The Toyotomi Blades (5 page)

Traffic increased as we approached Tokyo. Sugimoto pointed out Tokyo Disneyland off the freeway and said we had at least another hour to go, but frankly, by that time, my thoughts were more focused on my bladder than the Japanese version of a Southern California tourist attraction. I really should have gone to the bathroom before we left the airport.

5
      

W
e crawled through bumper-to-bumper traffic. There seemed to be no lane discipline with Tokyo drivers, and cars were often five abreast where there were just three lanes painted on the pavement. In Japan, of course, they drive on the left side of the road like the British, and it was a little disorienting to see drivers on the “wrong” side.

It took us almost two and a half hours to reach the television studio from Narita, and when we finally got there I was desperate. We pulled up to what looked like a side entrance to the studio and when we got out of the car, Sugimoto asked me to take the prop sword out. Instead, I told Sugimoto, “I have to use a restroom. Now. Right away. Immediately.”

“No problem,” Sugimoto said, and led me to a small bathroom off the entrance. As soon as I walked into the bathroom, I knew there actually was a problem.

In the room there was no toilet and no urinal. There was a sink and in the tile floor there was a fixture that baffled me. It looked like a white porcelain version of the kind of slit trenches we used for field latrines in the army, but with a raised lip at one end. It was about eight inches wide and two feet long. I stared at it for several minutes trying to figure out what the hell it was.

Embarrassed but in need of immediate guidance, I stuck my head out of the door and asked Sugimoto, “How are you supposed to use this thing?”

Sugimoto laughed and said, “That depends on what you want to do. Why don’t I take you to a Western-style toilet? Sometimes the Japanese-style toilets can be confusing.”

“I’m not totally confused, but I do want to know if what I’m about to do is the right thing. I thought I’d just straddle that trench in the floor and take careful aim. Is that right?”

“You got it,” Sugimoto said.

I went back into the toilet and did a reasonably neat job. When I finished I stared at the fixture in the floor, trying to fathom how you would use it if you needed it for other bodily functions or if you were a woman. The possibilities I came up with all involved straddling, squatting, and other undignified maneuvers. I had just received my first prosaic lesson in the differences between the familiar and the proverbial mysteries of Asia.

When I was done, I retrieved the samurai sword from my luggage and followed Sugimoto up to the
News Pop
studio, which was on the seventh floor of the building.

In Los Angeles I once saw a taping of a TV comedy. It was done in a sound stage big enough to hold three different sets and bleachers for a live audience. By comparison, the
News Pop
studio was minuscule. The studio was about the size of a large living room. In the high ceiling were a series of metal bars with a large assortment of lights clamped to them. Most of the floor space was taken up by cameras, and even the cameras were tiny. At the U.S. TV taping, the cameras were the size of briefcases, but the cameras used on
News Pop
were the size of a kid’s lunch box. Three of these cameras were mounted on tubular tripods set on wheels so they could be moved around for different angles in front of the set.

About a half-dozen people were in the room. They seemed to be blocking out shots with a director, with cameramen taking instructions as they moved their cameras around the studio floor. A couple of technicians seemed to be repairing some cable that went from a desk with several monitors and disappeared into the floor. It was crowded.

The set for the program was jammed up against one wall. It was basically a counter with a
shōji
screen for a background. Several chairs were placed behind the counter. On the surface of the counter were glass panels that seemed to cover computer screens set into the desk. I surmised that notes or the script were flashed on these screens.
News Pop
had to be a “talking heads” show that relied on videotape for anything that required space or movement.

“I’ve got to tell them you’re here and set up the promo. Then I’ll introduce you to Nagahara-san and Yukiko-chan, our stars. In the meantime I’m going to introduce you to Junko Ohara, a researcher on the program. She helps with English-speaking guests.”

Sugimoto called out to a woman who was conferring with the director. She was in her early thirties, dressed in a white long-sleeve blouse and gray skirt. Her hair was worn in a bob with bangs that reminded me of a 1920s flapper. She was about five feet tall and could probably stand to lose ten pounds, the same weighty crime I’ve already admitted to being guilty of.

“Junko-san, this is Mr. Tanaka, the detective from the United States,” Sugimoto said.

“I’m not a detective,” I interjected. “I’m a computer programmer who acted as an amateur sleuth.”

“Amateur or professional, you’re twelve minutes of next week’s show and I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Junko Ohara.” Her English was absolutely perfect. She extended her hand and I shook it.

“Why don’t you two get acquainted while I go get Nagahara-san and Yukiko-chan. We’ll get this promo piece shot and have you in your hotel in just a few minutes.”

Sugimoto left us. Junko looked at me and said, “You look tired, but I wouldn’t count on his promise that everything will be shot in just a few minutes. It’s only a twenty-second promo, but it will take us an hour or more. Why don’t you come to my desk and I’ll get you some tea?”

“That sounds good. The offer of tea, I mean. Spending another hour or so here doesn’t sound too good. My body thinks it’s about three A.M.”

Junko took me out of the studio and down a flight of stairs. There she showed me into a large office space filled with tiny metal desks jammed together. Although it was past seven P.M. local time, there were still a lot of people in the office. Junko seated me at one of the small desks and went to get me a cup of Japanese green tea.

After thanking her for the tea, I said, “Your English is remarkably good. Did you live in the States at some time?”

“I wish,” Junko said. “Actually I’ve never been out of Japan. I went to college at Sophia, which is a school in Tokyo where all lectures and classes are conducted in English. I also speak a good Spanish and a passable German. I guess I just have a good ear.”

“Mr. Sugimoto said your last name was Ohara?”

