‘Well, as a matter of fact, Sensei, the others do appear anxious to avoid my company. Indeed, I have been unable to have a single conversation with any of them over these past few days. When I enter a room, people go silent or else leave altogether.’
He made no comment on this, and when I glanced towards him, he appeared to be still absorbed by the setting sky. I was in the process of lighting another lantern when I heard him say:
‘Your paintings are presently in my possession. I’m sorry if I caused you alarm by taking them. It just so happened I had a little spare time the other day and thought it a good opportunity to catch up on your recent work. You appeared to be out somewhere at the time. I suppose I should have told you when you returned, Ono. My apologies.’
‘Why, not at all, Sensei. I’m most grateful you should take such an interest in my work.’
‘But it’s only natural I should take interest. You are my most accomplished pupil. I have invested years nurturing your talent.’
‘Of course, Sensei. I cannot begin to estimate what I owe you.’
Neither of us spoke for a few moments, while I continued to light lanterns. Then I paused and said:
‘I am very relieved no harm has come to my paintings. I should have known there was some simple explanation of this kind. I can now put my mind at rest.’
Mori-san said nothing to this, and from what I could make of his silhouette, he did not take his eyes from the view. It occurred to me he had not heard me, so I said a little more loudly:
‘I am glad I can put my mind at rest regarding the safety of my paintings.’
‘Yes, Ono,’ Mori-san said, as though startled out of some far-away thoughts. ‘I had a little spare time on my hands, So I had someone go and fetch me your recent work.’
‘It was foolish of me to have worried. I’m glad the paintings are safe.’
He did not speak for some time so that I again thought he had not heard me. But then he said: ‘I was a little surprised by what I saw. You seem to be exploring curious avenues.’
Of course, he may well not have used that precise phrase, ‘exploring curious avenues’. For it occurs to me that expression was one I myself tended to use frequently in later years and it may well be that I am remembering my own words to Kuroda on that later occasion in that same pavilion. But then again, I believe Mori-san did at times refer to ‘exploring avenues’; in fact, this is probably another example of my inheriting a characteristic from my former teacher. In any case, I recall I did not respond other than to give a self-conscious laugh and reach for another lantern. Then I heard him saying:
‘It’s no bad thing that a young artist experiment a little. Amongst other things, he is able to get some of his more superficial interests out of his system that way. Then he can return to more serious work with more commitment than ever.’ Then, after a pause, he muttered as though to himself: ‘No, it’s no bad thing to experiment. It’s all part of being young. It’s no bad thing at all.’
‘Sensei,’ I said, ‘I feel strongly that my recent work is the finest I have yet done.’
‘It’s no bad thing, no bad thing at all. But then again, one shouldn’t spend too much time with such experiments. One can become like someone who travels too much. Best return to serious work before too long.’
I waited to see if he would say anything more. After a few moments, I said: ‘I was no doubt foolish to worry so much for the safety of those paintings. But you see, Sensei, I am more proud of them than anything else I have done. All the same, I should have guessed there would be some such simple explanation.’
Mori-san remained silent. When I glanced at him past the lantern I was lighting, it was difficult to tell whether he was pondering my words or thinking about something else altogether. There was a strange mixture of light in the pavilion as the sky continued to set and I lit more and more lanterns. But Mori-san’s figure remained in silhouette, leaning against a post, his back to me.
‘Incidentally, Ono,’ he said, eventually, ‘I was told there were one or two other paintings you’ve completed recently that were not with those I have now.’
‘Quite possibly, there are one or two I did not store with the others.’
‘Ah. And no doubt these are the very paintings you are most fond of.’
I did not reply to this. Then Mori-san went on:
‘Perhaps when we return, Ono, you 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 recognizing 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?’
‘Betore 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 plain-clothes 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 recognized 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 demoralizing 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 time 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.’