J-Boys Read online

  A middle-aged man in a bow tie told them politely that it would be a thirty-minute wait.

  “We’re not in a hurry, so that will be fine,” Grandmother replied. She turned to Kazuo and Yasuo, who were already sitting in the chairs.

  “I’ve just remembered a little errand I have to run. You boys sit here like grown-ups for a few minutes and wait for me to come back.”

  Then she hurried off.

  “Hey, do you think Obaachan went to telephone our grandpa?” Yasuo whispered. Kazuo was looking at the waxlike models of the food served in the cafeteria, which were displayed in a glass case.

  Waxlike models: Plastic replicas of daily specials, sushi, soups, and other dishes placed in a glass case by the entrance to a restaurant. Designed to whet the appetite and display a restaurant’s offerings, these models are extremely realistic and very handy for figuring out what you want to eat before you sit down and order.

  “Probably,” Kazuo said, then added sharply, “but remember, Yasuo, you absolutely cannot tell Okaasan that we saw Ojiichan.”

  Kazuo had been four years old when he first met his grandfather. Until that point, he’d been told that he didn’t have one.

  He had learned from picture books that there were people called grandfathers, and that they were older men, with white hair and slightly bent backs, who would take their grandchildren for walks. When he asked his parents why he didn’t have a grandfather, his mother had always answered, “Your father’s father passed away before you were born, and my father has gone very far away, so there is no grandfather in our family.”

  “Where is far away?” Kazuo had asked more than once.

  And his mother replied stubbornly, “Far away means very, very far away.”

  When Kazuo asked his grandmother about it, she didn’t answer either. Instead, her mouth just formed a perplexed frown.

  But one day in the spring of the year he turned four, something happened. In the cafeteria on the eighth floor of the Mitsukoshi Department Store—the same place they were today—Grandmother had said, “This is your Ojiichan, Soichiro Kuramoto.”

  Kazuo, suddenly confronted by his real grandfather, had burst out crying in confusion. And just like the grandfathers in the picture books, Grandfather had been very nice, ordering curry rice and ice cream, the things he liked. Kazuo had gradually stopped crying, reassured by the man’s kindness.

  Later, back at home, Kazuo had said to his mother, “I met Ojiichan today.” The moment she heard those words, his mother had flown into a rage at Grandmother. Eventually Kazuo pieced together what had happened. Grandfather had opposed Mother’s marriage to Father because Father had only gone to vocational school, not to university. Also, Mother, who had finished high school and was working for a trading company, had been promised to another family by her parents long before. Mother had hated the idea of an arranged marriage and had run away to marry Father.

  After leaving, she had never attempted to see her own father again. Kazuo had once heard his mother say to his grandmother, “The war was over and we were living in a democracy, yet he saw nothing wrong with forcing me into a marriage? Until he apologizes, I have no desire to see him, even until death.”

  Sometimes their grandmother would shake her head and say to Kazuo and Yasuo, “They’re both so stubborn, I don’t know what to do.”

  But Kazuo could not imagine Grandfather being angry with Mother. That was because, when he was with Kazuo and Yasuo, he was the nicest person in the world. Even when Yasuo pulled a silly prank, or Kazuo and Yasuo started to quarrel in the cafeteria, Grandfather didn’t raise his voice. He only reminded them gently, with a smile, that they “mustn’t do that.”

  And it was impossible for Kazuo to imagine Grandfather speaking ill of Father on the basis of his education. But Kazuo was beginning to understand why Father seemed to harp at them all the time to study so they’d get into a national university.

  Now, while waiting for Grandmother to return, Kazuo stared at the food models inside the glass case at the restaurant. The brightly colored models of fried breaded shrimp, spaghetti, fried rice omelet, curry rice, and other dishes made the food look very fancy and delicious.

  They’re trying to make it look better than it actually is, to get people to order something, Kazuo thought. He started to look away. But then a white label at the far end caught his eye: Hanburugu Steak.

  “Hanburugu steak. Hanburugu steak.” There was no model behind the label, but Kazuo instantly knew what the food was: hambaagaa. “Alternative name for hanburugu steak. A grilled patty of ground beef mixed with flour, onion, and similar ingredients.”

