“By the way, Hanada,” my husband said to him. “I heard an interesting story the other day at the office. I was told during the last elections, you threatened to beat your wife with a golf club because she wouldn’t vote the way you wanted.”
“Where did you pick up this rubbish?”
“I got it from reliable sources.”
“That’s right,” the tubby man said. “And your wife was going to call the police to report political intimidation.”
“What rubbish. Besides, I don’t have golf clubs any more. I sold them all last year.”
“You still have that seven-iron,” said the tubby man. “I saw it in your apartment last week. Maybe you used that.”
“But you can’t deny it, can you, Hanada?” said Jiro.
“It’s nonsense about the golf club.”
“But it’s true you couldn’t get her to obey you.”
The pale-faced man shrugged. “Well, it’s her personal right to vote any way she pleases.”
“Then why did you threaten her?” his friend asked.
“I was trying to make her see sense, of course. My wife votes for Yoshida just because he looks like her uncle. That’s typical of women. They don’t understand politics. They think they can choose the country’s leaders the same way they choose dresses.”
“So you gave her a seven-iron,” said Jiro.
“Is that really true?” Ogata-San asked. He had not spoken since I had come back in with the tea. The other three stopped laughing and the pale-faced man looked at Ogata-San with a surprised expression.
“Well, no.” He became suddenly formal and gave a small bow. “I didn’t actually hit her.”
“No, no,” said Ogata-San. “I meant your wife and yourself — you voted for separate parties?”
“Well, yes.” He shrugged, then giggled awkwardly. “What could I do?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Ogata-San gave a low bow, and the pale-faced man returned it. As if the bowing were a signal, the three younger men started once more to laugh and talk amongst themselves. They moved off politics and began discussing various members of their firm. When I was pouring more tea, I noticed that the cakes, despite my having put out a generous amount, had almost all disappeared. I finished refilling their teacups, then sat down again beside Ogata-San.
The visitors stayed for an hour or so. Jiro saw them to the door then sat down again with a sigh. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll need to turn in soon.”
Ogata-San was examining the chess board. “I think the pieces got jogged a little,” he said. “I’m sure the horse was on this square, not that one.”
“Quite probably.”
“I’ll put it here then. Are we agreed on this?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re right. We’ll have to finish the game another time, Father. I’ll need to retire very shortly.”
“How about playing just the next few moves. We may well finish it off.”
“Really, I’d rather not. I’m feeling very tired now.”
“Of course.”
I packed away the sewing I had been doing earlier in the evening and sat waiting for the others to retire. Jiro, however, picked up a newspaper and started to read the back page. Then he took the last remaining cake from the plate and began to eat nonchalantly. After several moments, Ogata-San said:
“Perhaps we ought to just finish it off now. It’ll only take a few more moves.”
“Father, I really am too tired now. I have work to go to in the morning.”
“Yes, of course.”
Jiro went back to his newspapers. He continued to eat the cake and I watched several crumbs drop on to the tatami. Ogata-San continued to gaze at the chess-board for some time.
“Quite extraordinary”, he said, eventually, “what your friend was saying.”
“Oh? What was that?” Jiro did not look up from his newspaper.
“About him and his wife voting for different parties. A few years ago that would have been unthinkable.”
“No doubt.”
“Quite extraordinary the things that happen now. But that’s what’s meant by democracy, I suppose.” Ogata-San gave a sigh. “These things we’ve learnt so eagerly from the Americans, they aren’t always to the good.”
“No, indeed they’re not.”
“Look what happens. Husband and wife voting for different parties. It’s a sad state of affairs when a wife can’t be relied on in such matters any more.”
Jiro continued to read his newspaper. “Yes, it’s regrettable,” he said.
“A wife these days feels no sense of loyalty towards the household. She just does what she pleases, votes for a different party if the whim takes her. That’s so typical of the way things have gone in Japan. All in the name of democracy people abandon obligations.”
Jiro looked up at his father for a brief moment, then turned his eyes back to his paper. “No doubt you’re very right,” he said. “But surely the Americans didn’t bring all bad.”
“The Americans, they never understood the way things were in Japan. Not for one moment have they understood. Their ways may be fine for Americans, but in Japan things are different, very different.” Ogata-San sighed again. “Discipline, loyalty, such things held Japan together once. That may sound fanciful, but it’s true. People were bound by a sense of duty. Towards one’s family, towards superiors, towards the country. But now instead there’s all this talk of democracy. You hear it whenever people want to be selfish, whenever they want to forget obligations.”
“Yes, no doubt you’re right.” Jiro yawned and scratched the side of his face.
“Take what happened in my profession, for instance. Here was a system we’d nurtured and cherished for years. The Americans came and stripped it, tore it down without a thought. They decided our schools would be like American schools, the children should learn what American children learn. And the Japanese welcomed it all. Welcomed it with a lot of talk about democracy” — he shook his head — “Many fine things were destroyed in our schools.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s very true.” Jiro glanced up once more. “But surely there were some faults in the old system, in schools as much as anywhere.”
“Jiro, what is this? Something you read somewhere?”
“It’s just my opinion.”
“Did you read that in your newspaper? I devoted my life to the teaching of the young. And then I watched the Americans tear it all down. Quite extraordinary what goes on in schools now, the way children are taught to behave. Extraordinary. And so much just isn’t taught any more. Do you know, children leave school today knowing nothing about the history of their own country?”
“That may be a pity, admittedly. But then I remember some odd things from my schooldays. I remember being taught all about how Japan was created by the gods, for instance. How we as a nation were divine and supreme. We had to memorize the text book word for word. Some things aren’t such a loss, perhaps.”
“But Jiro, things aren’t as simple as that. You clearly don’t understand how such things worked. Things aren’t nearly as simple as you presume. We devoted ourselves to ensuring that proper qualities were handed down, that children grew up with the correct attitude to their country, to their fellows. There was a spirit in Japan once, it bound us all together. Just imagine what it must be like being a young boy today. He’s taught no values at school — except perhaps that he should selfishly demand whatever he wants out of life. He goes home and finds his parents fighting because his mother refuses to vote for his father’s party. What a state of affairs.”