by Allen Say
"I meant to write to you first...." I started to apologize.
"Is there something the matter?"
"No, I thought I'd come and see you."
"How delightful. I like surprise visits. Have you had lunch?" I shook my head. "Let me finish this column and we'll go somewhere. Would you like a cup of coffee? Mari-san can run across the street and get you a cup."
"No, thank you." I shook my head. Mariko was the pretty clerk. We always drank tea at Grandmother's house, but Mother was fond of strong coffee.
She had on a finely knit lavender sweater with a brightly patterned silk scarf around her neck, held in place by a single pearl pin. Her lips glistened with deep rouge. Even her nails were painted. Grandmother didn't approve of cosmetics and in Tokyo mother dressed in somber colors and never wore makeup. On the wall behind her hung a framed picture of me taken a long time ago in Kyushu. Father had a copy of it in his album, but seeing it on Mother's wall always pleased me. Mother's fingers worked rapidly on the abacus, clicking the beads, and she entered the figures in the ledger with a dip pen. In about ten minutes she was finished.
"Let me treat you to your favorite dish." She looked up and smiled.
"Sweet and sour pork?"
"You were always such a fussy eater, but that's one dish you never refused. Is Grandmother well?"
"She's fine."
I noticed her tweed skirt when she went over to the corner to take some money out of the old safe. I'd never seen her in it before and thought it looked elegant on her.
Mother told Mariko we'd be out for about an hour and we walked out into the busy noontime street. I stood almost a full head taller than she, and I smelled her perfume as we walked along the covered sidewalk. Mother was a familiar figure in the neighborhood, and from time to time someone would stop and greet us with a bow. One time she told me that a store owner on the same block had seen us together and thought I was her brother, and she laughed about it. We went to a Chinese restaurant a couple of blocks down the street.
"Have you been eating regularly?" asked Mother as she took out a package of cigarettes from her purse. I nodded and struck a match to light it for her. That was another thing she didn't do in front of Grandmother—smoke. She gave the waitress our order—a dish of sweet and sour pork, fried wontons, and some Chinese greens—and turned to me.
"So, what is on your mind? I know you didn't come just to say hello."
"I wanted to talk to you before, Mother, but I didn't want to do it in front of Grandmother."
"I'm listening."
"Do you know who Noro Shinpei is?"
"What a funny name. I think I've heard it before."
"He's a cartoonist."
"Oh, yes, I remember. Didn't you have some of his books?"
"Yes, the same one. He's my teacher."
"What do you mean? Is he teaching at your school?"
"No, Mother, he's a famous cartoonist. I went to him and asked if I could be his pupil. He said yes."
"You went to see him, just like that?"
"Yes. You see, he took on an apprentice last year. I read about it in the paper and thought he might take me on, too. I didn't tell you anything before because I wasn't sure if he was going to say yes."
"So it's the tuition, is it?"
"No, Mother, there's no tuition. He gave me a test to see how well I draw and I passed it. That was all. He says if I mention anything about tuition he's going to throw me out. Do I have your permission to study with him?"
"Well, you've already committed yourself, haven't you? I know how important drawing is for you, Koichi, but so is your education. How are you going to manage your schoolwork?"
"I'll study hard, Mother, very hard, I promise. And if my grades go down I won't see Sensei till I'm doing better. I promise, Mother."
"Tell me more about your master."
I told her all I knew about Sensei. I also told her something about Tokida, leaving out his yakuza background. I talked about him as if he was a genius. But the thing that seemed to please her the most was that Sensei was a family man with a wife and two children.
"Does his wife use perfume?" asked Mother.
"I don't know, but it might be nice for a New Year's gift or something," I said, sensing things were going well for me.
"He must be an extraordinary person, taking on young men like you and your friend. He must think very highly of you. I'm glad."
"It's all right if I study with him then?"
"As, long as you keep your promise, I don't see why not."
"You really don't mind if I become a cartoonist?"