  Kazuo could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Finally he could taste the hanbaagaa that Wimpy was always eating!

  Kazuo could barely stand still. Already he was thinking about how on Monday morning he would tell his friends about the delicious hanbaagaa he’d eaten.

  “Oniichan, are you okay?” Yasuo asked, noticing Kazuo’s sudden restlessness.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Kazuo said, forcing himself to hide his smile.

  Just as Kazuo and Yasuo had predicted, their grandmother soon returned with their grandfather. He was wearing a brown suit and an orange necktie.

  “That’s a pretty nice tie, Ojiichan,” Yasuo said to Grandfather, whose eyes, framed by wrinkles, twinkled behind his glasses.

  “You think so, Yasuo? Why, thank you. I got dressed up since I was coming to see you.” When they were finally seated, Grandfather asked how school was going.

  “So-so, I guess,” Kazuo answered.

  “So-so, I guess,” mimicked Yasuo.

  A waitress came over, carrying cups of water and menus. Even as he was opening the menu that had been handed to him, Kazuo was already searching for the words “hanburugu steak.” Next to him Yasuo was running his mouth as always. “Hmm, maybe I’ll have curry rice this time, or a sandwich. Or I could order . . .”

  Kazuo scanned the menu again. But he could not find hanburugu steak anywhere.

  I wonder if I was seeing things, he thought.

  Finally, he spotted the words written by hand at the very end of the menu. The price was three hundred yen. Curry rice was one hundred and fifty yen, and the expensive tempura set and grilled eel on rice were each two hundred yen. If Mother were along, she would say, “Three hundred yen! Absolutely not! That’s much too expensive for a child!”

  Tempura: Breaded, deep-fried seafood or vegetables, introduced to Japan by the Portuguese in the 1600s. Onion rings at an American restaurant are similar to tempura, but a tempura chef will deep fry broccoli, carrots, sweet potatoes, shrimp, and other ingredients.

  “What would you like, Yasuo?” Grandmother asked when the waitress returned.

  “Curry rice, please,” Yasuo answered.

  “And for you, Kazuo?”

  Kazuo took a breath before turning to face his grandparents.

  “Actually, there is a food that I would like to eat, but I wonder if it’s all right to order it,” he said hesitantly.

  “What is it, my boy? Go ahead and say it, anything you want,” Grandfather said.

  “It’s a little bit on the expensive side . . . ”

  “Children shouldn’t worry about prices,” Grandfather said. “You order what you like.”

  Nudged along by his grandfather’s words, Kazuo looked up at the waitress.

  “I would like the hanburugu steak, please,” he said carefully.

  “My, you went for something very modern,” his grandfather told him, laughing. “I think I’ll have the tempura set.”

  Kazuo’s grandmother went last, ordering the udon with egg. Then the waitress took their menus and left.

  It seemed like it took forever for her to return.

  When she finally wove back through the tables, Kazuo could see a tray of food in her hand.

  On that tray is hanbaagaa, he thought.

  First she served the curry rice to Yasuo. Next was Grandmother’s udon with egg, and then came Grand
father’s tempura set. Finally, on a white plate came . . .

  “Oh!” The moment he saw the dish placed before him, a sound escaped Kazuo’s mouth.

  “Did I make a mistake?” The waitress checked her order list. “You did order hanburugu steak, didn’t you?”

  “Kazuo, you ordered hanburugu steak, so this will be fine, won’t it?” Grandmother looked perplexed at Kazuo’s reaction.

  “Yes, this will be just fine.” Kazuo answered in very formal fashion, and forced a smile.

  But the food on the plate in front of him was completely wrong. It was not at all like the hanbaagaa that Wimpy ate on Popeye the Sailor.

  The plate in front of Kazuo held an oval-shaped patty with a fried egg on top of it, and some cabbage and white rice on the side. Kazuo understood now that this patty of ground beef was hanburugu steak. The hanbaagaa that Wimpy ate was something different—this kind of steak sandwiched between two round pieces of bread.

  “Well, then, shall we?” Kazuo’s grandfather said, picking up his chopsticks.

