Chris made his way through the crowded corridors to TKD's cafeteria, not entirely happy as he anticipated his daily lunch of miso soup, shredded cabbage, rice and broiled chicken. After a month at the company he was not yet accustomed to this regimen of Japanese food and he still craved the wonderful Texan ribs he'd grown up on. Even as an MIT student he'd been able to get the "real thing" in a smattering of "home cooking" restaurants in Somerville and Cambridge. But Japan was another matter. Familiar church socials, the black community of Dallas and close presence of family was all far away from TKD's Kanazawa HI Tech laboratory.
"Chris, come and join us," yelled Chen, one of the group of PRC trainees that TKD routinely brought from it's China subsidiary in Shanghai for six month technology training courses. Chen was originally from Nanking and dreamed of returning there to marry and bring up his children.
Chris nodded vaguely and pointed to the long line. Remembering his training at MIT, he didn't dare join Chen and his Chinese cohort two days in a row. Although he enjoyed their lively conversations and complaints about Japanese food, he realized that rapidly becoming part of his Japanese work group was critical to success. Each day it was more and more apparent to him that acceptance meant getting good projects and respect.
Remembering the favorite adage of his Karate teacher, Okuma-Sensei, "The nail that sticks out must be hammered down," Chris smiled. Okuma's Karate class in the local YMCA was where it all began. He'd been just eight years old and Okuma-san spent the entire first lesson teaching him to bow correctly. As a consequence he hadn't wanted to go back. His mother, however, insisted and by the third lesson he was thoroughly hooked on Okuma-san and on Japan. Through long hours of practice he'd learned respect and discipline. Later when he went on to a brown-belt course, Okuma-Sensei had remained a friend and a mentor had eventually advised him to focus on his math ability and to apply for a scholarship to MIT.
Approaching the table of young Japanese engineers, he wished that Okuma-san were here to advise him. Ishi-san and the others in his group seemed distant and competitive. Obuchi-san, the middle-aged engineer who had been assigned his mentor was equally aloof. He was under a great deal of pressure from METI to complete his key superconductor project on time and talked about nothing else. METI, Obuchi told him frequently, considered the project critical to Japan's success in the emerging world market for superconductivity products. They'd poured a great deal of money into superconductors and KD must now complete the project on time to secure patents and to honor MISTI's investment and faith in their high-speed wire product. Chris tried to look concerned, but he didn't really feel included in Obushi's worries or the workgroup's politics. He felt that his work was progressing well, but no one seemed to notice. They made him feel that he was an outsider, even a possible industrial spy. He wondered whether this was because he was black. Thinking of his disappointments, he joined the Japanese table.
"Ah Chris-san," Obuchi greeted him unusually warmly. "It's good to see you. I know I've been very busy this week. How are you?"
"I'm fine," Chris answered softly, squeezing between his bench mate Ishi-san and Honda-san, a young new hire.
"We are all working hard," Obuchi-san continued. "Ishi-kun was here till past twelve last night."
Good for Ishi-kun, Chris thought bitterly, eyeing Ishi's thin earnest face.
"We are speaking of our Prime Minister Koizumi," Obuchi-san said. "Koizumi and Tanaka. What a great combination! Japan will surely change for the better now. Everything is being opened up. Never before have we Japanese watched the Diet committee meetings on television. Never before have bureaucrats been so openly attacked and exposed. Japan is on the march again."
This last announcement was greeted by a murmur of approval. Ishi-san muttered his agreement and the other Japanese nodded gravely. Chris wanted to be positive and he felt that they were waiting for his input, but he felt too ill-informed to contribute.
Suddenly Ishi-san said, "Koizumi is right about going Yasukuni shrine on August 15th. He is right! Japan has nothing to be ashamed of. War is war. We have our war dead just like any other nation! He is right about Article Nine, the revision of the constitution, and not revising the textbooks. It doesn't matter that Korea and China are upset. We don't tell them what to put in their textbooks." Turning to Chris, he asked, "Don't your Presidents pay official visits to your war memorials? Don't they?"
Everyone at the table stared at Chris. Chen and the other Chinese trainees sitting at the next table also turned. Chris flushed. He'd spoken several times to Chen about this issue. Chen always became silent. Then one night they went for a drink and after several beers, Chen began to talk. His family had lived in Nanking for many generations. Luckily most of them had fled the city before the Japanese troops arrived but his grandmother had been ill and stayed behind with her young brother and his best friend-cousin. In the first week his grandmother had been forced to watch her brother and young cousin beheaded as sword practice before their bodies were thrown into a pit. The Japanese then dragged her to a locked building where she and other young girls was gang raped. Most were killed or died of abuse, but one night as the Japanese guards lay in a drunken stupor she escaped with a friend through a broken window. They hid in a well for two days before finding a farm cart, in the dead of night, that carried them to a safe zone in the city set up by a German businessman. His grandmother never spoke of Nanking and the massacre, but if she heard the Japanese language she'd leave the room. Chen's voice lowered as he told this part of the story. "It's not the apology that's important," he said passionately. "It's the acknowledgement that something terrible happened, something inhuman that mustn't be repeated, something that all the world must recognize."
