After spending the last week traveling through semi-deserted Siberia with its seemingly endless expanse of rivers and mountains, the train ride from Yokohama to Tokyo with comfortable and clean seats, seemed to reflect the modernity of postwar Japan. Peering curiously out the window, he noted the density of the urban areas which appeared to blend into one homogenous mass. Tokyo assumed a gargantuan character, swallowing cars, trains and people, all sustaining a never-ending flow of crowded streets, noisy traffic, a whole spectrum of colorful neon signs and a hectic, busy, bustling population. Descending at the main station and seeking to orient himself, either his use of English, German, French, Russian or, for that matter, Chinese were to any avail. People were polite, but unable to understand him, nor could he grasp what they were saying. Finally he lucked into finding a young man who spoke broken English, who was able to direct him to the nearest subway. Having cashed a travelers check for yen in the customs building, he bought a ticket, seeking a train heading in the direction of Yayoicho Nakanoku, stymied in not being able to identify the Japanese characters on the subway maps which were in many aspects similar to the Chinese, but not close enough to serve as a guide. Some ten minutes later, through the aid of an older lady, he found the right track and stood in a crowd of people awaiting the next train.
Upon hearing the roar of the arriving subway train, the crowd began to move, to undulate, even before the train had completely come to a halt, with him being shoved from behind into the person ahead of him who, in turn, was busy pushing the man standing ahead of him. Hesitating to wedge himself forward with his luggage, he was unceremoniously pushed into car by a station attendant with white gloves. Never before, neither in New York or West Berlin had he found himself literally crammed into such as mass of fellow riders, the fit being so tight that he could barely move his arms. As small rivets of sweat started to run down his neck, he fought desperately against rising feelings of claustrophobia. Nevertheless, he was able to disembark at the correct station, after pushing and shoving his way through the crowed car, whereby, to his astonishment, no one seemed to take umbrage, causing Dick to think that maybe this was standard operating procedure in the Tokyo subway.
Somehow, by hook or crook, he finally found the small house squeezed in between two larger houses. He tentatively rang the door bell, not quite sure of what awaited him. Of course he had written her that he'd arrive on September 10th, but was she home? If not, what was he to do? Shortly afterward his fears were banished when the door opened and there she stood - Tama Ohta.
She had roomed beside him for a year in the Studentendorf while beginning her studies at the Freie Universität. Unfortunately, her mother became ill, asking her to return to Tokyo for a few months until she could regain her health. When Tama heard that Dick would be traveling to Taiwan via Japan, she invited him to spend a week in Tokyo. Thrilled at the idea, he quickly agreed, writing her that he'd promptly pass on the exact day of his arrival as soon as the travel agency told him. Now here he was in person. Smiling warmly she showed him is small, comfy room, adding that he could unpack while she cooked supper for them. In the act of stashing his clothes away, it suddenly occurred to him that his knowledge of Japanese culture bordered on zero, with the only flimsy relationship to Japan being that he and his four brothers all had at one time possessed Japanese motorbikes: Honda, Yamaha, Suzuki and Kawasaki.
That evening, his ever gracious hostess prepared a delicious meal of rice, meat and vegetables, even topping it off with some wine. Adding to the relaxed atmosphere, two candles bathed the room in a soft, warm light. The main topic of conversation concerned Tama's mother who had passed away just three weeks beforehand after a long, drawnout illness leaving her daughter more or less alone in the world. When queried as to her father, her face froze for a moment, as though the thought of him tormented her. According to Tama, the father had either left her mother in the lurch, or with the latter happy to have him out of the house.
When finished eating, they both sat on the couch, Tama digging through a box of old, black and white family photos. Unbelievably, there were even ones taken by her father during his military service in W.W. ll, a few snapshots appeared to be combat scenes. Expressing his amazement at the pictures, Dick was quickly admonished by Tama, who made it abundantly clear that the experiences in the war had, according to her mother, changed her father for the worse, with him simply no longer being the same person she had married before the war. Silently Dick remembered such similar stories he had heard from students in Germany regarding their own fathers, many who had more or less been traumatized by their experiences while fighting in the war. All this tended to dim the former lightness of the evening, causing both of them to search for another theme to lift the shroud surrounding them.
