Tokio Whip Read online

–What’s that way?

  –Yasukuni-dori.

  –Look, you can look up and down – the other side of the river.

  –Those torii are massive!

  –They better be, you know who’s there, don’t you?

  –Oh, right, the war dead!

  –VZ told me once that there’s some sort of fascist architecture around here.

  –Do you really think Roberta’s place is just straight ahead?

  ***

  Tough, tender Tokyo, we do understand each other, don’t we?, Marianne queries.

  ***

  –Thanks, let me get the next one.

  –Ok.

  –It’s delicious. How did you know this place?

  –Well, actually, Kazuko introduced me to it some years ago, before she went to the United States. And while I was gone, I continued to come here. They soon got to know me. I keep a bottle here, bring friends. It’s one of my regular places now. But it’s funny, I’ve never come back here with her.

  –Why not?

  –Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it reminded me of an “earlier Kazuko”; I suppose it had something to do with that split in time. When she returned, her style had changed. She stopped wearing the Tokyo style of clothes – you know, all that black that made Tokyo look like a city in permanent mourning.

  –Kazuko used to dress like that – like me?

  –Oh yes, when she first moved up here from Kyoto she fell completely into the city’s ways. You should have seen her then.

  –Oh, I’d love to see some pictures!

  –I can show you some sometime. You’d never recognize her.

  –Oh, I’m sure. My elegant Kazuko from Kyoto, a Comme des Garçons vamp. It’d be fun to tease her about it. You oughta’ marry that girl, Kazuo – she’s the most sensible person I’ve ever met – totally romantic – I mean, she dresses fabulously now, very fashionable – but I gave up on European clothes long ago. And I only dressed like an American when I was a teenager.

  –That’s true, I’ve never seen you in jeans.

  –Actually, just recently I bought a pair of black levis. I do have a sentimental fondness for black denim.

  –I’ve noticed your black denim coat.

  –Have you, Kazuo? I’m flattered. It’s by Yohji.

  –Of course.

  –Do you like fashion?

  –Oh, I guess I have a small interest. I enjoy Kazuko’s interest, and enjoy looking at her ...

  –That’s important ...

  –But essentially I just like something functional; you know, something that will last, always look good.

  –Like a personal uniform?

  –Oh no, I wouldn’t go that far. I do like some variety. But I wouldn’t call myself as rigid as some salarymen, or as severe as Lang.

  –Ah, you’ve noticed. Well, who wouldn’t? Ohh, fifteen years ago it must’ve been, we were already in Vienna then, he told me then of his idea of a private uniform. Hence all those black smocks, black pants – never denim, of course, the man is Viennese, after all – and all the different socks, they’re the only variation he allows. And, he is very particular about his shirts. He once told he couldn’t respect a man who would wear a shirt without a collar. I thought he was kidding. But boy, did I find out he wasn’t when I sent him an Issey shirt for his birthday a year ago! A few months later I was back for a brief visit, and there was a big dinner of family and friends. And there was a friend of his wearing the shirt! I’m sure he meant it as an indirect but mild reproach. That would be his way, of course – almost Japanese – a polite, and unspoken anger. Anyway, none of it matters. He always does look good, there’s no denying it.

  –And you and he look good together.

  –Now, Kazuo ... touchy, touchy.

  –How is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks.

  –Oh, alright, I suppose. He spends a lot of time with Van Zandt, you know. Always talking books and music and the city. Oh, those two can talk forever. I have much the same interests – don’t we all – don’t we all enjoy books and music, the place we live? – but I try not to go overboard. As Susan Hayward said, “I want to live.” I like to read a short article or story at night, savor it. I can listen to the same album for a month before I switch to something else.

  –Kazuko’s like that too.

  –Oh?

  –Oh yes. She says that when she visits me she gets exasperated with the many records I’m forever changing. She says she often doesn’t know if she’s supposed to feel like she’s down on a ranch outside of Nashville, some smokey jazz joint in New York, or a research lab somewhere in Germany.