  Kazuo reached for the bottle of Worcestershire sauce that was on the table. He put some of it on his steak, and then used a fork to cut it. The ground beef was a little hard, but the taste was not bad. In fact, it was far more delicious than the white stew and curry stew that he had had at school, and it might just be the most delicious food he had ever tasted.

  At least that is what he told himself. Being able to eat delicious food is a kind of happiness, so he must be an extremely happy person right now, he thought—as long as he did not think about how his meal was not the same as what Wimpy ate.

  On the way home, Grandfather and Grandmother rode the train with Kazuo and Yasuo to West Ito Station. Kazuo and Yasuo said good-bye to them and then walked alone through the shopping area, which was crowded with evening shoppers.

  “Oniichan, your hanburugu steak was good, huh?” Yasuo said, looking up at Kazuo.

  At the restaurant, Kazuo had divided his last bite of hanburugu steak and given half to Yasuo.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t bad.”

  “Next time I’m going to order hanburugu steak, too,” Yasuo said. “But we’d better not tell Okaasan that we saw Ojiichan today.”

  Hanbaagaa: Hamburger. Well-known in Japan today, hamburgers became popular when McDonald’s Japan started in 1971, with its first restaurant in the Mitsukoshi Department Store in Ginza! Many Japanese fast-food restaurants have their own styles of hamburgers.

  Yasuo went on talking, but Kazuo was thinking about something else: how to explain today’s events to his friends on Monday morning. Could he say that he had eaten a hanbaagaa? Maybe. According to Nishino-kun’s father, a hanburugu steak and hanbaagaa were the same thing.

  Kazuo suddenly spotted a girl in the crowd who was about the same age as Yasuo. She was walking alongside a man who was probably her father, holding his hand. She was chattering on and on while wearing a big smile. Her father smiled back.

  Mother was a little girl like that once, Kazuo realized suddenly. And she had probably held hands with Grand­father and walked along smiling at him, too. So maybe someday they would make up because, after all, he was her father and she was his daughter.

  But Kazuo did not know which thing would happen first. Would he eat a real hamburger, the kind that Wimpy liked? Or would Okaasan and Ojiichan finally begin talking to each other again?

  Pet Phrases

  Everybody has certain pet phrases. Kazuo had recently begun to notice this.

  First, there was the phrase that all grown-ups used: “During the war . . . ” referring to World War II, which had ended about twenty years ago. Whenever adults lectured kids about something, telling them to do their homework or clean their plates, they always said, “During the war we couldn’t study, even if we wanted to.” Or, “During the war we couldn’t be choosy about our food because there was no food.”

  Kazuo had heard this phrase so many times that he had begun to ignore it.

  Then there were his father’s pet phrases: “I’m beat” and, when he had been drinking, “Son, you are going to study hard and get into a good school, you hear me?”

  Father could be heard saying “I’m beat” at least three times a day: after work when he arrived home, after dinner when he settled down to watch TV in the living room, and after TV time, when the low table had been cleared away and he was crawling into his bedding. He was saying it more now that the end of the calendar year was approaching and things were busy at work.

  Kazuo believed that Father actually was really tired. Every morning he left for work at seven thirty and didn’t come home until after seven. But on holidays and Sundays, Kazuo wished his father wouldn’t say “I’m beat” quite so often. Saying it when he was sprawled in front of the TV was, in Kazuo’s opinion, a little bit embarrassing.

  Then there were Kazuo’s mother’s pet phrases. Not a day went by when they didn’t hear “Boys, during the war . . .” The next most frequent ones were “Clean your plate,” “Be grateful for what you have,” “Straighten up,” and “Did you do your homework?” The difference between Mother and Father’s pet phrases was that Mother’s were always directed at Kazuo and Yasuo.

  Why doesn’t Okaasan have a pet phrase about herself, like Otohsan does? Kazuo often wondered.

  Perhaps it was because he and Yasuo always quarreled and had to be told to do their homework, and wanted to do nothing but watch TV and read comics.

  Still, Kazuo didn’t think he and Yasuo were really all that bad. They set the table before meals and folded up their own bedding. Their grades, while far from highest in their classes, were not bad. So Kazuo often wished that his mother would sometimes direct her pet phrases at her own life.

