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Childan nodded. No contemporary American art; only the past could be represented here, in a store such as his. You are here for long? he asked. To our San Francisco? QWERTY Android 2.2 Phone
I'm stationed here indefinitely, the man said. With Standard of Living for Unfortunate Areas Planning Commission of Inquiry. Pride showed on his face. Not the military. Not one of the gum-chewing boorish draftees with their greedy peasant faces, wandering up Market Street, gaping at the bawdy shows, the sex movies, the shooting galleries, the cheap nightclubs with photos of middle-aged blondes holding their nipples between their wrinkled fingers and leering. . . the honkytonk jazz slums that made up most of the flat part of San Francisco, rickety tin and board shacks that had sprung up from the ruins even before the last bomb fell. No -- this man was of the elite. Cultured, educated, even more so than Mr. Tagomi, who was after all a high official with the ranking Trade Mission on the Pacific Coast. Tagomi was an old man. His attitudes had formed in the War Cabinet days.
Had you wished American traditional ethnic art objects as a gift? Childan asked. Or to decorate perhaps a new apartment for your stay here? If the latter. . . his heart picked up.
An accurate guess, the girl said. We are starting to decorate. A bit undecided. Do you think you could inform us?
I could arrange to arrive at your apartment, yes, Childan said. Bringing several hand cases, I can suggest in context, at your leisure. This, of course, is our speciality. He dropped his eyes so as to conceal his hope. There might be thousands of dollars involved. I am getting in a New England table, maple, all wood-legged, no nails. Immense beauty and worth. And a mirror from the time of the 1812 War. And also the aboriginal art: a group of vegetable-dyed goat-hair rugs.Android 2.2 Smartphone
I myself, the man said, prefer the art of the cities.
Yes, Childan said eagerly. Listen, sir. I have a mural from WPA post-office period, original, done on board, four sections, depicting Horace Greeley. Priceless collector's item.
Ah, the man said, his dark eyes flashing.
And a Victrola cabinet of 1920 made into a liquor cabinet.
Ah.
And, sir, listen: framed signed picture of Jean Harlow.
The man goggled at him.
Shall we make arrangements? Childan said, seizing this correct psychological instant. From his inner coat pocket he brought his pen, notebook. I shall take your name and address, sir and lady.
Afterward, as the couple strolled from his store, Childan stood, hands behind his back, watching the street. Joy. If all business days were like this. . . but it was more than business, the success of his store. It was a chance to meet a young Japanese couple socially, on a basis of acceptance of him as a man rather than him as a yank or, at best, a tradesman who sold art objects. Yes, these new young people, of the rising generation, who did not remember the days before the war or even the war itself -- they were the hope of the world. Place difference did not have the significance for them.
It will end, Childan thought. Someday. The very idea of place. Not governed and governing, but people.
And yet he trembled with fear, imagining himself knocking at their door. He examined his notes. The Kasouras. Being admitted, no doubt offered tea. Would he do the right thing? Know the proper act and utterance at each moment? Or would he disgrace himself, like an animal, by some dismal faux pas?
The girl's name was Betty. Such understanding in her face, he thought. The gentle, sympathetic eyes. Surely, even in the short time in the store, she had glimpsed his hopes and defeats.
His hopes -- he felt suddenly dizzy. What aspirations bordering on the insane if not the suicidal did he have? But it was known, relations between Japanese and yanks, although generally it was between a Japanese man and yank woman. This. . . he quailed at the idea. And she was married. He whipped his mind away from the pageant of his involuntary thoughts and began busily opening the morning's mail.
His hands, he discovered, were still shaking. And then he recalled his two o'clock appointment with Mr. Tagomi; at that, his hands ceased shaking and his nervousness became determination. I've got to come up with something