  –That’s cute. I can also relate to it. I must say though that I have learned enough about music and film through Lang to last me a lifetime – I’ve even learned quite a bit from Van Zandt, and his tastes are even more eclectic.

  –Van Zandt – VZ.

  –Yes, as we call him. We’ve been friends – or should I say “had been”? – for so very long. I don’t know if the “Van” has any deeper significance ... some Americans would probably resent it; I don’t mind – don’t mind being an American either, sometimes. There was once an ad that said something like, “America has had 34 presidents, and only one king” – and there was a picture of Elvis Presley. Maybe you’ve seen it on Arlene’s kitchen wall.

  –Yes, I think I have. So Arlene likes Presley?

  –Oh yes, our darling, practical Arlene is a believer.

  –Hmm, I might have to revise my opinion of Arlene.

  –Why Kazuo, you’re less straight than I’ve thought you.

  –Oh, I’m only joking, Roberta.

  –You know, Lang’s jealous of her for having a copy of that ad. She also has a copy of that Thai Airlines ad with Cary Grant in the crop-duster sequence. Hers is from a magazine. Well, he tried to out-do her – he went to the ad agency that made the ad, and asked them for a copy, but they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, give him one. He’s still jealous of Arlene.

  –That sounds very much like him. Lang.

  –Yes.

  –If I may, Roberta, how are you and he doing?

  –A rather bold question, Kazuo. I am only slightly surprised.

  –Forgive me. But I do ask out of a genuine concern.

  –I know. And I appreciate – and like – your asking. How are Lang and I? Why the same as we’ve been – madly in love, madly hating one another, staying, leaving, breaking up, down, in, through – nothing, nothing new, and yes, thanks, I will have another.

  –Leaving, staying?

  –Oh, I came here because I wanted to. Lang had always known that someday I would fulfill my dream of coming to Japan. I always had a great interest in Japan. You know, that typical Western thing, the “mysterious, elegant Orient.” But I caught on quickly, and that was good. I’m simply not much of a romantic. Maybe that saved me, being here. That and the fact that I very quickly fell in step here. Lang had to accept my going – I was already here, you know, in a way: I’d lived in America, had done Europe, Lang and I were going nowhere – standing still, falling – he couldn’t see it – one way or another – I needed a change – there was a job available maybe: and so I came. But then, well, then I didn’t so much fall in love with the place – I just ... found a home. And that infuriated him. That I really could feel – feel well ... feel myself whole here without him. So I stayed, and I stayed. Three months, six, more; I “lingered,” as he calls it. Now Lang, you have to understand, is Viennese. He hates and loves his city. Oh, he’s traveled a lot, and lived in a couple of cities – he stayed with me in San Francisco for a couple of years until it became too provincial for both of us – except, I should say, for the film culture, the lack of which here drives us both up the wall. Anyway, though he has lived elsewhere – outside of Vienna, that is – he is very stubborn in his Viennese ways. Though, by the way, I’d say, he’s really Spanish at heart, baroque. He could not believe that I would choose Tokyo. I chose it for myself; it was never a choice a
gainst him. Oh, where I live now isn’t even Tokyo to most people, shitamachi’s just some 50s backwater, another take on the national Disneyland hysteria. Sure it’s the old city, the low city – traditional wood houses, craftspeople, people think it quaint, old-fashioned, they condescend to it. The same who think that Roppongi and Shibuya and the other suteki/saiko areas, all that metal-neon, are the “real” Tokyo. Oh, but I love my neighborhood. And I do not want to leave it – not now, not for a while, really.

  –Oh, stay, Roberta – you add so much to the city!

