make me laugh, that’s all!’ He handed his glass to Yuko. ‘
Biiru, kudasai. Uisukii. Arigato
.’

She looked uncertain, almost reluctant, then bowed, threw a look at Lawrence, left the room.

‘I just asked her to bring something a bit stronger,’ said Glover. ‘Now, where were we?’

‘Hot ginger and dynamite!’

‘Indeed!’

Yuko returned carrying a lacquer tray, set it down on the table. On it were two bottles of beer and two pint-glasses, a decanter of whisky and two cut-glass tumblers. With the same grace and adeptness she had brought to serving the tea, she unscrewed the bottletops and poured the beer, angling each glass so the froth was just right. Then she poured a measure of whisky into each of the tumblers, added a little more at Glover’s unspoken command, his finger and thumb held an inch apart. He nodded, smiled. Again she bowed, backed out of the room.

‘The beer is from my own brewery,’ said Glover, holding up his glass.

‘Kirin,’ said Lawrence. ‘I’ve sampled it. It’s a fine brew.’

‘The
kirin
is a mythical creature,’ said Glover, ‘half horse, half dragon, a symbol of good luck.’

‘An appropriate choice then,’ said Lawrence.

‘So it proved,’ said Glover, taking a sip. ‘It was the Dutch who introduced beer to Japan, and the Japanese quickly developed a taste for it! Initially, of course, it was all imported. Then an American opened a small brewery in Yokohama, Spring Barley it was called.’

‘Another fine name.’

‘Not as fine as Kirin,’ said Glover. ‘It failed for various reasons. But the idea was sound.’

‘There was a market for the product.’

‘Indeed. I saw the possibilities, took over the company, scaled up the operation, made it work.’

‘Impressive.’

‘It’s always the same story,’ said Glover. ‘It’s a case of getting
the Japanese to manufacture their own products, here.’ He drained his glass, set it down, picked up the tumbler of whisky. ‘The Scotch, however, is from home. There are some things even the Japanese shouldn’t be trusted to copy!’

Lawrence laughed, raised his glass. ‘Your health!’

‘I’m afraid that’s long gone,’ said Glover. ‘
Kanpai!
’

They swigged their whisky. Glover grimaced, poured more, knocked it back in one go, stood and excused himself.

‘Nature calls.’

He was away an inordinately long time. Lawrence took the opportunity to look round the room, at the framed photographs on the wall.

The battleship
Jho Sho Maru
; a family group, Glover and Tsuru with Tomisaburo and Hana. Glover at his daughter’s wedding reception in the garden at Ipponmatsu; Glover as he was now, a distinguished old man, surrounded by Japanese naval officers, among them Admiral Togo; and on his own, in full formal dress with a medal pinned to his chest; Ito Hirobumi in an elaborate military tunic covered with medals, the photograph signed to Glover; Glover as a young man, standing with hands on hips, looking out at the world.

‘A whole life there,’ said Glover, coming back into the room. ‘Now it’s come to this. Aching, puffed-up, pissing blood.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I, laddie. So am I.’ He sat down in his armchair again. ‘The doctors reckon it’s Bright’s disease. Steady failure of the kidneys. It’s not pleasant.’

‘No.’

‘They said I shouldn’t be drinking or smoking, should be careful what I eat. I said For God’s sake why?’

Lawrence chuckled in spite of himself.

‘I mean,’ said Glover, ‘they’re all dead.’ A sweep of the arm took them all in, all his contemporaries. ‘All gone, all buggered off.’ He poured more whisky, for himself and Lawrence. ‘Tsuru
passed away more than ten years ago. She’s buried in Nagasaki, at Sakamoto Cemetery. When I breathe my last I’ll join her there.’ He raised his glass again. ‘Cheers.’

‘
Kanpai
,’ said Lawrence, more subdued.

‘When Tsuru died, my sister Martha moved out here. Bless her. She’d lost her own husband, and a daughter. Our parents were long gone. I suggested the move to her, she said Why not?’

‘And did she like it here, did she settle to the life?’

‘Like a fish to water. She was always of a spiritual disposition and she converted to Catholicism, busied herself with good works. She was much loved. She too is buried in Sakamoto.’

Outside the day was growing dark. Yuko came in and lit the lamps, drew the curtains, stoked the fire in the grate.

Glover looked at the photographs on the wall, firelight glinting on the glass. ‘Ito’s gone too, of course. Killed by an assassin’s bullet. Some fanatical young Korean nationalist. Who would have believed it? Ito the great rebel, the great reformer, executed in the name of rebellion.’

‘It’s often the way of it,’ said Lawrence. ‘Each generation has to break in order to build anew.’

‘Ito kept in touch with me right to the end,’ said Glover. ‘He still wrote poems, and he sent me what may well have been his last verse. I can quote it from memory:

‘Very profound,’ said Lawrence. ‘Rather more so than
Hot ginger
and dynamite
!’

‘But Ito would have enjoyed that too!’ said Glover. ‘Most definitely!’

‘I see you’re something of a music aficionado yourself.’ Lawrence nodded towards a gramophone resting on a small table, firelight giving a glow to the polished mahogany box, glinting on the brass horn.

‘A miracle of modern technology,’ said Glover. ‘Yesterday evening you would have sworn Count John McCormack was singing in this very room! But listen to this.’ He picked up a record in a brown paper sleeve. ‘Are you familiar with Mister Gilbert and Mister Sullivan?’

‘I’m not much of a one for opera.’

‘Nor am I. To sit through an entire evening of the stuff would leave me with my brain aching and my arse numb! But these fellows are wonderfully entertaining. This is from
The Mikado
, and I doubt if it would go down well in Japan! Someone at the Consulate bought it for me in London, thought I would be amused by it. Listen, this is what I want you to hear.’

He lifted the needle-arm, placed the record on the turntable, cranked the handle, set the arm down on the Bakelite disc, the stylus resting in the groove. There was a crackling and hissing, then the unmistakable sound of a band striking up.

‘There! That song being played – it’s the marching song of the kingire, the rebel troops who overthrew the Shogun. It was played at the launch of the
Jho Sho Maru
. The Japanese have a reputation for being stoical, unemotional. But I swear to God, old Ito had a tear in his eye.’

The song came to an end, the stylus clicked and hissed on the disc, stuck. Glover lifted the arm, looked quite moved himself.

‘If I may make so bold,’ said Lawrence. ‘Ito and his government have themselves been criticised.’

Glover met his gaze. ‘As you said yourself a moment ago, it is often the way of it.’

‘In particular they have been accused of being belligerent, warlike.’

‘You refer to the wars with China, with Russia.’

‘Both of which were initiated by the Japanese.’

‘They have learned from their erstwhile superiors. Like any developing nation they have to protect their borders.’

‘By seeking to expand them.’

‘The war with China was over disputed territory.’

‘Manchuria, and by implication Korea.’

‘Japan is a very small country surrounded by large predatory neighbours. It saw Korea as a buffer.’

‘And by subjugating that nation brought about the very hostility that resulted in Ito’s assassination.’

‘You’re discussing a friend of mine, sir. You’re stepping out of line.’

Glover was irked, Lawrence could see it, still cantankerous and fiery enough to be riled. Lawrence saw for a moment the young man he had once been.

Yuko had come into the room, anxious at Glover’s raised voice.