by Morris West
Then, you came along. No, that’s the wrong way to say it. Suddenly, in Tokyo, you were there, sitting beside me at Carl Leibig’s luncheon table. Time was rolled back. The wonder of our first meeting in my childhood was renewed. Time has dealt kindly with you, Gil. You have been a fortunate man, with much love in your life – and it shows. When I grew up my mother would sometimes reminisce about her own love affairs. I remember vividly what she said about your father. ‘He handled a woman like a connoisseur, with confidence but with great care. He made you feel prized and precious and proud of yourself as a woman. That was wonderful; but when he was gone, it was hard to accept less. Once you develop a taste for fine wine, even good country vintage comes rough on the palate.’
I remembered that when you and I had our first night together, I smiled in the dark and said to myself: ‘This is what Mutti talked about and it is the first time I have truly understood it.’ Almost in the next instant, I found myself asking how long you could tolerate me once you saw how strangely I was put together, and how long I could tolerate you, even if you were prepared to put up with me.
There is that in me which cries out for a certain violence, a certain deviousness in any relationship. I knew I would have to test you to see how much you would take, but almost from the beginning you were testing me. I had not realised how hard it was to be devious with someone direct and simple. You see too much. You know too much. You will not play the games I like to play.
Miko, of course, is one of those games. I tried to coax you into it. You walked away. And that is where we are now. I’m sick at heart because I have lost something and someone precious to me since childhood. I have lost more: a respect for myself, a conviction, without which no actor can survive, that the audience will be forever enthralled by the brave fictions of theatre. I write this to explain and to apologise and – if you can believe it—to tell you that I love you, the more perhaps because I know I have lost you. Perhaps that was what I was trying to do, chase love, like innocence, out of mylife.
I must finish now. I am beginning to feel nauseous and dizzy. Something I ate perhaps, or something I cannot bear to contemplate in the light of day.
God keep you, Gil Langton.
Marta
I must have wept a little, because when I woke the pages of the letter were spotted and smudged. I cannot describe how I felt, because all I remember was an absence of feeling. My mind, however, was very clear. I could recite faultlessly the admirable maxim of Rochefoucauld: ‘Il y a plusieurs remèdes qui guérissent de l’amour, mais il n’ y en a point d’infaillible’; there are several cures for love, but none of them is infallible.
Thirteen
After a very bad night, breakfast with Kenji Tanaka was not a recommended diversion. My first mirror image had disgusted me: a gaunt, hollow-eyed fellow with down-drawn mouth and bloodless lips and greying, stringy hair. A swim and a swift toilet did something to restore me to human form, but the mirror image persisted behind my eyeballs. Kenji Tanaka, on the other hand, looked as fresh as newly boiled rice, in tailored slacks, a sports shirt of finest cotton and a pair of Gucci loafers. Whatever his ailments, none of them showed in his smooth, smiling face. He was a man reborn, calm, confident and more than a shade patronising.
He asked solicitously: ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Indifferently. I had a lot on my mind.’
‘Have I not told you many times, Gil? You should devote some time to Zen. You have experience of what it can do.’
‘I know. It’s like a sentence of execution. It concentrates the mind most wonderfully. Don’t lecture me, Kenji. I’m not in shape for it. Let’s talk about this morning’s conference. I take it everybody’s checked in?’
‘Except Marta Boysen, but I’m sure we can dispense with her. How is she, by the way?’
‘Recovering. She’ll be back in the hotel in two or three days. Tell me about the Tanaka contingent.’
‘We are twelve altogether, including myself and Miko who is, however, not a delegate, but a personal assistant to me. That means two people for each committee – Banking and Finance, Transport, Engineering, Production, Land Titles and Trade Agreements. I’ll be presiding over all their activities.’
‘Have you spoken with Laszlo yet? He was most anxious to talk.’
