Herself (21 page)

Had tempura lunch, attended by giggling wife of hotel-owner. Wiggled chopsticks, drank the sauce the tempura should have been dawdled in, giggled and pantomimed too, and managed by placing my hand horizontally at the top of my gullet to say I had had enough just at the crucial moment when the course next in line was revealed to be apparently a section of flying fish with the wing still bravely aloft. Pity of it is that if were not feeling effects of heat cd have done well—have feeling cd perfectly well eat that fish if it were a cold crisp day, the air nothing but Air.

Then off to sightsee with Hamada, R’s assistant—told me he had been “nowhere except Siberia as a R. prisoner.” (When, in complimenting him on his Eng., I asked if he had been to States.) Saw a few shrines—like pictures of them, that is all I can say. Nijo Castle is however beautiful. Has the “Nightingale floor”—built to give off squeaks, so the shogun might hear anyone coming to murder him—many enormous empty rooms matted as usual, but with sliding panels of lions and tigers (imaginary since Japan has none), beautiful floating panels of trees, painted by court painters. “Paintings on gold-foil screens are attributed to Kano Tanyu and his school. Brass plates in oblong, and other fancy shapes on crossbars and upper parts of pillars etc. have hammered work on intricate tracery, decorative but also serve as cover for nails and jointures-beneath.” Was particularly interested in side panels in corridors, some where ceiling joined side wall, others on south wall. Beautiful abstracts—waves, nebula-flocked squares, large and small, an gold and white, waves indicated by white. Might be in the Modern museum, and wd outshine much of the current Whitney. Then to dinner with the R.’s, wonderful Kobe beef. (Cows are massaged daily, and fed beer.) This morning go to “Detached Palace,” and Osaka for lecture. I wonder if I can take it??

Well, I lasted and handsomely, thanks to the weather, which took an enormous turn to the cool—result of a typhoon which flooded parts of Tokyo, but not here. Today is hot again, but at least I can now remember there is another world outside the billowy cotton one in which I float in humid weather. Realize too, how ill I had been feeling. Went off bright and early with a Miss Suzuki assigned me, and wandered thru the Katsura Palace, formerly the seat of the shogun, or of the Takagawas (sp)—they all are one or the other, or the same. As is J. architecture—if one makes a virtue of space, ricepaper panels and some paintings, how can it be otherwise? Very lovely frame for the outdoors—which it is meant to be—I liked specially the principal room for moon-viewing, where the frame between the panels encloses the outdoor picture meant to be seen. The gardens, all shrubs of course and no flowers, wander with intent from one summer-house to the other, different names, different seasons for each house. At one point there was an artificial seaside-shore of smooth black stones—the feudal court could “go to the sea-shore”” or picnic in the country, or have tea at a spot of another character, all as if it were traveling, actually within the bounds of the palace gardens.
Is
this not the fantasy of a nation crowded on a small island and making the best of it? This suggested by Miss S.’s remark that she wd like to go to America, J. being so crowded. (So many want to—girl in Imperial who handles theater ticket desk, asked wistfully if I was a professor, and spoke of
her
wish, etc.) In our wanderings we followed a J. group of sightseers, as always very respectful, attentive to what is being seen. Apparently one cd n
ot
go unaccompanied—nor did they expect it, or wander an inch from the prescribed path, although I should have liked to, in fact to have spent a day by one of the lily ponds or squatting on my haunches in the moon-room—but alone.

Thence to Osaka, the Milan of Japan, by fast suburban train, Mr. Hamada, escorting me to station. Many formal good-bye’s—some talk on the status of J. women. His wife is a designer—school of dressmaking. He says they are “modern” and she exercises judgment in the house. He has bought a Western-style home vacated by Army, but has added one J. room.

Osaka ACC was a surprise in comp. to Kyoto, which is small, with ragged, somewhat untidy look of the Civic Center, whatever was it called, that I visited in one of the British New Towns—Harlow. Osaka’s in a modern office building, and the offices themselves very extensive, a film room, etc., might be any place on Madison Ave. Met by Mr. Osada, graduate of U. of Washington as is his colleague Mr. Kitamura—a former newspaperman, as he quickly informed me. They are so quick to give themselves status. He did have rather a more informal manner than any Japanese I had yet met. Was unable to get more than a faint smile from Osada at any time, although I imagined here and there that he “appreciated” a sally or so. He said the English-Speaking Society to which I was to talk, was too well grounded in English for me to need an interpreter—seemed to be a matter of pride, so I let it be. (At the moment I am typing this the maid has come in to serve luncheon—now there are 4 of them—apparently they have never seen a typewriter close up—I am typing this in the center of a nosegay of kimonos.)

