Rising Sun

“They decided to lend the money back to us. Our government was ru

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“But we did none of those things. We let the deficit get worse, and we devalued the dollar. We cut its value in half in 1985. You know what that did to Japanese investments in America? It fucked them. Whatever they invested in 1984 now paid half its previous return.”

I vaguely remembered something about this. I said, “I thought we did that to help our trade deficit, to boost exports.”

“We did, but it didn’t work. Our trade balance with Japan got worse. Normally, if you devalue your currency by half, the cost of everything imported doubles. But the Japanese slashed prices on their VCRs and copiers, and held their market share. Remember, business is war.

“All we really accomplished was to make American land and American companies cheap for the Japanese to buy, because the yen was now twice as strong as it had been. We made the biggest banks in the world all Japanese. And we made America a poor country.”

“What does this have to do with the Saturday meetings?”

“Well,” Co

“Uh-huh.” Co

“Look,” he said, “Get this conspiracy stuff out of your head. Do you want to take over Japan? Do you want to run their country? Of course not. No sensible country wants to take over another country. Do business, yes. Have a relationship, yes. But not take over. Nobody wants the responsibility. Nobody wants to be bothered. Just like with the drunken uncle—you only have those meetings when you’re forced to. It’s a last resort.”

“So that’s how the Japanese see it?”

“They see billions and billions of their dollars, kōhai. Invested in a country that’s in deep trouble. That’s filled with strange individualistic people who talk constantly. Who confront each other constantly. Who argue all the time. People who aren’t well educated, who don’t know much about the world, who get their information from television. People who don’t work very hard, who tolerate violence and drug use, and who don’t seem to object to it. The Japanese have billions of dollars in this peculiar land and they would like a decent return on their investment. And even though the American economy is collapsing—it will soon be third in the world after Japan and Europe—it’s still important to try and hold it together. Which is all they’re trying to do.”

“That’s it?” I said. “They’re just doing the good work of saving America?”

“Somebody needs to do it,” Co

“We’ll manage.”

“That’s what the English always said.” He shook his head. “But now England is poor. And America is becoming poor, too.”

“Why is it becoming poor?” I said, speaking louder than I intended.

“The Japanese say it’s because America has become a land without substance. We let our manufacturing go. We don’t make things anymore. When you manufacture products, you add value to raw materials, and you literally create wealth. But America has stopped doing that. Americans make money now by paper manipulation, which the Japanese say is bound to catch up to us because paper profits don’t reflect real wealth. They think our fascination with Wall Street and junk bonds is crazy.”

“And therefore the Japanese ought to manage us?”

“They think someone ought to manage us. They’d prefer we do it ourselves.”

“Jesus.”

Co

“Oh?”

“Yes. That was when the Japanese decided not to worry about whether America would clean up its act. They saw advantages in the present situation: America is asleep, and inexpensive to buy.”

“So there aren’t Saturday meetings any more?”

“There are occasional ones. Because of nichibei kankei: the ongoing Japanese-American relationship. The economies of the two countries are interlocked by now. Neither country can pull out, even if they wanted to. But the meetings are no longer important. They are basically social functions. So what Sakamura said to Cheryl Austin is wrong. And her death had nothing to do with the Saturday meetings.”

“What does it have to do with?”

“My friends seemed to think it was personal. A chijou no motsure, a crime of passion. Involving a beautiful, irokichigai woman and a jealous man.”

“And you believe them?”

“Well, the thing is, they were unanimous. All three of these businessmen. Of course Japanese are reluctant to express disagreement among themselves, even on the golf course of an underdeveloped peasant country. But I have learned that unanimity toward a gaijin may cover a multitude of sins.”

“You think they were lying?”

“Not exactly.” Co

Co

“And you had gone there for information?” I said. “How could you stand it?”

“Oh, I was getting information.” But as he explained it, it was all unspoken. Basically, the Japanese have an understanding based on centuries of shared culture, and they are able to communicate feelings without words. It’s the closeness that exists in America between a parent and child—a child often understands everything, just from a parent’s glance. But Americans don’t rely on unspoken communication as a general rule, and the Japanese do. It is as if all Japanese are members of the same family, and they can communicate without words. To a Japanese, silences have meaning.

“It’s nothing mystical or wonderful,” Co

I said, “And that’s how your morning was spent? Not talking?”

Co

“Because I was asking them to talk about other Japanese—members of their family—I had to frame my questions with great delicacy. Just as I would if I were asking whether your sister was in jail or any subject that was painful or awkward for you. I would be attentive to how long it took you to answer, and the pauses between your statements, the tone of your voice—all sorts of things. Beyond the literal communication. Okay?”