The Ink-Keeper's Apprentice (13 page)

"Welcome to my humble home," he said when the music came to the end. He had a great bass voice. "You must forgive Michiko's mother for not joining us. She's been ill for quite some time, and even a recital like this would be too taxing for her."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It's one of those strange ailments that no one seems to know anything about. How did you like the music? They're rather good, don't you think?"

We hadn't been introduced but it didn't seem necessary.

"Yes, I think they're wonderful," I replied.

"You like Japanese music then?"

"Yes, sir, especially
koto
music."

"I think our music has more of a soul than Western music."

"But Father," said Yoko, "you've never listened to a live symphony. Sei-san, you mustn't pay much attention to Father. He's so old-fashioned, he won't even see a movie."

"I say what does a movie have over a good stage play? Noh and puppet plays are more my pace. But then what do we old men know? I understand you're a classmate of Michiko's."

"Yes, since the new term," I said, trying not to look at Michiko. She had lied to her father, and that pleased me. He would be a hard man to lie to.

"Father," said Yoko, "Sei-san is a pupil of Noro Shinpei."

"So I understand. It's hard to believe that Michiko and Sei-san are the same age. Why, he appears to be a grown man next to her."

"That's not fair, Father," said Michiko. "Sei-san is the tallest boy in school. He's taller than most of the teachers."

"Samurais of old were tall men. Height is a great advantage. You must take up kendo, Sei-san; you'd make a superb swordsman. We Japanese don't drink enough milk. How about some refreshments?"

Seeing me puzzled, Michiko said, "Father means sake. Will you have some?"

"Tea is fine for me, thank you," I said.

"Come, come, a little sake is a good thing. Why, in the old days men your age were sent into battle with nothing more than sake in their veins," he said and clapped his hands twice. The maid entered silently.

"Chie, warm some sake for us, four cups, and something to go with it."

We drank sake and he told us war stories. I'd heard a lot of war stories, but never from an admiral. His stories were fascinating, and he was a fine storyteller. He talked about Manchuria, the South Seas, even about America, where he was once a military attaché, and about the fabulous warships he'd commanded.

Perhaps because of my poor circulation sake never made my face turn red, and that impressed the admiral. He was the kind of man who judged other men by how much sake they could drink. I was relieved when the maid finally served our supper.

Michiko insisted that she see me off to the station, asking the maid to come after her in fifteen minutes. As we walked down the wide hallway I heard a door open behind me. I looked back and saw an ashen face of an old woman behind a partly opened door. The room was dark, and the woman's face stood out like a Noh mask, white and ghostly. Our eyes met briefly, then the door closed without a sound. I looked away quickly, realizing it was Michiko's mother.

Michiko and I walked on the deserted street, she casting a pool of light in front of us with a flashlight.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked.

"Why should I be angry? You mean about our being in the same class?"

"That, too, but for not warning you about Father's drinking. And Mother."

"No, of course not. He doesn't drink any more than Sensei. I think your father is wonderful."

"You saw my mother, didn't you?"

"She looks very ill."

"You see, she's never been the same since my brother died. She hasn't left her room in six years."

"She's been grieving all this time?"

"It's a long story. I don't know if I should tell you ... my brother killed himself; he committed suicide when the war ended. He killed himself because he could never be an admiral like Father and Grandfather. I think my mother has gone mad—we can't even talk with her. It's been very hard on Father. Girls aren't quite the same as boys to a military man. He has often asked me to invite boys to the house. He likes to talk to young men, but I've never asked anybody before. I thought you would understand."

"How old was your brother?"

"Sixteen."

I didn't know what to say to her. We walked in silence.

"You aren't drunk, are you?" Michiko asked.

"I'm all right.... No one at school knows this, but I live alone."

"What do you mean?"

"I live alone in an apartment. My parents are divorced."

"How terrible for you!" She stopped in the middle of the street. "I can't imagine such a thing. Do you have to do your own cooking?"