My yesterday’s talk to the Osaka Society had seemed to have gone quite well—they did know English better, many of them. Asked questions. Always one is asked about Poe. One lady asked about the change in Hemingway from early bks to
Old Man of Sea
(change in philosophy) when I told her I thought his ethic had always been the same—man’s virility against nature, etc., etc., she seemed puzzled—not by what I said, but that I should not universally admire and be in accord with reputation. If a writer, or anybody, has attained prestige, one accepts that and does not judge. Then a young man asked a long socio-political question in two parts—the 1st purporting that writers cd not write what they thought politically in America—was it not so?—2nd—wasn’t that the reason Henry Miller was persecuted in America? Said “I am happy to tell you that is not so.” A laugh when I said Miller’s trouble was due “to pornography.” Yng man said “I mean Henry Miller who has married Marilyn Monroe.” But all seemed well at time, ending amicably. Reporter from Mainichi came up, asked me apologetically what he called either an impohtent, an impehtinent, or an impuhdent question—which I hope I answered clearly.

Later Osada and a Dr. Suzuki (medical doctor who—status again—was quick to tell me that she had just attended some big International Christian Med. Conference) took me to dinner at a tempura restaurant. This very diff from temp. I had had in hotel. Beautifully styled little place, every detail in order, in a posed and lyric order. We sat first at a table and had the excellent J. beer, with hors d’oeuvres, all good. I found I could use chopsticks—once one learns the rhythm it isn’t hard. Then we went to counter and sat while the counterman fried us delicacies, a single one at a time, in a great conical vat of oil just beneath the counter. Each tidbit was then placed with tongs, on a napkin in front of us—a peeled fried chestnut sprinkled with sesame seed—beautiful and good—a small oblong of fried bread, a shrimp with its tail, ditto, a quail’s egg. I was greedy—had two, on the principle that quail’s eggs are scarce in my life. Wd not have known it was an egg, had I not been told. Then shrimp and rice, which I ate ignoring sticks. They do not seem to end meal with tea here—what tea I’ve had is pale yellow, not much aroma—no connection with good China tea.

Thence, by prior arrangement (they “consult one’s wishes”) we went to the puppet theater. This, the antecedent of
Kabuki
, can be seen only in Osaka, or the general region, I was told. Since it requires 3 men to a puppet it is very expensive, thus a dying art, Osada said. We went behind stage first, saw the puppeteers—one of them made a doll work for me, shake hands, weep, etc. It made me feel like a child being taken on an extraordinary treat. As it was, we saw only the last act. Samisen player a noted one—a commentary kind of music it is. The second actor, a declaimer, narrator, singer—all in one. I had heard D. do something similar from a
Nō
—it is very entrancing to listen to, and the puppets gliding along with two men in black, conical hats and all, and master-puppeteer, in full view, garbed grandly in white with spread collar—had a ballet fascination that probably grows with watching. We had too little time. Took the train back to K., found the hotel without trouble, and so to bed. And then at breakfast the next morning, pick up the Mainichi and read the attached clip, “Calisher Repudiates Present US Writers.” Wrote letter of protest, which Mr. Baskin in Kobe is going to show the Mainichi. Baskin said he knows the reporter, who has a chip on his shoulder—remarks were deliberately twisted. Ah well.

Meanwhile in Kobe, that afternoon (9/19) met the small group—all professors, who came in one by one to meet me and talk haltingly. A Mr. Pehda, former Fulbright who has stayed on, returning to States and here again (when Americans fall for J. they get it bad) was very very helpful. Great interest as always in our homosexual writers—Capote, etc. Asked me if they were a group—I explained. The brightest prof., whom I liked, said that the chief difficulty that J. had in understanding our literature was caused by the fact that the Japanese are without a sense of original sin. I told Prof. Sanno that this was the most interesting thing I had heard in J.—which I think it so far is—perhaps this is responsible for the continuous western complaint that J’nese have no “reaction” or no “emotion”—which we confuse with all the variations of guilt etc.

