Читать книгу Restless Wave - Ayako Tanaka Ishigaki - Страница 9

My Father

FATHER WAS a college professor. An intellectual and a scientist, he was full of the contradictions of all enlightened Japan. He believed firmly in the charter oath of the Emperor Meiji, “that harmful customs must be abolished and that knowledge of the entire world shall be sought.” He believed just as firmly that only the educated few were qualified to interpret a changing world and to know which were the harmful customs. He tried to reconcile science with superstition by explaining in reasonable terms the wisdom of the old rules, and by giving them a scientific basis. Where a scientific explanation was untenable, he passed off the matter as a law of nature.

Much of Father’s spirit of inquiry stopped at his own front gate. His home was to him a background where elaborate rules of Japanese etiquette, the signs of good breeding, had to be observed. In his home he was master, to be respected and revered. I obeyed and honored him; but my docile nature was better able to appreciate the established world of my grandmother than to puzzle about a world in which motion never stood still long enough for me to meditate about it.

Father’s jinrikisha, pulling into the gate, made a crunching sound on the graveled path. The jinrikiman called, “Okaeri! Your master has come back!” and all the members of the household rushed to the front genkan to greet him. The servants halted their work. We all knelt and bowed our heads as he came through the door. This ceremony was a routine which we went through twice a day, when Father left the house in the morning and when he returned in the evening.

Occasionally Father returned on foot and came in without warning through the servants’ entrance. The first one who saw him announced loudly, “Your master has come back!” and at the same moment squatted on the floor and bowed. The rest of the family rushed to the back entrance in confusion. Sometimes Father entered before we all were assembled. Then we dropped anywhere in the room, before he passed.

The large and spacious genkan, the main entrance, was reserved for Father and for guests. The rest of the family used the side genkan, which was smaller and always cluttered with geta, or clogs. We girls were told to keep our geta in orderly manner or no one would want us for brides.

Father changed from Western clothes to long kimono as soon as he returned home. Then he sat on his large special cushion and sipped his tea. When the tea was to his taste, he lingered over it. In the dining room there was always hot water boiling on the hibachi. When guests arrived, tea was served to them immediately, even before they were formally received by Father. During their stay their cups were frequently refilled. We had been disciplined to be very quiet while guests were in the house. Even our quarrels were restrained in tone. Sometimes when a guest stayed so long that we had to wait supper for Father, we turned the brooms upside down, believing this would chase guests out.

With supper, Father occasionally had sake wine. This was served warm, and he enjoyed it slowly. His face grew red, and we would receive his attention. With the wine he had sashimi, a plate of raw tuna fish decorated with white radish sliced fine and a carrot cut in flower-shape with a piece of green horseradish in the center. We all admired this attractive dainty, but never said anything about its being served only to Father.

Quite unexpectedly there appeared in our dining room an enormous table and chairs. Placed under it to protect the tatami-mat flooring was a deep-piled rug. Father said sitting on the floor with our legs under us was bad for our health and posture. Although we liked the novelty of the table, Younger Brother and I could scarcely see over the top, and we found it impossible to manipulate our chopsticks properly. Soon we knelt on our chairs in order to eat in greater comfort. The maid sat on the floor as usual and was embarrassed every time she had to jump up and travel the length of the long table to replenish our rice bowls. The table soon disorganized the entire household. The maids did much grumbling. It interfered with their cleaning, they said, and they bumped against its sides. The rug kept curling up and tripping them. A short time later, just as unexpectedly, the table disappeared. Father said Japanese girls must be trained to sit on the floor. The table found a place in his study, as supplement to his desk.

On the wall in the dining room hung a large map of the world, and often after dinner Father pointed to the pretty pink of Japan, to the soft green of China, and across the wide expanse of blue to the yellow of the United States. He discussed the different customs in these and other countries. It became a game for us to find New York, London, Paris, Berlin, and other cities on the map.

In the spring of my sixth year I entered elementary school which Elder Sister already was attending. Father, with fearsome pride, followed our educational development. When he took trips away from home, he corrected with red ink the letters we wrote him, and sent them back to us. To facilitate our learning the many Japanese characters, he had us keep diaries. Elder Sister and I were to receive a sound education—Father never let us forget it—so as to become better wives and wiser mothers. In tending to our studies we were not to forget our gentleness as women. Man remained woman’s superior. “It is an incontestable biological law,” said Father, “which keeps woman tied to her home.” He esteemed his son more than his daughters, for by natural superiority his son would carry on the destiny of the house; his daughters would be given away as brides and would then belong wholly to their husbands’ families.