I laughed. "I eat out. And I wash my own underwear. You shouldn't think your family is so strange—at least you're together."

As we continued our walk, I told her about my parents and Grandmother. Gently she touched my hand, I squeezed her small hand, and she tightened her grip in answer. No one had held my hand since I was a small boy, and something like a lost memory came rushing back to me. Holding hands with her seemed like the most natural thing to do; I longed to walk like that through the night, not saying a word. If I reminded Michiko of her dead brother, I didn't mind.

Coming near the station we saw the dark forms of people and we unclasped our hands and walked a few paces apart.

"I'm very glad you came," said Michiko.

"Should I wait until the maid comes?" I asked her.

"No, please go now."

"Good night then."

"I hope you'll come again."

"I'd like that very much; I'd be honored."

After that I visited Michiko about once a month. The gloom in her house depressed me, and I felt tense, but her father seemed to enjoy my company. My visits were all alike:
koto
music, a few cups of sake, and supper that looked like it was ordered from a restaurant. Michiko was a good friend and I liked her. I wished I didn't think any more about Reiko, but I did.

Michiko was a straight A student, and that had an effect on me; I began to study harder. Once I stole a board that Sensei had discarded and gave it to Michiko. Tokida had done some of the background but I lied and told her it was all my work. She was delighted, and said she would have it framed.

A month before summer vacation I received a letter from my father. I was very surprised, because I hadn't heard from him in a long time. The first thing I saw in the envelope was a postal check for a large sum of money. I knew something had happened. This is what the letter said.

Koichi,

I trust that all is well with you. Enclosed is a money order which you may spend in any way you wish. Let me explain what has happened since I wrote to you last.

Do you remember Captain Powers, the American officer for whom I used to do translations ? He has left the service and now resides in California. As you know we had become quite good friends, and we have kept in touch over the years. He wrote me last week and kindly offered to sponsor me and my family to emigrate to America, and I have accepted. I have already begun the paperwork from this end. I have been told that the process will take about a year, which will give me ample time to sell our house and my business.

Captain Powers remembers you well, and has asked about you. And, of course, when I say my family you are naturally included. So my question: Would you consider going with us? And should you decide to do so I must know as soon as possible, for there would be additional paperwork to be processed. I realize this is rather sudden notice, and if you would like to think things over, do so. I will be happy if you decide to join us, and needless to say I will. be responsible for your education, lodging etc. I suggest that you talk to your mother about it, but let me stress the point that the decision is ultimately yours. Do let me know soon.

Father

I was dumbfounded. I'd known about Father's wish to leave Japan, but I never thought he would actually do it. And it seemed ironic that my father chose to emigrate to a country that was our enemy only a few years before. I remembered the fair-haired American army captain who used to come to our house with candies and Coca-Cola and patiently teach me the English alphabet. But the strange thing about Father's letter was that he was giving me a choice, not an order. Perhaps our long separation had made him a little timid, or perhaps he'd given me the choice out of fatherly obligation whether or not he really wanted me to go with him. I
read the letter over and over, trying to read between the lines, but that only confused me. It wasn't something I could decide overnight. I wrote to Father and asked him to give me time to think things over. First, I had to talk with Mother.

The idea of going to America did excite me. I thought of the skyscrapers, cars zooming at incredible speed on cloverleaf highways, cowboys and Indians, gangsters with machine guns, Gary Cooper and Humphrey Bogart. Maybe I should quit school immediately and take a crash course in English conversation.

But leaving Sensei and Tokida would be more painful than I cared to think about. And Mother would be 6,000 miles away.
This is a dog. No, it is a cat.
That was about the extent of my English. They would make me go through schooling all over again once I got to America. I wasn't ready to go back to an elementary school.

I decided to consult Sensei before going to Mother with the news. I took some of the best charcoal drawings I had done at school so we'd have something to talk about if our conversation bogged down and went to the inn.

"You did these?" asked Sensei. I nodded. "Pin this one up."

