Dr. Ishii did not immediately reply. Although I might have been imagining it, I thought that other conversation in the room had hushed and that everyone was listening to our exchange.
“Nakayama-san may not be aware of this,” he said finally, “but not all of his films are available in Japan.”
I took a sip of my sake and nodded. “So I have heard. I’ve also been told that the films that are available have not been translated, and that theaters hire people to stand behind the screen and interpret all the titles.”
“I mean that some of his films are not available,” the foreign minister continued, “because the theaters are not allowed to show them.”
At this, Mrs. Ishii turned to her husband. “Oh, really. Why such dour conversation?” Then, turning to me and smiling, “You will have to excuse my husband, Nakayamasan. He is not a fan of motion pictures, so he does not understand how famous you are, or how much you have accomplished in America. Perhaps he’s just jealous because our daughter thinks so much of you. You see, Nakayamasan is her favorite foreign actor.”
The other guests began to nod in acknowledgment; around the table there were a few nervous smiles.
“He is important indeed,” remarked Mr. Matsui, with slightly forced cheer. “He’s raised the profile of Japanese here more than anyone else.”
“I see,” said Dr. Ishii, looking at his host directly. “The question is what kind of profile he’s actually raised.”
Everyone was staring at me now, and although I did not wish to engage the visitor on such complex issues, I felt that some response to him was called for. “I am well aware,” I said carefully, “that there are some who do not look with favor upon my past works. But you must understand that a mere actor such as myself has little control over the kinds of pictures that are made. I’m under contract with the studio, Dr. Ishii, and the only thing I can do—the honorable thing to do—is to make the best of the roles that are offered me.”
These comments settled among the company for a moment, and then Mr. Matsui spoke again. There was an edge to his voice now that revealed his anxiety about his pleasant social evening slipping away. “Nakayama-san understands that some of his past films were less than ideal. In fact,” he laughed nervously, “the Association once had occasion to write to him regarding one of his roles. But his parts have changed significantly in recent films, and I think it’s time we recognized how much he’s accomplished.”
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Matsui, smiling warmly again. “He is an unparalleled star in America, and his face is known all over the world.”
“Exactly!” said Mr. Matsui. “Everybody knows him. He has stood bravely to represent the Japanese people in this state where there is so much hostility. And what better symbol could there be of modern Japan than a handsome, accomplished, sophisticated gentleman?”
“Well, I like him,” said Miss Kuramoto, the artist’s companion. “All the girls do.” And the forwardness of this comment—particularly uttered by someone who’d barely said a word all night—made everyone turn in surprise.
“That includes, as you’ve no doubt guessed, my own wife and daughter,” said Dr. Ishii. Then, glaring directly at me with a clear and cold gaze: “But I hear that Nakayamasan prefers American women.”
At that moment, there was a commotion near the entrance of the room. A servant rushing in with a tray of food had collided with another going out, and now fish and tsukemono and dollops of seaweed were scattered all over the floor. Both servers were embarrassed and moved between picking up the fallen plates and bowing and apologizing to the diners. Mr. Matsui had stood up by this point, and his face was bright red, but his wife had already scurried over to the scene and begun assembling more servants to assist with cleaning up.
“I apologize,” Matsui managed. “I only obtained these servants for the evening, and one never knows the quality of hired help.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Mrs. Ishii. Then, in a warm voice that seemed directed at the servants as much as it was to us, “I always have little accidents at my house. Why one time, I spilled a whole bowl of noodles on the floor, and then my husband slipped and sat down right on top of them. I said, ‘Hideo, you should have told me you wanted flat noodles.’ My goodness, was he mad! I think that was the only time he ever considered divorce.”
Her husband looked at her sternly, and we all waited nervously to see how he would respond. But Mrs. Ishii gave him a disarming smile, and the tension around his eyes lessened visibly as he relented to her good humor. We all relaxed, and within a few minutes, the dinner conversation resumed.
The evening became more pleasant after the accident. Mr. Matsui discussed a recent visit to San Francisco; Mr. Shimura, one of the pastors—whose only mode of transportation was bicycle—told a story about taking a driving lesson; and Mrs. Matsui described the visit of three young women from Japan and all the attention they received from single men in Little Tokyo. Mrs. Ishii participated actively in the conversation, laughing easily and asking many questions. Dr. Ishii listened politely, chiming in occasionally with, “Is that so?” or, “How interesting,” but offering no more than the simplest responses.
I thought we would get through the rest of the evening without further incident, but at the end of the meal, while we were eating manju and drinking green tea, Mrs. Matsui turned to the foreign minister and asked, “Excuse me, Dr. Ishii, but what will you be doing in Washington?”
Dr. Ishii put his cup down and raised his head—waiting, it seemed, for all eyes to turn toward him before he began to
