An Artist of the Floating World Read Free Page B

now, I am often surprised afresh when some event, or something someone may say, reminds me of the rather high esteem in which I am held. Just the other evening, for instance, I was down in our old pleasure district, drinking at Mrs Kawakami's place, where--as happens increasingly these days--Shintaro and I had found ourselves the only customers. We were as usual sitting up at the bar on our high-stools, exchanging remarks with Mrs Kawakami, and as the hours had gone by, and no one else had come in, our exchanges had grown more intimate. At one point, Mrs Kawakami was talking about some relative of hers, complaining that the young man had been unable to find a job worthy of his abilities, when Shintaro suddenly exclaimed: "You must send him to Sensei here, Obasan! A good word from Sensei in the right place, your relative will soon find a good post." "What are you saying, Shintaro?" I protested. "I"m retired now. I have no connections these days." "A recommendation from a man of Sensei's standing will command respect from anyone," Shintaro had persisted. "Send the young man to Sensei, Obasan." I was at first a little taken aback by the conviction of Shintaro's assertions. But then I realised he was remembering yet again that small deed I had performed for his younger brother all those years ago. It must have been in 1935 or 1936, a very routine matter as I recall--a letter of recommendation to an acquaintance in the State Department, some such thing. I would have given the matter little further thought, but then one afternoon while I was relaxing at home, my wife announced there were visitors for me at the entryway. "Please show them in," I had said. "But they insist they won't bother you by coming in." I went out to the entryway, and standing there were Shintaro and his younger brother--then no more than a youth. As soon as they saw me, they began bowing and giggling. "Please step up," I said, but they continued simply to bow and giggle. "Shintaro, please. Step up to the tatami." "No, Sensei," Shintaro said, all the time smiling and bowing. "It is the height of impertinence for us to come to your house like this. The height of impertinence. But we could not remain at home any longer without thanking you." "Come on inside. I believe Setsuko was just making some tea." "No, Sensei, it is the height of impertinence. Really." Then turning to his brother, Shintaro whispered quickly: "Yoshio! Yoshio!" For the first time, the young man stopped bowing and looked up at me nervously. Then he said: "I will be grateful to you for the remainder of my life. I will exert every particle of my being to be worthy of your recommendation. I assure you, I will not let you down. I will work hard, and strive to satisfy my superiors. And however much I may be promoted in the future, I will never forget the man who enabled me to start on my career." "Really, it was nothing. It's no more than you deserve." This brought frantic protests from both of them, then Shintaro said to his brother: "Yoshio, we have imposed enough on Sensei as it is. But before we leave, take a good look again at the man who has helped you. We are greatly privileged to have a benefactor of such influence and generosity." "Indeed," the youth muttered, and gazed up at me. "Please, Shintaro, this is embarrassing. Please come in and we'll celebrate with some sake." "No, Sensei, we must leave you now. It was the greatest impertinence to come here like this and disturb your afternoon. But we could not delay thanking you for one moment longer." This visit--I must admit it--left me with a certain feeling of achievement. It was one of those moments, in the midst of a busy career allowing little chance for stopping and taking stock, which illuminate suddenly just how far one has come. For true enough, I had almost unthinkingly started a young man on a good career. A few years earlier, such a thing would have been inconceivable and yet I had brought myself to such a position almost without