Father was near-sighted and wore glasses. He said that as a youth he had pored over his books, even closing the outer shutters during the day and studying by lamplight so as not to be disturbed. Much of his reading was in English and German, and he said he had strained his eyes by picking out the tiny letters in these languages. In spite of this he started our study of English at an early age. He drew big letters of the alphabet in black brush ink on large papers and hung them around the playroom walls. To me they looked like bits of wire twisted in fantastic shapes. We repeated each letter after Father, and soon were able to rattle off the A B C’s. But when he asked us to begin at the other end, that was not so easy.

Our school reports Father scanned carefully, and when they pleased him, he rewarded us by little excursions on the Day of the Sun, which was a school but not a business holiday.

Throughout my schooldays, I did well in everything but singing. When called upon to sing alone before the class, I was unhappy and did poorly; but at home I sang loudly, trying to imitate the beautiful voice of Elder Sister, who laughed at my efforts. Speaking before the class also frightened me. When it was my turn to stand on the platform, I forgot the stories I knew so well and stared blankly at the blurred faces before me. The teacher said, “You are good in mathematics, composition and penmanship, but you are so shy when you have to speak before the class. But since you will not be a public performer when you grow up, I will excuse you.” Once I received a less than perfect rating in sewing. Since sewing was one of the most important womanly arts, I was mortified when I handed my report to Father. To my surprise he made no comment, and took me as well as Elder Sister on our first trip to Asakusa Park.

On such occasions Father had us wear our Western clothes. Elder Sister was especially pleased because of her new high-buttoned shoes. Not so with me. I would have preferred the colorful long-sleeved kimono that most of the other children were wearing, and the thick wooden geta with bells attached that made a happy tinkle as they walked.

Asakusa Park is a noisy amusement park located in the heart of Tokyo. The less-favored of Tokyo’s five million inhabitants found the park a welcome release from the tense life of their crowded city. After riding on the street car an hour and changing cars twice, we reached the entrance and were drawn into a swirl of merrymakers. Souvenir and amusement booths lined the pathway, and the crying of hawkers and the gaiety of people was like the buzzing of a million bees. I could hardly tear myself away from the marionette show, in which a girl in pink tights, her cheeks and lips heavily painted, danced on a huge ball.

Carried along by the crowd, we arrived at an open space, where I could again breathe easily. Here was Kannon Temple, the Temple of the Goddess of Mercy. Old women holding children’s hands were resting on the few available benches. Pigeons flew down from the roof to be fed from our hands. A continuous procession of people climbed the stairs leading to the Temple, rang the gong by pulling on a heavy rope of twisted red and white cotton cloth, prayed for a moment, then slipped offerings into one of the many slots in a large padlocked box. It was said that at least a million yen was deposited in the box each year, in the hope that the Goddess of Mercy would deal kindly with the givers. Elder Sister and I took turns at pulling the thick rope with both hands, but the gong made only a feeble sound. Peering into the dim interior, we distinguished the figure of the Kannon sitting far back at the end of the Temple.

We went next to the famous Twelve Story Tower, the highest in Japan, and climbed the spiral staircase to the very top. My head whirled dizzily, and I had to brace myself before I could look over the panoramic view below. Sumida River shone like a silver cord crawling and winding through rows of toy houses. On the other side of the river, black smoke curled thick from many factory chimneys. Spacious Uyeno Park was like a small green hill covered with miniature trees, out of which peeked the vermilion top of Gojuno Pagoda.

On solid ground again, wide-eyed I gazed at the posters outside the theaters. Names of actors were dyed white in big characters on bright-colored streamers strung from poles. With five or six such poles each theater beckoned to the sightseers, irresistibly. Father explained that the entertainment in these theaters was of a cheap variety and not suited for young children. We never questioned his authority, but it was with heart-heavy sense of missing something that we watched other children with their parents disappear inside.

For our next trip, Father suggested Hibiya Park with its hills and wide lawns. Here where the crowds were more leisurely, Elder Sister could promenade and display her Western clothes to advantage. We walked hand in hand, conscious of admiring glances from the onlookers; but I felt that the attentions of all were centered on the beautiful long feather in Elder Sister’s white hat, which shook in greeting as she walked.

Once on the Day of the Sun we were taken to a new department store of six stories, the highest in Tokyo at that time. People entering it had to remove their geta; and for people like us, who wore Western shoes, shoe-covers were provided. Father stepped on the escalator which carried people to the first floor, and we, mystified, followed him. My feet slipped, but I grasped the moving belt just in time, and floated upwards. I soon found, to my dismay, that one of the covers was gone from my shoes. Thereafter I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. When we reached the exit my heart pounded with fear of a rebuke, but the attendant bowed us out silently.

On the other side of the street we entered a stationery store, where, to my joy, no shoe-coverings were necessary. I spied the thousand-year pens and hoped I might have one. But Father purchased long pencils for us, and said, “When you become learned and entitled to a fountain pen, then you shall have one.”