"Koichi, when you were a small child, I used to worry about you constantly. You were always disappearing, running away from home when you could hardly walk, and we lived so near the beach. I used to worry about you drowning or falling down the staircase or being run over. Then the war came. And we survived it. After that I knew I could survive anything. The war has taught me something: Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. No, I don't worry anymore, Koichi. I'm only grateful that we're alive. And if you want to be an artist, then you must study art. You were drawing before you learned to walk, and it isn't for me to change that."
"What about Grandmother?" I said. "She won't think a cartoonist is respectable. I just know it."
"Grandmother comes from a proud family, Koichi. A little old-fashioned perhaps, but she means well. After all, you're her only grandchild. Don't be too hard on her."
"Will you talk to her?"
"Yes, I will, and I'll be tactful. Eat your lunch."
Mother showed more concern about my not eating than about my future, and I'd worried sick about breaking the news to her. What would Father have said in the same situation? I wondered. I was glad I didn't have to deal with him.
When we were finished with lunch, Mother paid the waitress and gave me some money. When Grandmother gave me my monthly allowance it was always businesslike, but with Mother I felt like a small boy again, receiving my pocket money and running out to buy whatever I wanted with it.
I didn't go back to the shop with Mother but said good-bye to her in front of a trolley stop. She said for me to thank Sensei for all he had done. She looked beautiful when Grandmother wasn't around. I wondered if she had a suitor. I couldn't imagine anybody who would be right for her.
NINE
As it turned out, I'd gone to see Mother just in time. The following weekend, Mr. Kato came to the inn with a photographer. His editor-in-chief had decided to run a feature article on Sensei and wanted some photographs taken. Sensei was agreeable, and insisted that Tokida and I be included in the picture.
"Not me," said Tokida.
"Come now," coaxed Sensei, "think of your instant fame, the fan mail. Your friends back home."
"Should I shave then?" asked Tokida, rubbing his chin.
"Don't, Tokida," I warned him. "You'll cut yourself all over again."
Tokida was concerned with the way he looked, and that amused me. We weren't so different after all. I took out a comb and smoothed out my hair without looking in a mirror. When the photographer began to set up his equipment I felt nervous and had to go to the toilet. Sensei walked in and stood next to me. From the corner of my eye I saw a fresh-lit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. We looked at the back garden through the narrow slit of a window framing the lush, damp part of the garden like a horizontal scroll. The moss on the rocks looked especially green in the shadow of the inn.
"Kiyoi," said Sensei, looking straight ahead into the garden, "have you ever been in Korea?"
"No, sir."
"Land of the Morning Calm, they call it, a very beautiful country. A land of poets."
I said nothing.
"If you ever feel the need to talk to someone, don't hesitate to come over at any time. Some evening, when you have nothing else to do, come and stay with us."
"Thank you, sir," I said. Tokida must have told him about my father and also that I lived alone. I felt tears well up in my eyes. Sensei walked out
before me, leaving a trail of smoke, without looking me in the eye, without saying another word.
The big-bellowed camera was set up on a tripod, and the photographer was fussing around the worktable, moving inkpots and brushes, taking out what he didn't like, and putting the latest issue of their magazine so the name of the publication showed clearly. Then he made us sit around the table, straightening Sensei's kimono collar. When he was pleased with the arrangement he put some powder on the flash plate and made nine exposures with blinding explosions.
"Why so many?" asked Tokida, blinking his weak eyes.
"This way we're certain to get at least one good shot," replied the photographer.
"I'd like some copies if you can spare them," said Sensei.
"Yes, of course, I'll have extra prints made for all of you. Now may I take a few more outside without the flash? Just Sensei this time."
"Why not?" Sensei complied, and the two of them went down to the garden.
"Are you really going to use our picture?" I asked Mr. Kato.