‘We met.’ I sensed the sudden withdrawal. It was like brushing an anemone on the reef, all the bright tentacles retracted into a protective cluster. ‘He talked of his meeting with you and Miko. I was distressed that so much had been discussed outside the family.’
‘Hold on a moment, Kenji. Let’s be very clear. Miko told me you had ordered her – that’s the word she used, ordered – to discuss matters with me.’
‘That’s true.’ My emphatic rebuttal embarrassed him. ‘I am not blaming you or Laszlo, but let us just say Miko went further than I intended.’
‘Your problem. Not ours. Besides, here we are, two hours away from our opening session, and the Tanaka positions have not been made clear.’
‘You’re very prickly this morning, Gil.’
‘Because you’re still hedging. Enough now. Time’s run out. I have a list of questions. I need answers before I walk into that conference room this morning.’
‘A threat, Gil?’
‘A reminder. My position and Leibig’s were made clear to you in Tokyo. They have not changed. The Soviet position has become more and more clear, thanks to the groundwork we have put in. Unless I’m very much mistaken, Laszlo, too, has given you a warning.’
‘Ask your questions, please.’
‘Are you, or are you not, looking for a successor to run the Tanaka Group?’
‘I was.’
‘Have you found him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he acceptable to the other members of the keiretsu?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will they now support you in the Tanaka/Leibig project?’
‘The decision is not yet final. I have good reason to believe they will.’
‘When will that decision be made?’
‘Within the next five days, during the course of the conference.’
‘What will determine it?’
‘The terms of the deal we can make.’
‘How was your successor chosen?’
‘By adoption.’
‘His name? His family?’
‘I cannot reveal that yet.’
‘Cannot?’
‘Will not.’
‘Suppose the keiretsu decides to support you. What happens to the funds offered by Hoshino and Cubeddu?’
‘They will be politely declined.’
‘Hoshino’s more politely than those of Cubeddu?’
He gave me a thin smile. ‘Quite possibly. Are you satisfied now, Gil?’
‘No. You’ve told me nothing. You have a successor, nameless. You may or may not get the support of your peers. You may or may not use the mob money you’re offered. One more question: how long have you got to live?’
It was a calculated brutality, but I had to break through his equally calculated swordsman’s game. He recoiled instantly and then snapped back.
‘That is none of your business.’
‘If you tell me so, fine. End of discussion.’
I poured myself coffee and went through the motions of buttering a croissant. Tanaka watched me with dark, unblinking eyes. I understood very well what Miko had told me about his teasing and I was as determined as she not to indulge him in it any longer. The teasing was simply an extension of a much larger game: the myth of inscrutability must be reinforced always because the gulf of non-understanding between the Japanese and the gaijin must be kept as wide as possible. It was like the ‘discipline of the secret’ in the earliest days of Christianity. The sacramental rites which gave the small communities their identity must never be exposed to profane eyes. Mystery was one of the props of power. Subtract the secret and you were left with a comical procession of naked courtiers led by a naked king.
; It was at that moment I understood how much power I held in my own hands and how little desire I had to use it. I was the repository of everyone’s secrets, confessor to the small, motley community met under an alien sky, under the threat of war and of civil disorder which could spread like the Black Death across the continent and subcontinent of Asia. I alone could hear and interpret the whispers of the servants and the cryptic asides of the principals in the debate. I felt a rush of bitter resentment that Tanaka should force me to waste so much of myself on the sterile rituals of face-saving. I ate in silence, without appetite, determined to be gone as soon as I had finished my breakfast.
But first, Tanaka had to respond to me. He had been given warning enough. There was no way I could face the delegates without a clear brief from Tanaka. I had only two options: retire myself immediately or range myself solely with Leibig and so inform the conference. Finally, Tanaka broke the silence. There was a winter sadness in his voice.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Gil. I have not trusted you enough. I have asked you to build a house and denied you the tools and the timber.’