Chris listened carefully, thinking of his own family and of America's lack of apology for slavery. His own case was enough: as a teenager he had a terrible headache for months. The white doctor in charge of the case dismissed Chris' complaints, claiming that such headaches were due to the stress of being an striving ambitious young black. "Relax, work less, don't try so hard," he counseled until Chris' parents demanded a MRI. It showed that the real problem was a benign brain tumor that was operable and Chris recovered quickly from the surgery.
When he reached MIT, the situation didn't improve. Professors routinely overlooked his questions and dismissed his ideas. Feeling insulted and ignored, he was ready to quit when, in a Sophomore English class, when he got to know Rick his young black House Master. Rick spoke to him well into the night about success, mentoring him slowly with determination. At the end of the semester he had taken a black studies course, read Ralf Ellison's Invisible Man and understood now with Rick's urging that he must be visible in the face of all odds. He understood that he must be acknowledged. He understood his destiny. Armed with this new determination he took on the hardest courses and earned A's in all of them. . By the end of his time at MIT he had a graduate honors thesis, a Master's degree in material science, and two published papers.
His Japanese colleagues were still staring as Chris smiled. "Yes, American Presidents do visit our war memorials," he said generously. "They go to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and to the Vietnam War Memorial."
The Japanese grew very silent. "America should not have been in Vietnam," Honda said softly. "Asia's future must be decided by Asians."
Chris nodded and picked at his food. There was nothing being said that he disagreed with. Yet he was also aware that he didn't know enough. Every sentence seemed loaded with meaning. He ate quickly. The chicken was mostly fatty and he used the shredded cabbage and rice to cover the taste. He noticed that his Japanese lab-mates were doing the same. They were still staring straight ahead-waiting for his comment. At a loss, he finished lunch quickly and excused himself.
During the week tension in the laboratory mounted. The Japanese were looking forward to O-Bon and visits to their ancestral homes. Ishi was going to Niigata and Honda to Matsue. The Chinese however, talked of nothing but Koizumi's proposed visit to the Yasukuni shrine to make an official visit to honor Japan's war dead. Chen declared, "The ashes of war criminal like Tojo are in that shrine. Even Foreign Minister Tanaka is against it. What does Koizumi think he's doing? He sells himself as an agent for change. He is going to cure Japan's economic problems. How? All he is done so far is to insult his Asian neighbors with this visit and with his refusal to revise the text books."
Confused, Chris focused on his work. His project had really taken off and Obuchi-san seemed very pleased with his progress. Chris understood that Obuchi had to make a presentation to METI in September. Obuchi was over fifty and it was well known that this project would determine his future. Rumor had it that Obushi-san's son had childhood diabetes and his salary was critical for his plan to take his son to America for a medical consultation. There were also rumors that the project had stumbled in the past and that the previous director has been discreetly banished to Hokkaido as a low salaried tanshuin. On August 5th, at ten in the evening, Obuchi-san approached him. "Chris," he said with a pleased voice. "You are working late again. Let me see," he added looking over his shoulder at the chart. "Mmmm," he mumbled his approval. "These results are very good. METI will be pleased."
Chris smiled. His diligence was paying off. Lunches and dinners with his group helped too. Silently he thanked MIT and Okuma-san. Yes, he thought to himself, he was sure to get some very good papers out of this, papers that would help with a good job when he returned to the States, papers that would mean recognition from the internationally competitive superconductor community. Yes, he would eventually be "visible" after all, but in Japan the roadmap to success was different.
"Chris-san," Obuchi-san continued. "I would like to invite you to my house for dinner next week. I hope you will come. It is nearly O-bon and perhaps we can go to the neighborhood dance together. I am a very bad dancer," he laughed. "But my daughter Emiko is good." Chris nodded gravely. "I'd love that," he said quietly, noting that Obuchi looked as tired as he felt. Obuchi took his mentoring position seriously and it was common knowledge that he'd helped many employees including the Chinese trainees. Chen had mentioned that Obuchi had arranged for Chen's sister to study at Osaka University through his old professor. He was respected because of this as well as for his commitment to TKD and to the project.