  –That’s sweet, Kazuo – and insincere. No, that’s not it – I do not add to the city – I’m not even sure it adds to me. But I do feel it as the home I’ve always lacked or longed for – even as much as I like Lang’s Vienna, or VZ’s Amsterdam, or Marianne’s Paris. Anyway, I’m in Tokyo now, and I’m staying a while. Am I a Tokyoite? The question’s never even occurred to me – it would, immediately, to Lang, of course. And so, to return to our sad little story – here I was; and Lang finally had to accept that I was not hightailing it back to the old country. And so he determined that it was time we were together again – which I could not argue with, I never wanted us to not be together – I didn’t see my coming and staying as our breaking up – it was just a break, you know, I was only taking one, for some undetermined time – and then it began to feel like home – why couldn’t he see that? – see that the world is not Vienna or Europe or our mutually beloved Paris alone? – not that he does, certainly, but when those Viennese are away from home, it becomes the sole world – till they return – I always wanted him to come here – to experience Tokyo – not just my Tokyo, but his too – his Tokyo, the one I knew he’d make – the city makes you make your own version of her – no two Tokyo’s alike – isn’t that marvelous? – Yes, one more, why not? ... Anyway, Lang determined – and decided he would come here and “rescue” me.

  –Rescue you?

  –Thanks. Oh yes, our Lang, who never had the slightest interest in Japan – he once said that if there were a museum of the Orient, Japan would be in a rear gallery of precious, decorative, and decidedly useless objets d’art. Anyway, so here came our boy – and what happened? – he fell in love with the place! – he never wanted to come here, you know, but once he did, well! – but I’m getting ahead of myself.

  –But isn’t that good? That he likes Tokyo, good, I mean, for the two of you?

  –No, it’s not good at all, Kazuo. You see, he loves the city. I just live in it. I know almost nothing about what happened here before the war. Oh, I know a little history, but all that Edo/Tokyo lore – that’s Lang’s material, not mine. I know my grocer, I know my ladies at the soba shop. Isn’t that enough? Lang, on the other hand, devours the city – just as he did with Cortázar and Duke Ellington – I’m content with the Blow-up stories, and Such Sweet Thunder – He’s been everywhere, and he’s getting to know what seems the history of every block of the city. He’s jealous that I live in shitamachi – he even berates me – gently, gently – for not knowing my neighborhood’s history – oh, I know it’s fascinating – he’s taken me on his tour – but like I said, I’m content with the soba ladies and my grocer. So now we’re in a situation where I am in a place I like, and Lang is in a city that he loves. I only fear that his love for the city will overtake his love for me. Oh, I’m sorry, Kazuo, it’s been such a nice evening, and here I’ve gone on with my problems. But, you asked.

  –No, Roberta, forgive me.

  –No.

  –Ok, yes I did ask, and I thank you for your openness. I should say that I asked out of my concern for the both of you – I, we, Kazuko and I, like you both very much.

  –Thanks. Yes, I feel that, and if I didn’t like you too – or you two – with a “w”– I would never have been so open.

  –I’m glad you like us, me.

  –Oh yes! It’s nice talking with you, Kazuo. I like Kazuko very much, and have, I suppose, hoped to make some contact with you, but I guess I was never sure how to do so. It was “objective chance” that had us run into one another tonight.

  –Uhn?

  –Oh, it’s a Surrealist phrase. And no, I did not learn it from Lang. I do my own research sometimes too. Anyway, it has been good to make this connection. I thank you, Kazuo. And I feel even better for Kazuko.

  –Thanks. But, if I may ....

  –Yes?

  –Well, is there anything I can do, anything Kazuko and I can do for you, for you and Lang?

  –Oh, Kazuo, that’s sweet of you. But no, oh, I don’t know. Because I don’t know exactly what needs to be done. I want to stay here a while longer; Lang seems to want to stay forever. Maybe he’ll get over that when it comes time for me to leave – if I leave – and then where to? Me return to his Vienna? That’d be a great irony. No – I don’t know, Kazuo – just remain friends with both of us, both of you – talk with us, walk with us. And you and I should have dinner together again. I like you, and you know that though I don’t go into the city very often, when I do I like to go to good restaurants – Kazuko’s told me about your knowing some very good places – after tonight it looks like I could have no better guide than you.

  –Fine, it’s a deal, Roberta. Let me get this.

  –– and you should be my guest sometime.

  –With pleasure. And for that next time I’m already thinking of a small “ethnic” place in Omotesando ...

  ***

  I love the Ogata Ken beer commercials – caught in the rain, diving on to a couch, a big swallow and bigger smile, a wonderful actor.