"Well, my assignment was to get some pictures of Sensei. But then my editor-in-chief hasn't met you young men. I have to admit it's a brilliant idea, including you two. A famous cartoonist and his two disciples. You don't hear stories like that anymore. I wish I'd thought of it myself. I think I'll tell the chief the inspiration was mine."
"I bet we'll be swamped with boys from all over the place, wanting to be cartoonists," sneered Tokida.
"Wait till your father sees your picture." I tried to humor him.
"That's right, gentlemen, you're going to be famous overnight, and you might as well get used to it. But more important, this article might cinch my promotion, and if it does I'll treat you to a movie, and that's a promise. On second thought, a restaurant, Sensei included," said Mr. Kato.
Tokida was his usual cool self and didn't seem in the least interested in seeing himself in a nationally circulated magazine. But I had a hard time hiding my excitement. Should I have smiled more? Should I have looked serious? Maybe I did smile, but couldn't remember.
I expected it to be at least a month before the article came out, but Mr. Kato was back in less than two weeks. He was in an unusually good mood as he took a stack of new magazines out of his briefcase. Fresh off the press, he announced proudly. Tokida and I didn't dare pick up the magazine, but anxiously watched Sensei as he flipped through the pages. And there we were, the three of us in a full-page photograph. Sensei looked more serious than usual, and Tokida looked into the camera with a twisted mouth that was between a smile and a sneer. But it was myself that I secretly pored over. I was nearest the camera and looked larger than the other two, and because of the lens distortion my hands and one Foot that stuck out from under the table looked enormous. I wished I hadn't worn the silly grin on my face, but I did look friendly, and the picture pleased me. I looked at least as old as Tokida.
"A good shot, don't you think?" said Mr. Kato.
"Indeed," agreed Sensei. "A historical event. The likeness of Tokida is remarkable. What a trio of vagrants. I'll take five copies for posterity."
"And please take note of the great piece of writing that goes with it," said Mr. Kato. "I'll have you know I have been promoted; that's my literary debut, and I'm inviting you all to dinner as promised." He gave Tokida and me a broad grin.
A short article accompanied the photograph, mostly about Sensei, and a blurb about Tokida and me. Mr. Kato told us the magazine would be distributed throughout the country within a week.
That evening I went to see Grandmother. I knew Mother had told her about Sensei, but I hadn't seen her since then, so I had no idea how she was going to greet me. My visit surprised her, but before she could react I handed her the magazine. She put on her rimless glasses, held the magazine at arm's length, and when she recognized me in the photograph her mouth dropped open in surprise.
"Haa!" she exclaimed softly. She studied the cover, the back cover, inspected the spine of the thick magazine as if to see if it was real, then she went back to the photograph and stared at it.
"That's Sensei." I pointed to my master, realizing she was looking only at me.
"Not a handsome face, but it has dignity. He looks more like an author than a cartoonist," observed Grandmother. "And the one with pimples? Is he the boy from Osaka?"
"Yes, that's Tokida. He's three years older than I."
"A busy face, full of pressure, but intelligent. Some schooling would refine his face." She went back to looking at me. "Do you remember your grandfather?"
"A little. He was tall, wasn't he?"
"Very tall. You've taken after him. He was a handsome man when he was young."
She handed me the magazine. "Read the article for me," she said, closing her eyes to listen. I read her the blurb about Tokida and me, pronouncing my name the way Sensei did.
"'In this special issue, we are pleased to introduce to our readers for the first time our best-known cartoonist, Noro Shinpei, and his talented assistants, Tokida Kenji and Kiyoi Koichi. Tokida, on the left, is a sixteen-year-old native of Osaka; he has been studying with Sensei for a year. Kiyoi, in the foreground, is a thirteen-year-old middle school student. He was born in Yokohama and attends the Aoyama Middle School here in Tokyo. Although the young men have been previously unknown to the public, our readers have been familiar with their work for some time, for it is Tokida and Kiyoi who put in the superbly drawn backgrounds for all of Noro Shinpei's serials. No doubt we will continue to enjoy their work in the years to come.'"
