Fugu is a fish caught off the Pacific shores of Japan.
 |
| Photo by TANAKA |
The fish has held a special significance for me ever since my mother died
through eating one. The poison resides
in the sexual glands of the fish,
inside two fragile bags. When
preparing the fish, these bags must be removed with caution, for any clumsiness will result in the poison leaking into the veins. Regrettably, it is not easy to tell
whether or not this operation has been carried out successfully. The proof is, as it were, in the eating.
Fugu poisoning
is hideously painful and almost
always fatal. If the fish has been
eaten during the evening, the victim is usually overtaken by pain during his sleep. He rolls about in agony for a
few hours and is dead by morning. The fish became extremely popular in Japan
after the war. Until stricter regulations were imposed, it was all the rage
to perform the hazardous gutting operation in one's own kitchen,
then to invite neighbours and
friends round for the feast.
At the time of
my mother's death, I was living in California. My relationship with my parents
had become somewhat strained around that period, and
consequently I did not learn of the circumstances surrounding her death until I
returned to Tokyo two years later. Apparently, my mother had always refused to
eat fugu, but on this particular occasion
she had made an exception, having
been invited by an old schoolfriend whom
she was anxious not to offend. It
was my father who supplied me with
the details as we drove from the airport to his house in the Kamakura district.
When we finally arrived, it was nearing
the end of a sunny autumn day.
 |
| Men, making tatami, photo by Daderot |
'Did you eat
on the plane?' my father asked. We were sitting on the tatami floor of his tea-room.
'They gave me
a light snack.'
'You must be
hungry. We'll eat as soon as Kikuko arrives.'
My father was
a formidable-looking man with a
large stony jaw and furious black
eyebrows. I think now in retrospect that
he much resembled Chou En-lai, although he would not have cherished such a
comparison, being particularly proud of the pure samurai blood that ran in the family. His general presence
was not one which encouraged relaxed conversation; neither were things helped much by his odd way of stating each remark
as if it were the concluding one. In fact, as I sat opposite him that
afternoon, a boyhood memory came back to me of the time he
had struck me several times around
the head for 'chattering like an old
woman'. Inevitably, our
conversation since my arrival at the airport had been punctuated by long pauses.
'I'm sorry to
hear about the firm,' I said when neither
of us had spoken for some time. He nodded
gravely.
'In fact the
story didn't end there,' he said. 'After the firm's collapse, Watanabe killed
himself. He didn't wish to live with the disgrace.'
'I see.'
'We were
partners for seventeen years. A man of
principle and honour. I respected him very much.'
'Will you go
into business again?' I asked.
'I am - in
retirement. I'm too old to involve
myself in new ventures now.
Business these days has become so different. Dealing with foreigners. Doing things their way. I don't understand
how we've come to this. Neither did Watanabe.' He sighed. 'A fine man. A man of principle.'
The tea-room
looked out over the garden. From where I sat I could make out the ancient well
which as a child I had believed haunted.
It was just visible now through the
thick foliage. The sun had sunk low
and much of the garden had fallen into shadow.
'I'm glad in
any case that you've decided to come back,' my father said. 'More than a short
visit, I hope.'
'I'm not sure
what my plans will be.'
'I for one am
prepared to forget the past. Your mother too was always ready to welcome you
back - upset as she was by your
behaviour.'
'I appreciate your sympathy. As I say, I'm
not sure what my plans are.'
'I've come to
believe now that there were no evil intentions in your mind,' my father
continued. 'You were swayed by
certain influences. Like so many
others.'
'Perhaps we
should forget it, as you suggest.'
'As you will.
More tea?'