Then, with complete insouciance, Tama, a rather unpolitical women, mentioned as an aside, if he had heard about the coup d'état in Chile. Stricken to the core, he immediately blurted out questions, when, where, at whose behest!? Tampa calmly told him that the army had taken control, that there had been some resistance and that rumors had spread that Allende had either committed suicide or had died defending the seat of government. Oh no, this couldn't be - but obviously was. Once again, as in the case of Czechoslovakia in 1968, where he had heard of the invasion while vacationing at a youth camp in southern Sweden, he was off on his own in a foreign land, with no means of demonstrating his anger, with no one to commiserate with. He knew full well who was behind this coup since the Nixon administration could not, and would not run the risk of having another Cuba in the western hemisphere. His hopes for a third way, a form of democratic socialism - or as Dubcek said, socialism with a human face - were, as in Prague, snuffed out by force. In Czechoslovakia from the left, in Chile from the right. So there they sat, the two of them, each with their own individual burden of grief. In the flickering light of the candles, they cleaned up the dining table silently, hoping that they could later find respite in sleep.
The next morning found him practically glued to the radio, trying desperately to glean more information about the situation on Chile; Tama had gotten news that there was an Armed Forces Network radio station (AFN, as in West Berlin too) down in Yokosuka which included up-todate news in local programing. Being run by the U.S. military, it was rather sparse in its coverage of the coup, but Dick was able to attain the most salient facts: Yes, the had been a coup d'état by the Chilean army lead by a certain Pinochet, whereby the presidential office had been bombed. Salvador Allende was dead. Leftists of all sorts were being rounded up, several being shot. Of course, nothing was mentioned about a possible U.S. involvement, although Dick was certain that the CIA constituted a driving force behind the coup.
In order to lure him away from the radio, Tama told him that she wanted him to see something special early that evening after they had finished a long, afternoon stroll through the park. Thus they spent the whole afternoon strolling through the Shinjuku, a kind of central park, both making an effort to avoid talking about the present events in Latin America, with Dick not delving too deeply into Tama's family history. In the past he had heard stories about the Japanese penchant for European music, especially classical, and he unexpectedly was about to see abundant proof of this. That evening she took him to a rather nondescript building in downtown Tokyo with a small, square courtyard full of tables and chairs in the middle, surrounded by three or four wooden balconies with table and chairs. What made this venue unusual was the fact that, before stepping out into the courtyard or walking up the steps to higher levels, one saw a big blackboard with something written in chalk. Upon coming closer Dick perceived that here was a list of composers of classical music. Tama proudly announced to him that this was a restaurant where people not only could dine rather cheaply, but also, when arriving, were allowed to write which composer they'd prefer hearing; sometimes people would even ask for a certain symphony. By the time Dick and Tampa arrived, the board was completely booked up for the evening. Enjoying their meal with Chopin in the background, Tama talked about her plans to return to West Berlin for the coming winter semester, while he explained why he was traveling to Taiwan, having had two intensive courses in Chinese. Pleased with the fact that he showed such an interest in Asian culture, she said that tomorrow evening there'd be another "cultural event" for him, leaving Dick puzzled, but also curious as to what this could entail.
In regards to human physiognomy he should have been warned in advance by his experiences on the Transib. Nevertheless he was taken by surprise upon his first visit to the toilet to find, of course what else, the fact that the Japanese were more small-boned than their Slavic counterparts, since the toilet seats were markable small. Whereas on the Transib he felt as he might fall into the toilet bowl, here it was exactly the opposite, with him having to seat himself right properly in oder to make sure he was on target,
Alone...