Grandmother sat still, with her eyes closed. For a moment I thought she had fallen asleep, but then I noticed she was working her lips. She seemed to be struggling not to smile.
"Koichi," she said and hesitated. "Where can I buy a copy of this?"
"I brought this for you."
"I will buy my own."
"Don't be silly, Grandmother. Sensei gave me an extra copy; this one is for you. And even if you wanted to buy one, it won't come out for another week."
"Thank you," she said.
The article caused quite a sensation at my school. Even the upperclassmen and teachers I had never had nodded to me in hallways. I was a celebrity!
"I always thought you were too good," said Abacus, the painting instructor. "Do you expect me to compete with your great master? Here, take this key to the art room and use it anytime you wish after school. As of now you're out of my hands; I refuse to have anything to do with your art education."
"But I don't know how to paint in oils," I protested.
"Nonsense. Noro Shinpei's disciple indeed!"
Abacus had always been kind to me. She gave me an A for everything I did, and she was the only teacher in school who was friendly to me.
But my new fame did nothing to improve my relationship with my classmates. I was never very popular with other students, and I didn't exactly go out of my way to make friends. So I thought it was strange when one of my classmates approached me the day the magazine came out. All I knew about him was that his parents were dead, and that he was the smartest boy in my grade.
"Hey, wait up, Sei," Mori called out. "Let me walk with you to the station. What made you decide to study cartooning?"
"I was bored with school."
"I don't blame you—school is a bore. I can't wait to be in college. But tell me about your master. Noro Shinpei, a strange pen name, isn't it?"
"He was a political cartoonist during the war," I told him. "Most people don't know that. He was against the war, and you know what that means. He had to go underground. I suppose that was when he adopted the name, to make fun of the military regime, and also to compensate for the fact he never served in the army."
"A brave thing to do, considering those who ruled us. Is he a Communist?"
"I never asked. I don't think so. I don't think a political cartoonist should have a leaning toward any given party. His job is to needle them equally, don't you think?"
"Everybody has to have a viewpoint, though. But I suppo
se you're right in a way. Is he funny?"
"He is, in a deep way."
"How many mistresses does he have?"
"I don't know."
"Come, Sei, you can tell me. All artists have mistresses. That's where they get their inspiration. Everyone knows that."
"Well, if he has a mistress I haven't met her. His wife is a good person."
"Everybody has a wife; it doesn't mean a thing. So what do you do when you go to your master's place?"
"Mostly I draw."
"No funny faces? Aren't you supposed to be learning to cartoon?"
"You can't go out and start drawing cartoons right away. You have to go through the same kind of training painters go through."
"Sounds like a hard discipline. How about nudes? Have you drawn nudes?"
"Yes. I go to Inokuma's studio twice a week."
"I've always wondered about those models. Are they shaved? I mean, pubic hair."
"Of course not."
"I envy you."
"Anyone can sign up to draw nudes."
"I don't mean that. I mean my future. It seems dull compared to yours."
"Why?"
"Studying economics. I want to make a lot of money. My parents didn't leave me very much. True, my rich uncle adopted me, but it's not the same as having my own money. What I really want to do is study history, but what can you do with a degree in history? I want to be a millionaire, and I intend to make it on my own," he said, and looked at me as if to find out what I thought. We were standing in the square in front of the station and I looked away, pretending to look for my bus.
"How about going to a movie some Saturday morning?" he said. "It's easy to get good seats then. Do you like coffee?"
"I do."
"Good. I know some good places. Bring your drawings, only the nudes. By the way, I know a girl who's interested in you. I'll tell you about her next time we meet," he said just before he got on the bus.
It was strange to hear him say that he wanted to be a millionaire; boys from good families weren't supposed to talk about money. There was something about him that made me feel uneasy. Perhaps it was his intense eyes that were too close together. He gave me the impression that he knew more about the world than the other students. But I decided to have coffee with him anyway—I wanted to find out who the girl was.