‘More than that, I’m afraid. Unless you are prepared to answer the questions I have put to you, not only for me, but for the conference, then you will lose all face and credibility. I am not prepared to represent you without full disclosure of those facts which, God knows! amount only to a declaration of identity: who you are now, what the Tanaka organisation may soon become. This isn’t a solo game, for God’s sake! It’s a co-operative venture between you and Leibig and with the Soviets, if they agree to join you. This isn’t simply a gainful commercial venture; it can be a stroke of true statesmanship, a blueprint for many others.’
‘You think I don’t understand that?’
‘I’m damned sure you don’t! You’re still acting out the fiction that Japan is the navel of the universe, that nobody quite grasps this great and wonderful difference between you and the rest of the world. That’s what saddens me, makes me angry, too. I always thought you were a big man, who saw the world steadily and whole, who read it in other terms than money and graphs of productivity and market percentages. It was that belief that drew me to you, made me your partner and, I believed, your friend. Now you’ve proved I was mistaken. I was not your friend, but your tame gaijin. Here we are at the last hour and, of all that I need to know, what have you told me? Nothing. Enough then. I’m out of the game. I’ll sit through the conference, because I owe something to Carl Leibig; and I’ll save what face I can for you. I’d better find Carl and explain what’s happening. He has a right to be told before he walks in to face the lions.’
I signalled the waiter to bring a check. I signed it. As I was getting up to leave, Tanaka laid a detaining hand on my wrist.
‘Please wait.’
I sat down again. Tanaka asked for more coffee. I ordered mineral water, because I needed cooling down after my outburst. When they were brought, Tanaka, in a flat, prosaic fashion, picked up the conversation.
‘Your position, as I understand it, is that I answer you or lose you, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long have I got to live? Four months, six with luck. More perhaps with treatment, which I am not prepared to undergo. Once my arrangements are in order, I may elect to terminate sooner. I have not yet decided. As I told you, that is my business.’
The snub was as deliberate as my attack had been, but I would not let him get away with it. I told him: ‘It would have been an honour to be invited to the farewell. Unless, of course, you are thinking of a samurai end. I would be no good as a kaishaku, a second. I’m not a swordsman, never have been.’
‘Don’t deceive yourself.’ Tanaka was grim. ‘You cut like a surgeon, straight to the bone. Your next question, my successor. I am adopting the second son of Hisayuki Kobayashi who, in turn, is adopting my son and guaranteeing the future of his researches and the economic future of his family. The reason I have not spoken about this is simple. Two huge enterprises are coming together under a joint family arrangement. The union is an accomplished fact, but the paperwork is enormous and we are trying to cushion the economic shocks as much as possible.’
‘But you felt you could not trust me with this information?’
‘Rather, I would say it is customary to withhold it. So, too, with the financial commitment. We are now two houses instead of one. The news of Gorbachev’s visit and his willingness to discuss the Kuril Islands has helped greatly to modify the climate.’
‘What is the impediment to saying so?’
‘Common commercial sense. All this is positive news. The Soviet enterprise introduces negative considerations which will tend to lower share prices, if only temporarily. Better, therefore, to withhold the news as long as possible. That, I think, covers everything you asked.’
‘Not quite. There is still the question of Hoshino and Cubeddu. Obviously Hoshino is keeping a low profile. Cubeddu seems less likely to do so. There would also seem to be certain risks to Miko; but these are very clearly your business.’
‘All of it, all of it is my business.’ Tanaka was terse. ‘Now you have to tell me how you propose to treat what I have confided to you.’
‘Before we come to that, let me say that I believe Leibig should be assured of a positive outcome; how much detail are you prepared to give him?’
‘What I have given to you, less if possible, but certainly no more.’
‘How much have you told Laszlo?’
‘Only that a positive solution is in sight.’
‘Was he satisfied with that?’
‘No, but we have worked together for a long time. He is more tolerant than you are. Now, you have to be plain with me. How much do you propose to tell the Soviets?’