Chris was thrilled. Although he'd been to dinner with Obuchi, it was the first time he'd been invited to his home. He knew that next to New Years O'Bon was the most important Japanese family holiday and that on O'Bon Japanese launched small candle-lit boats for the souls of their ancestors. He knew about the dancing and the carnival atmosphere. What else did he know? Was it Shinto? Was it Buddhist? Again he felt uneasy at his own lack of information.
That week Chris felt more effective than he had in months. He worked long and hard and even Ishi-san was impressed. In addition to his work, he was studying Japanese and could now understood much more of it. Every day he slowly plowed through a news paper article. The papers were full of Koizumi's official visit to Yasukuni shrine. Tanaka, who had just visited China, was against it, but most public opinion remained strong for the visit and August 15th was fast approaching.
He'd just finished his dorm breakfast and was preparing for work when Chen approached him. Because of his late hours, he'd been out of touch with Chen for the last weeks and had refused several drinking and dinner invitations. Now he was glad to see him "Good morning, Chen," he greeted.
"Good morning," Chen returned and quietly took a seat beside him, put down his tray, and picked up his miso soup. "Its August 10th, he added in a solemn voice.
"Yes," Chris agreed, wondering where the conversation was leading.
"Chris," Chen said in low voice. "I know that you think a great deal. You are a real thinker."
Chris laughed. "Don't flatter me Chen."
Chen did not smile. "We need your help, Chris," he said bluntly. "We must protest Koizumi's decision to make an official visit to Yasukuni shrine. We must protest this insult. You must help us. The Chinese trainees are going to protest with a one-day strike on August 14th. It would make a real difference if you would join us. We will have reporters there to cover the story. This could mean a great deal for the Chinese community in Japan and for China," he whispered.
Chris nodded slowly, trying to collect his thoughts, and recalling all the articles he'd read on the subject. Then he thought of his own experiences as a black American. He liked Chen and wanted to help. Then he thought of Obuchi. He knew that Obuchi was not only responsible for the project but also for the behavior of everyone in the lab. He realized that Chen understood this as well.
The next night he dressed carefully but casually. Obuchi had explained that first they would go with his family to the neighborhood O-Bon dance and then to his home for dinner. Obuchi-san would meet him up at the station at six.
Recognizing Obuchi-san at the turnstile, Chris waved. To Chris's surprise eight hands waved back. Obuchi-san quickly introduced him to his wife Yasuko, his sixteen year-old daughter Emiko, and his ten-year old son Ichiro. "Father couldn't come," Yasuko explained, referring to Obuchi senior, who lived with them. "You will meet him at home."
Obuchi-san made small talk as they walked through the small narrow streets to his house. The neighborhood had a friendly feel and they passed many families in summer yukata on their way to the festival. Several passers-by bowed to Obuchi and he explained that the family had lived in the neighborhood for several generations. By the time they reached the house Chris felt at home and struck up a conversation with Emiko and Ichiro.
Obuchi's tiny house stood at the end of a tree-lined lane. Several potted plants adorned the entryway and the door slid open as soon as they approached. Obuchi senior, a man of about eighty with a lined and weathered face, bowed and bowed again. Chris felt most welcome. As he sipped his tea he was reminded of times with Okuma-sensei. Yes! He'd been right to work hard and drive the project forward. It had given him a passport into this wonderful family circle. He smiled, noting Emiko-chan's bright face the cellular phone tucked in her pink plastic purse and Ichiro-kun's sweet smile below his baseball cap. Families in Japan weren't so different than his own, he decided.
Obuchi-san took him into a side room and pointed to a yukata hanging from the wall. "It would be our great honor if you would wear this, Chris-kun," he said softly. "We ordered a specially large size for you."
"The honor is mine," Chris returned softly.
The O-Bon festival sprawled over several small streets next to the river. The neighborhood had set up a dais and podium on the riverbank. Skilled middle-aged women directed the slow dance from the podium while the crowd below followed. Children ran through the crowd at breakneck speed, with their hands full of cotton candy and bags of swimming goldfish. Food and game stalls lined the lantern-draped streets. Their reflected light dotted the river and Chris felt transported to another age. Yasuko and Emiko stood on either side of him and helped him through the slow dance. As he clapped in unison with them, he remembered Okuma-sensei and his stories of Japan. This was the Japan he'd been yearning for. Banishing Chen from his thoughts, he felt satisfaction at working hard and being the nail that didn't stick up. He'd done the right thing.
Several hours later they were home. Yasuko-san had prepared a traditional Japanese meal and there was a great deal of laughter as the family gathered around the table. Emiko-san served him rice and everyone joked at her serious expression.
"Emiko-chan, I wish you'd be as serious about school."
"School is boring," she returned, brightly eyeing her cellular phone as it rang.
"Not now!" Her father warned. "School might be boring but without it where would we be. Emiko-chan doesn't like to study," he explained sadly.
