Free An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro Page B

yet serving on the arts committee of the State Department, but I had many personal links there and was already being consulted frequently on matters of policy. So then, my petition to the authorities on Yamagata's behalf was not without weight. "It is the owner's intention", I explained, "that the proposed establishment be a celebration of the new patriotic spirit emerging in Japan today. The decor would reflect the new spirit, and any patron incompatible with that spirit would be firmly encouraged to leave. Furthermore, it is the owner's intention that the establishment be a place where this city's artists and writers whose works most reflect the new spirit can gather and drink together. With respect to this last point, I have myself secured the support of various of my colleagues, among them the painter, Masayuki Harada; the playwright, Misumi; the journalists, Shigeo Otsuji and Eiji Nastuki--all of them, as you will know, producers of work unflinchingly loyal to his Imperial Majesty the Emperor." I went on to point out how such an establishment, given its dominance in the neighbourhood, would be an ideal means by which to ensure that a desirable tone prevailed in the district. "Otherwise," I warned, "I fear we are faced with the growth of another quarter characterised by the very sort of decadence we have been doing our best to combat and which we know so weakens the fibre of our culture." The authorities responded not simply with acquiescence, but with an enthusiasm that surprised me. It was, I suppose, another of those instances when one is struck by the realisation that one is held in rather higher esteem than one supposed. But then I was never one to concern myself with matters of esteem, and this was not why the advent of the Migi-Hidari brought me so much personal satisfaction; rather, I was proud to see borne out something I had maintained for some time--namely that the new spirit of Japan was not incompatible with enjoying oneself; that is to say, there was no reason why pleasure-seeking had to go hand in hand with decadence. So then, some two-and-a-half years after the coming of the new tramlines, the Migi-Hidari was opened. The renovations had been skilful and extensive, so that anyone strolling that way after dark could hardly fail to notice that brightly-lit front with its numerous lanterns, large and small, hung along the gables, under the eaves, in neat rows along the window ledges and above the main entryway; then, too, there was that enormous illuminated banner suspended from the ridgepole bearing the new name of the premises against a background of army boots marching in formation. One evening, shortly after its opening, Yamagata took me inside, told me to choose my favourite table, and declared that thereafter it was reserved for my sole use. Primarily, I suppose, this was in recognition of the small service I had done him. But then, of course, I had always been one of Yamagata's best customers. Indeed, I had been going into Yamagata's for over twenty years prior to its transformation into the Migi-Hidari. This was not really through any deliberate choice on my part--as I say, it was an undistinguished sort of place--but when I first came to this city as a young man, I was living in Furukawa and Yamagata's place happened to be at hand. It is perhaps hard for you to picture how ugly Furukawa was in those days. Indeed, if you are new to the city, my talking of the Furukawa district probably conjures up the park that stands there today and the peach trees for which it is renowned. But when I first came to this city--in 1913--the area was full of factories and warehouses belonging to the smaller companies, many of them abandoned or in disrepair. The houses were old and shabby and the only people who lived in Furukawa were those who could afford only the lowest rents. Mine was a small attic room above an old woman living with her unmarried son, and was quite unsuitable for my needs. There being no electricity