  Say it, Arlene: take a little walk with me – just two or three big steps – the quality of our love: say it, Arlene: the city in a moment, a word, a neighborhood.

  ***

  SCENE TWO: DEPARTMENT STORE

  The second scene finds the Woman in the basement floors of Seibu Ikebukuro, once the largest department store in the world, now second (or is it third?) to Sogo of Yokohama. How to find her Man amongst all the pickles and vegetables, beef, pork and chicken, lunch boxes, Chinese foods, brown beans in pink rice cakes, liqueurs, beers and wines, and all that saké (including local sakés, such as Richard’s from Ogawamachi)? She stops for some shumai, and then a “health” drink. It’s closing time, and the store is closed the next day, so the shouting of the foodsellers increases. Voices rise as prices fall. Bargain time, and the housewives are at their most violent. Pity the children in tow, pity the foreigner trying to ask politely what that delicious-looking lumpy orange thing is. As she’s sipping her strawberry with ice, she notices some pin-striped cuffs. She throws her drink down, and rushes to the elevators. Too late! To console herself, she orders a freshly squeezed combination kiwi and orange juice.

  ***

  Ah, this city, Kazuo contemplates, Tokyo, Capitol, home of my family for how many generations? Yes, I will be true to you. I have my calendar of festivals. Would Kazuko be interested? Maybe not, she is from Kyoto, after all. But maybe. So I’ll go. And bring her a present – a paper balloon, a spinning top, a dragonfly.

  ***

  ABC 2

  I’ve just got a couple of maps at home, says Roberta. The TIC one is just

  Lang was showing me his map collection the other day, Arlene began.

  It’s one dimensional, it’s two dimensional, it’s three, it’s four. I was hasty

  fine. Then a couple of guide books, but those are mostly for visitors. I

  Maps from the Edo Period, all military or festive. That great panoramic

  of course to call it two. It’s all your pictures and mine, a Great Mirror,

  think you pick up the train system pretty quickly – the stations them-

  photo, a city all black, flat, except for the fire towers. The map from the

  yes, Roberta, as well as two facing mirrors, receding mirrors, Chinese

  selves are the hard parts sometimes. I remember it took what seemed

  earthquake, where the fires were, where people were lost – or assassinated.r />
  mirror-lined boxes. Pictures on top of one another yes, perhaps, Arlene,

  months before I felt confident making my way around Shibuya, and

  The JTB overhead photos of the entire city, every seven years, trace the

  pictures that obscure any seeing, but pictures that are all transparent too.

  now I rarely go there. Then there are stations like Akasaka and Hibiya

  rise and fall, what stood three years ago on this plot of land, for example.

  Like Borges’s perfect labyrinth that is a straight line, Tokyo is a great thick

  where you can walk for miles, a real underground city. But no I have

  The Yohan map, the TIC map, the Kodansha map, they each show a

  volume of page after page of pictures that are all transparent. Perhaps the

  really only one map: my neighborhood. I copied the basic plan out of

  different city. And the bus maps! The train and subway maps; you know,

  whole is empty, and the center, what? An empty emptiness? No matter.

  Yanasen magazine, and now as I wander I fill in the shops and places I

  you almost never see them together, it would be so convenient. I like the

  The three regalia thrown into the sea at the end of the Heike Monoga-

  like. There’s the handmade ice cream place, as well as the “traditional”

  maps in the subway stations – why don’t they issue those? And the pock-

  tari. Regalia that probably never existed, and therefore perfect. Shinto.

  ice cream place which used to be in an attractive old building and is

  et maps wallet size, the whole city the size of a credit card! The 3D map

  But I like to think of it as being like those medical textbooks, you know

  now in what looks like a clinic – ha, an ice cream clinic – “I’m going

  of Ginza, the Pia maps and the BT maps. The “My Way” map: all white,

  what I’m referring to, textbooks with those plastic sheets that you unfold

  to the clinic for a check-up, Mom!” There are at least five tofu shops,

  fill in according to need. Those real estate maps, every single detail, each