Chris nodded. "I have a sister just your age," he said slowly in Japanese. "She doesn't like to study either but I made a deal with her. For every A, I put a hundred dollars in her bank account."
Emiko didn't seem impressed and took out her cellular phone. Her bored indifference reminded him of his young sister's attitude and Chris felt himself becoming annoyed. "I fought for an education," he said directly to Emiko despite the astonished looks of the Obuchi family. "I fought because I know that education gave me choices in life. The man who helped me understand that was Okuma-sensei the only Japanese for miles around where I grew up in Texas." He had them now. Even Emiko stopped gazing at the cellular phone and looked interested as he told the story of his long friendship with his Karate teacher Okuma. His voice lowered as he related how, in the sixth grade, he'd been testing the system and in an uncharacteristically wild moment had shoplifted a tea shirt with some friends and been arrested. He and the others had been released with a warning.
"The morning after the arrest Okuma-sensei drove up to my house. I still don't know how he heard about it," Chris' voice was lower still as he described how he'd taken Chris' hand and led him to the car. That day they drove a hundred miles into the desert. It was spring and the desert was blanketed with tiny blue wild flowers. Okuma never spoke to him about the theft but simply ordered him out of the car and began to walk. At first Chris thought that they would have a picnic and return home. Then he thought that if he slowed the pace Obuchi would come to his senses. After an hour he realized there would be no picnic. After four hours Chris still kept pace with the older man. They walked across the blue and purple wild flowers that blanketed the Texas hills and they walked across the scrub brush, the gopher holes and the scorpion nests. The sun was warm and the sky was a clear blue and still they walked. By the time they returned to the car, Chris's step matched Obuchis' exactly and Chris knew he would never steal again.
The room was quiet. "You had a true Sensei, Chris-san," Obuchi senior said quietly.
"Yes," Chris agreed. "It's because of him that I went to MIT and because of him I am sitting with you today."
The room was silent.
Obuchi-san spoke softly, looking directly at Emiko. "Thank you for your advice. You are wise," he paused and continued in a grave voice. Emiko nodded and slowly put away her cellular phone.
Obuchi continued. "He and the other Chinese will go on strike if Prime Minister Koizumi goes to Yasukuni shrine. I was astonished. When I questioned it he became furious. 'You know why' he answered. 'Japan must confront its past'. But Japan has apologized to China, I told him. Chinese leaders go to the shrines of their war dead. Americans also pay official visits to war memorials. This will cause the company a lot of trouble. You're friends with Chen, aren't you Chris?
Chris froze. Had he been invited here only to be asked to intercede with Chen and the other Chinese for Obuchi? Today Chen-san approached me. Did he know about the press coverage as well? Of course Obuchi-san knew. It was his business to know. Glancing at Ichiro's pale face, he realized Obuchi's-san situation and what his position at the company meant to this family. They were all staring at him…waiting for his comment. He wanted to tell them that he would speak to Chen, he wanted to reassure them that the war had been over for sixty years, and most of all he wanted to say that "war was war." But his lips did not move and he sat dumbly staring at the table.
"Koizumi-san is wrong," the words came from the deepest part of Obuchi senior's belly. "Tojo was a terrible man. Official Japan must never pay respects to Tojo. Japan did terrible things in China! Unforgivable things! Things that no one likes to think about. I was there. My friends in my college class were there! China! Philippines! I know!"
Yasuko-san covered her mouth and Obuchi-san bowed his head. No one disputed Obuchi-senior declaration. It had the force of honesty, the kind of truth that comes from experience, the kind of rage that comes only from betrayal. The family slowly made motions to normalize the evening. Yasuko-san poured tea while Ichiro-kun ran to show Chris his stamp collection and Emiko-chan cleared the dishes. Yet through all this Obuchi-senior's voice resonated. Once more Chris was in Texas, facing the tall white doctor's condescending smile, as he was told to relax, study less and the headaches would go away. Once again he was again in an MIT classroom, his hand waving, knowing that the professor didn't see him. Yes, he recognized that voice.
Obuchi-san and Ichiro walked him to the station. They walked quietly through the deserted streets. A light rain was falling but no one commented on it and they strode steadily and easily. At the turnstile, Obuchi-san bowed and put his hand on Ichiro's small head encouraging him to bow as well. In just a few days, Chris thought, Obuchi's and perhaps Ichiro's future would be decided. In just a few days Obuchi would be held responsible for the news articles and the interviews with Chen.
"Don't worry," Obuchi-san said in a soft rounded voice, as though reading his thoughts. Patting him gently on the shoulder, he bowed. "Please don't worry," he repeated softly. Chris mounted the steps to the train slowly. When he turned Obuchi-san and Ichiro-kun bowed again.