Chapter 5.2 A Life to Yearn For

Mr Shintaro Ishihara was the Goethe of Japan. I was his pupil, someone in the same profession, and his escort runner. In this chapter, I have woven together more of my private recollections, spanning as long as twenty-plus years, and "my unfulfilled promise" to him. ー Shin Ushijima

Chapter 5.2: A Life to Yearn For

Read other chapters in My Mentor, Shintaro Ishihara

I was impressed by writer and literary critic Kazuya Fukuda's argument that only grown-ups could appreciate the profound emotion and brilliant expression of Shintaro Ishihara's masterpiece.

Consider the phrase, "breach of faith to the Goyo organization," which comes up near the end of Island of Fire. (P 473) Remarkably, Mr Ishihara, who persuaded me time and again that this world is composed only of men and women, was referring to "organizations and individuals." But unfortunately, the organization he was referring to was a yakuza gang, which he had called an "organization" in the novel.

It wasn't a gigantic company, a modern, going concern, or a vast Pacific organization. But it was bound by laws and regulations, and the hierarchical relationships of companies made up of the ambitions and passions, the jealousy and humiliation of multitudes of individuals. Yet, it continued, unruffled.

In my legal profession, the word "organization" is associated with listed companies, with a large number of domestic and international shareholders and employees. It sits at the heart of a network of business partners, accumulates bank loans, navigating with ingenuity through various economic and political dynamics, including national and local governments.

Regarding Mr Ishihara's future, I associated him with Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Mr Ishihara never became Caesar.

Looking back, I think it would have been impossible for Mr Ishihara to climb to the top of politics in Japan, which follows a parliamentary system, not a presidential one. Mr Ishihara would have realized this well from his service as a member of the Lower House of the Diet. On reflection, I had often suggested that he should become Japan's Charles de Gaulle. But I never asked him to become prime minister.

The Immortality of Writers

In Island of Fire (火の島, Gentosha, 2008), Ishihara writes, "It seems that the intolerance of Japanese society doesn't allow a prominent politician to write great novels." (P 214) I agree.

But few people nowadays pay attention to the fact that Goethe served as the chancellor of the Duchy of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach and eventually as its prime minister. Machiavelli, a diplomat, had no direct connection with his famous work, The Prince. And very few people know Marie Henri Beyle, who often appears in Mr Ishihara's stories. The 19th-century French writer is better known by his pen name, Stendhal, who, only a few are aware, was once a diplomat.

Maybe 100 years from now, people might recall Mr Ishihara as the writer who wrote Season of the Sun and Island of Fire, and who apparently once served as the Governor of Tokyo. How many governors of Tokyo will there be over the next 100 years? Who takes an interest in former governors of Tokyo, let alone incumbent ones? For literary historians, Ishihara's varied talents might be a challenging theme among their studies. But for ordinary readers in 100 years, it won't even be an anecdote.

If you doubt this, just think of Ogai Mori.

Ogai was a lieutenant general of the Imperial Japanese Army and surgeon general while he was alive. Had he not been a man of letters, nobody would have paid attention to him. He would have been one of any number of brilliant or ordinary surgeon generals because he was just one cog in the national organization.

Readers Want Romance

Now I am convinced. Mr Ishihara repeatedly told me, "This world is composed only of men and women, and everyone wants to read stories of men and women. They want romance." In his own words, Mr Ishihara tried to help me understand that this is what literature is.

Or his words could also be interpreted to mean, "I want to read the love stories that you write." Once, he told me, "A double love-suicide would be interesting." He probably would have liked me to write a novel about a very sharp businessman who commits a double love-suicide with his secretary in an unexpected manner after days spent sparking sensual enjoyment.

How did Mr Ishihara see that I have such a trait? Did he perceive some hidden impulses within me?

I admit that I was an unworthy disciple. But at least literary historians cannot discount my contribution as the lawyer who suggested the idea of the promissory note, the workings of the land swap, and the tax evasion scheme for his great novel, Island of Fire. For those, they must give me credit as the one who advised Mr Ishihara.

That's not all. In 100 years, I might be honored for having predicted and proclaimed that Shintaro Ishihara would be celebrated as such a great man of letters.

Sometimes, after reading the serialized installments of my private memories with Shintaro Ishihara, people say to me, "You should have socialized with Mr Ishihara more frequently."

Exactly.

The contact between Mr Ishihara and me was always one-sided. I felt guilty about not having fulfilled my promise to him. Therefore, I had hesitated to seek him out directly.

*Book cover, "Island of Fire" by Shintaro Ishihara.*

A Life Others Dream Of

I wonder if Mr Ishihara would have liked to talk with me more frequently, just like the lawyer Sakurai in Island of Fire. (P 413)

It crossed my mind that Mr Ishihara may have projected Yukio Mishima on me in terms of our careers. The comparison isn't totally unwarranted. Having graduated from the Faculty of Law at the University of Tokyo, Mishima entered upon the profession of letters. And the same pattern holds for me. But unlike Yukio Mishima, who had entered the Finance Ministry and resigned as a wet-behind-the-ears bureaucrat, I started my legal career as a prosecutor. And for many years now, I have devoted my career as a lawyer to business affairs.

I boldly told Mr Ishihara that he could not get the better of Yukio Mishima anymore. I'm sure no one had ever told him that before. Furthermore, it drove home to him how true it was.

In retrospect, I never imagined that Mr Ishihara and I would have talked at such length and so many times over the years.

I suspect that for Mr Ishihara, aside from the personal satisfaction of writing his novels, mentoring a younger writer and holding discussions with a legal expert must have provided secret pleasures.

He was proud of having lived a life that others dreamed of and admired. Yet he suffered from an unfathomable feeling of inadequacy and dissatisfaction. Then, too, he felt a certain frustration. Perhaps he wanted to pass something along to a recalcitrant man who was born on the same day as he was, but 17 years later.

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(To read the book in Japanese, please visit the publisher's website.)