Japanese Portraits: Pictures of Different People by Donald Richie Page A

with this young lovelorn soldier I had never met and, with any luck, never would.
    I was on her side. Michael ought not to go around forcing his problems on other people. Then I remembered that she had originally mentioned the embassy. So I suggested that she call and talk to the proper authorities, whoever they were, and ask for help.
    And, since I am the kind of person I am, I had the number of the U.S. Embassy written down in my date book. This I copied out for her.
    Mother and daughter were grateful—not, perhaps, for what I'd done, since I had done nothing, but rather for having been able to talk about this with someone, to tell of their concern.
    We stood there, the three of us. People passed around us and we felt awkward. They seemed to think the crisis was over—they had actually stopped an American and received some advice. I was aware that I had not really helped them at all.
    Then Kazuko's mother, smiling for the first time, asked if they might not know the name, address, and telephone number of their benefactor so that they could send a little token of appreciation.
    And, standing there, I sensed a future in which Kazuko's mother and Kazuko herself, and Michael White too for all I knew, played a part. I imagined late-night telephone calls from the mother and polite raps on the door as Kazuko called with cakes. I found myself thinking that these people really could not go around forcing their problems on others.
    So I shook my head, smiled, said I'd been of little use, that I wished them luck, that I must be on my way. And I left them there, Kazuko smiling in a puzzled fashion, her mother bowing.
    For they had frightened me, just as Michael had frightened them. And neither Kazuko's beauty nor their need, nor my own curiosity, was sufficient to overcome this sudden trepidation, this glimpse into life as it is when the patterned surface cracks and we look beneath.
    The two, mother and daughter, forced into the street to ask help from strangers, did not insist. They bowed. I smiled and turned away.

Saburo Sasaki
    A youth of eighteen or so, he was was being bullied in the public bath by two grown men with tattoos. They made him scrub their backs, called him shombenkozo and kuso , pushed him into the cold pool. The other bathers, all from the neighborhood, ignored this. So did I, sunk in the hot water.
    We ignored it because it was serious. This much even I knew—from the language. The first term meant bed-wetter and the second meant shit.
    After they had gone, abusing him all the way, and I was drying myself, I heard the chicken man arguing with the bath lady. He was saying that of course they were gangsters, what with their tattoos and all, and she was saying that, tattoos or not, they weren't gangsters, they all worked at the local sushi shop. The big ones were the new staff from downtown and the little one was the kozo.
    So he really was a kozo after all, an apprentice, someone who washes the dishes, sweeps the floor. It is not unusual for the youngest member to be mistreated by his elders, but this amount of abuse was uncommon. I was curious.
    Consequently, several days later I went to the Fuji sushi shop around the corner from the bathhouse. It was early evening and there were a number of other customers, all sitting on the stools facing the counter, all watching what was going on behind it.
    - Little shit, can't even fill a teacup proper, said the larger of the two, tattoo showing just beneath his crisp white sleeve.
    The kozo was standing, head bowed, holding his hand in front of him. His fingers were bright red. He had apparently scalded himself on the tea.
    - The little shit can't do anything proper, said the other, hands busy, slicing manfully.
    The other customers, interested, stared at the young man with the scalded fingers. It is not uncommon for a crowd to enjoy the spectacle of someone ganged up on like this. There was some murmuring, most of it satisfied. The man next to me spoke of