  Recently, Mother had developed a new pet phrase: “I am sick and tired of war.” This phrase came out of her mouth every time she saw images of the Vietnam War, which were beginning to appear constantly on the TV news.

  Vietnam War: Waged between the United States and North Vietnam in Southeast Asia in the 1960s. One of the weapons used by the U.S. was a chemical for creating destructive fires in forests, fields, and villages. Many people died on both sides.

  One day in the middle of December, when Father was working late and Mother, Kazuo, and Yasuo had finished dinner, Mother said the phrase again.

  They had been watching the seven o’clock news. The TV screen showed American warplanes heading into the jungles of North Vietnam and dropping bombs. Kazuo thought the scenes looked like images from a movie—unreal and even a little bit thrilling.

  But that was not what Mother saw. “Why do people have to go and do that?” she said in a choked voice.

  Startled, Kazuo and Yasuo looked at her. As she watched the TV, tears flowed from her eyes. The two boys, who had never seen their mother act like this, kept silent, stealing glances at her face from time to time.

  After a while, the scene on the news changed to a bustling Tokyo street. Mother wiped her tears and shifted her gaze back to Kazuo and Yasuo.

  “Do you want to hear what I have to say?” she asked quietly.

  The two boys nodded, still keeping silent. What on earth was she about to tell them? Kazuo wondered. He shifted uneasily on the floor.

  What she told them was a story they had never heard before. “During the war I lived apart from my family for two years, when I was in the fifth and sixth grade, due to the evacuation of schoolchildren from Tokyo. But after sixth grade, when I’d graduated from grade school, I had to come back to Tokyo. I arrived in January of 1945.

  “At that time, it was clear that Japan was losing the war. After all, American airplanes were dropping bombs on the streets of Tokyo almost every day. One of the most devastating attacks was the bombing of Shitamachi, the old downtown.

  “On March 9, the American military used incendiary bombs, or firebombs, for the first time. An incendiary bomb is filled with gasoline instead of gunpowder. The incendiary bombs turned all of the old downtown into a sea of fire. Many houses burned, and
close to a hundred thousand people lost their lives. Mr. and Mrs. Yoshino, the owners of the tofu store, lost their son that night.

  Firebombs: Bombs used in a series of raids conducted in 1945 by the United States Army Air Forces on Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka, Kobe, and other Japanese cities. Japanese homes were primarily made of wood and paper, so the fires that resulted were intense. Hundreds of thousands of civilians died, and parts of the cities became like an inferno, with buildings bursting spontaneously into flame and people dying from the searing heat and lack of oxygen. For Kazuo’s mother, the firebombings were still fresh and horrifying memories some twenty years after they happened.

  “When that happened, I was living in Shibuya in west Tokyo. I watched with my own eyes as a firestorm filled the sky to the east, and the night turned a deep red, as bright as day. A lot of people jumped into the Sumida River to try and escape the heat. But the fire had eaten up every inch of the ground, and easily crossed the water, so everybody who jumped into the river was burned to death.

  “When I heard that, I grew so stiff with fear that I couldn’t move. I couldn’t help wondering if the same kind of disaster would happen to me. An odd superstition was beginning to make the rounds then: if you only ate shallots for dinner, you would be able to outrun the fires from incendiary bombs. My mother—your grandmother—began to serve meals made only of shallot and sweet potato gruel.”

  “Oh . . .” Yasuo said sympathetically, as if he couldn’t imagine such a dish as his only meal. Kazuo shot him a glance.

  “But the bombs weren’t just falling on Tokyo. They were falling on Osaka, Nagoya, Fukuoka—all around the country. And just as I had feared, the American military soon carried out an attack on western Tokyo, including Shibuya.

  “The air raid started on May 24, after midnight. Your grandmother and I were the only ones home. When we heard the warning siren, we jumped out of our blankets. Outside the house, we could hear the B-29s as they flew in low. When they dropped their firebombs in the distance, it sounded just like rain falling in big drops on rooftops. The two of us grabbed bags packed with a change of clothes and our bank records, and ran out of the house.