Thence to dinner at a private home in Kobe, Mr. Will Rogers—home approached through walled hillside path rather like that outside some villas in Italy, etc. Large group of Jap.-American cultural soc. I was infinitely weary, still suffering from diarrhea—had had a Jap. lunch—no more of that. (I know why the whole land smells of fish—after all, it is an island—but I shall have no more.)

Discussion of the position of women—marriage in Japan—etc. (Sat next to Mr. Baker, consul, an amiable Southerner who made amusing comments—which nettled the serious younger Americans, on our own civ.) I too, am now less eager to project our Amer. attitudes, particularly re women—than I wd have been yrs ago. Spoke with Joan Greenwood, doing her Ph.D. with Stegner and now teaching in Kobe Co., for women—she very hot over the injustices of J. women, but less eager to admit our women were not all rosy-happy. Very bright girl. Baker, on my right, explaining meanwhile that the J.’s here constituted perhaps 1% of all J.—this group mostly being men and women who had had some college training in U.S. Such girls, returning, found it difficult to marry here, even to their opposites, the men who have also been to U.S. Americans in group asked abt arranged marriages etc., etc. I made Baker ask a q. for me—were all the J. women anxious to exchange their. “feudal yoke” for Amer. female attitudes? A beautiful and intelligent J. girl spoke up—said she thought things were happier in the home if the man had a certain “dominance.” (B. said she was one of the ones who was finding it difficult to marry.)

Sad, what we are doing to them—I think often of Mark Twain’s essay on missionaries, which applies as much to the eager-beaver mod. American emissary as it did to his 19th century missionary counterpart. The USIS people all extremely good types however—Baskin and others I heard speak—also their wives—Mrs. B. very charming and intelligent—this unusual as embassy wives go—but they are different from straight For. Service wives I fancy. Thence I was to go to the train—when lo—it was found that all trains wd be delayed owing to a great accident—after much back-and-forth, it was arranged that I stay here in Kobe instead of having to bear the train again, and take the plane in morning. Unless the plane falls down, the gods are with me, for my weariness had begun to be serious, and my mental state poor. Heat, as I know, always makes me hypochondriacal—the heat has lessened, but I still have all the symptoms—maybe it’s the stomach etc.—
mal de peche
, etc. Anyway, looking in the mirror—drawn face, skin broken out, and insides melancholy, I told myself that the East was indeed hard on a white woman—what wd C. think if I deplaned looking and feeling like this? At dinner, when someone asked me the ages of my children, and on hearing, made the accustomed remarks on the unbelievability of same, I thought they must be out of their heads, since I looked to myself like that woman in Lost Horizon at the moment just before she crumbled with the weight of centuries of age, into dust.

I am somewhat recovered, thanks to an evening of rest in the Kobe Hotel, where I wrote the above, just before embarking for here on the JAL plane. And thanks to a pleasant day spent here, which I shall “presently recount.” To date I have written this journal without even glancing up to correct the typos, much less read back. It is a curious experience for a writer accustomed, as I am, to mandarin concentration on every word. Perhaps I could not have done this straight from the short story, but the necessary telescoping of that impulse, which has gradually crept on me during the writing of the novel, has helped.

Yesterday, George Iseki of the Kobe A.C.C. came early to drive me to Itami airfield, some 40 minutes drive, and we had a pleasant drive through the rice paddies (Agricultural note for C.—they alternate rice and wheat; G. said he thought they had always done, though not sure.) He had had a year in the U.S., at Northwestern and U. of Texas, has less accent than most of the other men, many of whom have also been—but he is considerably younger—looks like a young football player, stocky, with carefully crewed hair. I had impression I was talking to someone far more westernized inside than most. Itami air terminal, small and handsomer than any of ours I have seen, even Seattle-Tacoma, which still funs to dull green and henna chairs and sofas of the “public room” variety. The seats in Itami are the brilliant J. yellow, backed with royal blue—imperial colors?—the wood smooth and handsome.

Very bright weather. Followed the map provided, on from the rt side of the plane, seeing the inland sea. Mountains on left. A J. next me, who spoke some Eng. pointed out first Shodo Is., then Inno and Eda—one or the other a shipbuilding base and a naval academy—no doubt I have got them wrong—but sufficient to remind one—if the omnipresent and fresh fish had not—how maritime a nation they are. Near Kure, I had half-hoped, half-dreaded, to look down on Hiroshima, fancying that from the air I might still see that historic and dreadful crater, but H. is inland.