“Just call him Buzz. He likes that. And yes, my last name is Ohara.”

“In the U.S. that would be an Irish name.”

“It’s actually Korean. We pronounce it slightly differently than the Irish. We Koreans also have Lees, like your famous Civil War general, or maybe Spike Lee. You can’t always tell from last names. Ohara could also be a Japanese name, but I’m still Korean.”

“Now I’m confused,” I admitted. “I thought you said you’ve never been out of Japan.”

“That’s right. I was born here, as were my mother and father.”

“But wouldn’t that make you Japanese?”

She gave a rueful laugh. “There are some things you have to learn about Japan. Just because you’re born in Japan, that doesn’t make you a Japanese citizen. You have to have a Japanese mother and a Japanese father to get automatic Japanese citizenship at birth. My family has been in Japan since the thirties, but we’re still classified as foreigners and not citizens. I’ve actually never been to Korea and Korean isn’t one of the languages I know, but I’m still a resident alien in Japan.”

As an Asian in the United States, I knew what it was to be a minority. Junko’s situation put a whole new light on minority status, however. Living two or three generations in a country and still being considered an alien resident was strange to me. The first generation of Japanese-Americans were prevented from becoming naturalized citizens until 1952, but at least their children, the
Nisei,
were born citizens.

She looked at me and said, “Look, instead of complaining about things, I should be teaching you your lines.”

“Lines?”

“Yeah. During the promo we want you to say ‘Please take a look,’ in Japanese.”

“But I don’t speak Japanese.”

“It’s really simple. It’s short and I’ll teach it to you phonetically. Repeat after me,
goran, kudasai.”

“Goran, kudasai.”

“Pretty good, but let’s try it again. I’ll give you a nice, high-class accent. Listen carefully. Goran, kudasai.”

“Am I going to have to learn more Japanese for the show?”

“Oh, no. Everything will be translated for you. It’s just that our research indicates that our shows with translations are usually less popular than shows where everything is conducted in Japanese. You look Japanese, so if you say something in Japanese in the promo, viewers will assume that the interview will be conducted in Japanese.”

“Isn’t that a little misleading?”

She sighed. “I see you’re not familiar with television.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you object to saying something in Japanese during the promo?”

“No, I guess not,” I said reluctantly.

“Good. Now listen carefully and try to imitate my intonation.”

After we practiced the phrase to Junko’s satisfaction, she asked me, “You said you’re a computer programmer?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I have to do more research on your segment. Would you like to watch me access the English language databases we use?”

“Yes, that would be very interesting to me.”

Junko took me over to a section of the office where there were three computers on little carts. In the U.S., each worker would have his or her own computer, but here computers seemed to be shared. The machines were already turned on, so she sat in front of one and started some kind of communications program.

Junko signed on to an English-language news database and entered a starting date and a few search words. She chose “murder,” “sword,” and “Japanese.” After a few seconds, the message 14 STORIES FOUND appeared on the computer screen.

The stories were printed out on an old-fashioned, noisy, dot matrix printer. My illusions about a technologically advanced society in Japan were being shattered. Most personal computers sold for home use in the States seemed more advanced than the equipment being used by this big Japanese TV network.

Junko handed the stories to me. The longest were the L.A.
Times
pieces about the murder and my involvement in solving it. There was even a very small piece about the murder from
The New York Times
that I didn’t know of. Three stories that had nothing to do with my murder case were printed out. They were printed because they met the search criteria Junko had entered.

REPUTED ORGANIZED CRIME FIGURE ASSASSINATED

 

NEW YORK (AP)—George “Georgie L.” LaRusse, a reputed organized crime chief, was murdered last night in what police describe as one of the most spectacular gangland killings in years. The assailant entered LaRusse’s forty-fourth floor high-security apartment by removing the glass from a window. Police speculate that the murderer may have been lowered to the apartment from the roof of the building by accomplices.

LaRusse was both stabbed and thrown out of the open window. Ironically, he landed on the hood of a police car driving by the building. Two officers in the car were unhurt. Police are currently uncertain of the motive for the assassination, but did say LaRusse had recently been involved in territorial disputes over crime activities in Harlem.

In a bizarre twist to the case, an ancient Japanese samurai sword was stolen from the apartment by the assassin. The sword was not used in the attack on LaRusse. Police found the knife used in the assassination still in the victim’s body. According to Patricia King, manager of Derek Stacy Decorating, the company that decorated LaRusse’s apartment, the sword is considered quite valuable. “It was purchased at auction for $11,000 and should be worth quite a bit more now. Mr. LaRusse insisted on the finest decor for his apartment, although he was not a collector or art connoisseur himself. The sword was a fine example of 17th-century Japanese swordmaking, by the sword-smith Kannemori.” What connection, if any, the sword theft had to the assassination is still being investigated by the police.

LaRusse’s career was free of convictions, despite his well-known association with organized crime and organized crime figures. LaRusse was connected to the protection racket, prostitution and the numbers racket. He was indicted once in 1979 in an assault case, but escaped conviction when both the victim and the only witness to the assault recanted their grand jury testimony at the trial. Prosecutors later hoped to secure an indictment against LaRusse for intimidating the witnesses, but had to abandon prosecution when the witnesses refused to cooperate.

THEFT OF RARE SWORD

 

ROTTERDAM (REUTERS)—A rare Japanese sword was stolen yesterday from the Dutch Shipping Museum. The sword was part of an exhibit on the Dutch presence in Nagasaki, Japan, at the beginning of the 17th century. Dutch police describe the sword as being made by the swordsmith Kannemori and quite valuable.