Free An Exquisite Sense of What Is Beautiful by J. David Simons Page B

has strong connections with your Oxford. Certainly I could have conducted my research equally as well there as I did in California. But the United States presented me with a challenge. A young republic with a directness that is both frightening and exhilarating for us Japanese. I chose to take that challenge.’
    The conversation had taken them to the bottom of a wide stairway . A large stained glass window dominated the mid-landing, demanding some attention, particularly as the oblique sunlight cast itself on to their little party. The design on the panes was an abstract, weak yellows surrendering to bold blues. Watanabe tilted his head slightly in the direction of the light, his skin no doubt drawn to the memory of some recent winter skiing trip or a holiday in Saipan. Jerome had closed his eyes to the glare and was gently rocking back and forth on his heels. Edward observed the veins of his own hands as they rested on his cane and they appeared to him not gnarled and ugly, but softened by the angle of illumination into the smoothness of youth. The light had lassoed them into a silence, warming them temporarily but profoundly with its rays. He felt it as an exquisite, uplifting moment, a holy pause in the hectic flow of life. But the beam dimmed and was gone, leaving him to shiver in the shadows.
    ‘Now, Sir Edward, let me explain our little schedule.’ Watanabe touched him lightly at the elbow, guiding him forward. ‘I have made it brief as I understand you only arrived yesterday. You must be tired, although the mountain air is so refreshing. First, my own speech and presentation of the honorary doctorate. If I may be so bold as to suggest, this will then be followed by a few words from your good self?’
    ‘Jerome did warn me.’
    ‘Very good. English for these guests will be quite appropriate so there will be no need for any tedious translations. A buffet lunch. Then, I believe, Professor Fisk has arranged a short question and answer session with some of our English Literature students. After that, we must allow time for the two of you to catch up. There will be many good memories, I am sure. And the early evening entertainment , Professor Fisk has also arranged.’
    ‘All arranged,’ Jerome confirmed.
    ‘Excellent,’ Watanabe said. ‘And now I would just like to say something of a more personal nature before we continue, Sir Edward. You did a great service for this country. We were demonised and demoralised after the war. Some of that was quite deserved. But you helped restore some of our self-esteem in the international realm. I will always be grateful to you for that.’

    The guests clapped politely as Edward entered the Old Library. There must have been about fifty of them, faculty mostly, but also a generous attendance of students. The room, it appeared, had survived as a library in name only, the spacious hall being completely devoid of both shelves and books. A large table stood in the centre, on top of which rested a giant ice sculpture in the shape of a swan. Plates of sushi, sashimi and other cold dishes lay against the base of the frozen bird. As Dean Watanabe strode towards a microphone stand, Edward sat down, settled into position, careful to rest forward on his cane, to show his host the attention he deserved.
    He had taken to the dean immediately. As he listened to him speak, he could see clearly how correct this man had been in his educational choice. Watanabe possessed all the refinement and grace of a Japanese gentleman, yet without the tightness and restriction that usually went with it. America had loosened him up, made him confident rather than reticent about his qualities, created a warm and direct human being. He wanted to befriend this man. And he realised it had been a long time since he had felt this way about anyone. When had he stopped trying to recruit new friends? Was it laziness that had kept him from forming new relationships? Had he become so complacent with the creation of his