‘I’ll give Vannikov the briefest summary. I’ll tell him a large merger is in progress and may even be announced before the end of the conference. Because of the dangers of leaked information and share market reactions, we want the matter taken as read until a formal announcement is made.’
‘Do you think he’ll accept that?’
‘Yes. If he has problems with his colleagues, he’ll tell me. We’ll deal with them as they arise.’
‘So, you are satisfied now?’
‘Almost. I still wonder why we had to face each other on the killing ground before we came to this.’
‘Because, Gil, you have never understood, you still do not understand, the pressures that are on me to keep such things secret until the very last moment, the very last formality of consent. Even what I have just done places me in gross breach of proprieties which may seem as alien to you as a Noh drama, but which are, nonetheless, real to me. I belong to the smallest and most exclusive club in the world. I was born into it. Its rules touch the most intimate parts of my life – my attachment to Miko, my friendship with you, my relations with my son and his children. This, surely, is not altogether strange to you? I remember my father telling me about the English aristocracy of his day, the power of the ruling families, their unwritten rules, the unforgivable mistakes that could dog a good man for a lifetime. Two wars and revolutionary changes in Europe have fragmented that society. In Japan, a military defeat and an industrial renaissance have had the opposite effect. The old ways have been recast in new patterns, but they are more durable than bronze. I depend on them, Gil. I depend on the support of the club. I dare not go to war with it. Now, I have neither time nor energy. You have good reason to reproach me. I admit that. But I did warn you that if a choice had to be made, you would be the loser.’
‘I know. I am the loser, because I can’t take back the words I said. We’re in business now. The social contracts have to be honoured.’
For the first time, a faint elusive smile of real amusement brightened his face. He stood up and laid his hand on mine, imprisoning me where I sat. Then he chided me like a schoolmaster.
‘Gil, my friend. You’re a scholar; you should stick to your books. I will give you a saying which I heard from a very modern Zen mast
er: “When friends do business, there is no need of contracts. Unfortunately, there are no friends in business.” ’
I waited until he had disappeared into the building, then I went back to my room to telephone Carl Leibig and Boris Vannikov. To each I gave a slightly sanitized version of the same story. The financial problems were over. The Japanese consortium would come in kosher, white on white, with massive support from the big names. It was imperative, however, that no debate on the question be permitted, that the press releases be of the most general character and that no one, but no one, should rock the boat for fear the Tokyo stock market should take a dive. Clear? Clear as mountain water, Gil! Great work! We’ll be eager to hear details, as soon as you’re free to discuss them, of course. Meantime, the words of the day will be mum and stumm.
After that I had quick talks with Pamela Dalby, Alex Boyko and Tanya. We would meet in the press office for a first briefing after the opening general conference. No, they would not be permitted to attend any meetings until an information policy had been agreed. They were hired to do a public relations job, not to report the news. Truth, of course, was our watchword, but truth well selected, given a high gloss and packaged to appeal to a wide variety of tastes. So sharpen the pencils, tune up the prose rhythms, let us get ready to herald a brave new world from the Oriental hotel, Bangkok.
The opening session, held in one of the large function rooms of the hotel, was a model of precise presentation. Every visual technique was called into play; the key texts on the screen were in Russian, supplemented by German, Japanese and English versions in the folders supplied to each delegate. The introductory speeches were brief. The head of each group fielded questions after the visual presentation of his own sector of operations: building design, transport, finance. The materials were so well arranged and co-ordinated that my work was limited to an occasional clarification of a question or the interpretation of a technical answer.
As I watched the master plan unfold itself on the screens, I was full of admiration for the boldness of the men who had conceived it and the meticulous care that had been given to every detail of the planning. Given the enormous stretch of the Soviet republics, the varieties of their climates and geologies, the inadequacy of the transport systems – the list of handicaps went on and on – this was a programme as complex as that of the first moon shot or the first space probe.