Daimon Publishers
Back in those long-ago days when I was honeymooning more with the sea than spending time at my wife's side, my ship, the Kanada-Maru, called at Durban. (This was on our first attempt to establish a regular shipping line between Southern Africa and Japan.) A thick envelope was waiting for me. It contained a letter from two journalists –Mr. Ikai Shirakawa of the Asahi Shimbun, and Mr. Tatsuo Hisatomi of the Mainichi Shimbun –who had traveled aboard our boat from Japan and had left us at Mombasa, the leading port of Kenya, and the first stop in their reportage about Eastern and Southern Africa.
In their letter, Shirakawa and Histomi mentioned an incident which had happened upon their arrival at Durban: They had gone into a coffee-shop to have a snack, but they had been told in unpleasant terms that they could not be served because they were Asians. Laurens van der Post, then a young journalist, had witnessed this incident and had very kindly taken their side. Then he invited them to sit down at his table and to be his guests. Very grateful for this gesture, the two journalists had wanted to show their gratitude to van der Post, but had not been able to do so because they had to proceed with their reporting mission. So, at the end of their letter, they asked me to substitute for them: "Please, dear Captain, invite this young gentleman on your boat " –and that is what I did. I called on van der Post, who was then working at the Natal Advertiser, and invited him for supper aboard the Kanada-Maru.
During our supper (we had both raw bonito and roast lamb, prepared by our specially trained cook, and plenty of sake and wine to drink), I found out that my guest was quite interested in Japan and was eager to visit it. Then I promised him that, since he had helped two fellow Japanese out of a difficult situation, the next time the Kanada-Maru called in Durban I would give him a passage, free of charge.
Van der Post seemed to really appreciate this invitation, and talked it over with his friend, William Plomer, trying to persuade him to join him on a trip to Japan. However, Plomer was at first reluctant, because he was caught up in a storm unleashed by the publication of his novel, Turbott Wolf, which denounced apartheid. He had been invited to London by a group of people who admired his courage; nevertheless, he was very tempted by a trip to Japan on his way to London, and was finally convinced by his friend van der Post.
The following day, the two of them visited me aboard the Kanada-Maru and asked if they could make the trip together. While discussing with them, it came to my knowledge that they were fighting apartheid, not only in their books and articles, but also in their literary magazine, Voorslag. Couldn't their assistance and talents be put to use by us, the Japanese, to fight racial discrimination? I leapt at this chance, and proposed to them that, rather than wait, they should come to Japan with us now. They accepted without delay and the rest of the story has been told, masterfully so, by Laurens van der Post, particularly in his book, Yet Being Someone Other –which will to be published in Japan, translated by Professor Yura of Tokyo National University. We do hope that, for this occasion, our friend van der Post may travel to Japan, as he has been invited by his Japanese friends.
Those events took place in 1926 –so many years ago. From that moment on, a solid friendship flourished among the three of us, almost a brotherly feeling, I could say. As for the Japanese, they are particularly grateful to Laurens van der Post, because, thanks to his personal action and his articles, they have been able to defeat discrimination and racial prejudice.
This friendship might have been reduced to ashes by the Pacific War, and the three-and-one-half years of internment Laurens van der Post (who was then a Lieutenant-Colonel in the British Army) spent in a prisoner-of-war camp in Java and the considerable amount of torment and hellishness he was subjected to there –a terrible experience related in The Night of the New Moon, and somewhat transfigured in The Seed and the Sower, which, as everyone knows, inspired the film director, Mr. Nagisa Oshima, and his beautiful and courageous film, Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence. But, despite –and perhaps because of –the ordeal by fire, our friendship has endured and prospered, as Japanese swords gain their fine grain and hardening, their beauty and spirit, from repeated beating.
The Japanese, like about everyone else these days, tend to forget history and its lessons, and how much we need friendship and bridge-makers like van der Post. In September last year, I was invited by NHK Radio to reminisce about this period of my life. What a surprise it was to learn that many listeners called the studio, or wrote letters afterwards. Particularly moving was the letter I received from a blind man and written in Braille; he said that there was a time when, in Japan as elsewhere in the world, the pioneer spirit was strong, and that what I had done and was doing, with the assistance of Laurens van der Post, should open the minds of the Japanese Youth.
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When William Plomer, who became the respected and much admired writer and poet everyone knows, died of heart arrest in 1974, I went to London and paid my respects at his grave, on the outskirts of Brighton, along with our friend van der Post, who later on brought over some lilac flowers growing on this grave to be transplanted in our family garden. These English flowers have grown well in the volcanic soil of Japan, and for me they are the symbol of our friendship –a friendship which has spanned so many years, survived so many events, ignored frontiers and space, and can be transplanted anywhere.
Do you remember, my dear friend? When we first met in Durban you were nineteen years old, Plomer was twenty-two, and I was thirty-six. And when we celebrated your 80th birthday, I was in my 96th year. Why and how did we live to that age? Well, I believe that only Kami-sama, only God, has the answer. But something is quite certain: we had to be friends, and forge this friendship as strong as a sword made and wielded with the spirit of Yamato, or the magic sword Excalibur, which could help us to fight against the forces of Darkness. Let us wish for both of us, will you, long life and eternal friendship in order to be able to fight this neverending battle, and enjoy –you, the writing of books and the busy bridge- or rainbow-making all over the world –I, the pleasure of living amongst my seven children, fifteen grandchildren, five great-grandchildren, and taking care of our lilac of friendship.
By the way, the winter is so severe that, with the help of my first son, Hiroaki, I have dressed up the stems and shoots of the lilacs with rice straw, making them look like mummies, thereby offending –I am sure –their femininity. But I am just as sure that they will take their revenge next summer, when they will greet us with their best kimonos, all silk and smiles.
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