It was wonderful to watch Sensei study a drawing. He really looked at it. It was like watching someone eating a ripe peach.

"Superb," he declared. "I see you've been working very hard indeed. Here, pin the others up. What do you think, Tokida?"

"He's getting pretty good," he agreed. "I like that statue, the discus thrower. Maybe we ought to have one here, Sensei. I think Kiyoi should have drawn in the background, though."

"I agree," said Sensei. "Start putting in the background, Kiyoi. It's time you started paying attention to composition. Even if you only blacken the background, the drawing will stand out more. Do you find drawing nudes easier now?"

"A little, Sensei. It's so different from drawing plaster casts."

"They go hand in hand. You're concerned with shading in drawing the casts, but in life drawing line is the thing. Look at those beautiful grays. I'm impressed. Show me more, show me your sketchbooks."

While Sensei and Tokida looked over my drawings the kitchen
maid brought in a pot of tea and some sweets. I was glad for the interruption, because Sensei's praise and Tokida's silence made me nervous.

"Excellent," said Sensei. "I have only one thing to say for now, and it may not be all that important. Taikan, the great painter, once said that whenever he couldn't muster a technique, he would go with his heart. You don't seem to have that problem. You're blessed with extraordinary dexterity and I get a feeling that I'm being seduced by your cleverness. Look at her leg, for instance." He pointed at one of the nudes. "You're drawing like Matisse. It's quite beautiful, really, but I feel you weren't really looking at her leg when you drew it, but drew it the way you thought her leg
ought
to look. It's important that you don't seduce yourself with your own talent. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

He was right, of course. With Sensei, you couldn't get away with anything.

"Do I hear you arguing silently?"

"I was thinking about something else, Sensei. My father is going to America."

"For a visit?"

"No, he's emigrating. He asked me if I want to go with him. Do you know he has a new family now?"

"Yes, Tokida told me about your parents."

Tokida looked up.

"Well, are you going with him?" asked Sensei.

"I don't know. I wanted to talk to you first. I haven't told Mother yet. What do you think, Sensei?"

"
Wonderful,
" he said in English.

"What do you want to go to America for?" asked Tokida. He sounded hostile.

"I don't know. I didn't say I was going."

"Let your beloved child journey," Sensei quoted an old saying. "When you have a chance to travel, travel. Traveling is the greatest teacher of all."

"So when is your old man going?" asked Tokida.

"In about a year, he said."

"You have some time to think about it then," said Sensei. "Even if you don't go with him now, he can always sponsor you later, am I right?"

"I guess you're right, Sensei. I never thought about that."

"Once you go there, then what?" asked Tokida. "Are you going to come back?"

"Sure I'll come back. I'll come back just to see you."

"You're not going to like it there, I tell you. You're a fool if you think America is such a special place. And you're not going to like their food."

"They have rice in America," I said, though I wasn't sure if that was true.

"According to Soseki," said Sensei, "salad was the only esthetic dish he found in Europe. But put your mind to rest, Kiyoi, we'll send you a monthly package. Rice crackers, soy sauce, dried squid, and ink. Our ink is the best in the world, I'll have you know, the blackest black ink you can find anywhere. All right, let's get to work. Kato is coming over early tomorrow morning."

We went to work. Sensei and Tokida seemed instantly to forget what I had told them about America. I knew Sensei wasn't the kind of man who showed his feelings freely, but still I was disappointed in his reaction. I wanted some kind of guidance, some comfort and sympathy; after all, it wasn't every day one had to make a decision like mine. But what he'd said about my going to America
after
my father came to me as a relief. I didn't feel so bad about stalling for time.

For the next three hours we didn't say much to one another, but worked furiously, Sensei handing us a board the minute he was through inking the main characters. That was all he did now, inking the main characters and the balloons. Tokida and I did the rest. We put in very ornate backgrounds, trying to outdo each other. When a board was finished, every frame on it looked like a fine book illustration, and even Sensei had a hard time telling who had drawn what.