'It doesn't sound very demokorasu to me.'
'Of course it isn't, you dumb bastard. For God's sake, get it into your head that the Japanese are a separate human species. They've only been operating as a civilized people, in the debased sense we talk about it in the West, for fifty, at the most a hundred years. Scratch a Russian and you'll find a Tartar. Scratch a Japanese and you'll find a samurai - or what he thinks is a samurai. Most of this samurai stuff is a myth, like the Wild West bunk the Americans are brought up on, or your knights in shining armour at King Arthur's court. Just because people play baseball and wear bowler hats doesn't mean they're quote civilized unquote. Just to show you I'm getting rather tight -not drunk, mark you—I'd add that the UN are going to reap the father and mother of a whirlwind by quote liberating unquote the colonial peoples. Give 'em a thousand years, yes.
But give 'em ten, no. You're only taking away their blowpipes and giving them machine guns. Just you wait for the first one to start crying to high heaven for nuclear fission. Because they must have quote parity unquote with the lousy colonial powers. I'll give you ten years for that to happen, my friend. And when it does, I'll dig myself a deep hole in the ground and sit in it.'
Bond laughed. 'That also doesn't sound very demokorasu?
' "I fornicate upon thy demokorasu" as brother Hemingway would have said. I stand for government by an elite.' Dikko Henderson downed his ninth pint of sake. 'And voting graded by each individual's rating in that elite. And one tenth of a vote for my government if you don't agree with me!'
'For God's sake, Dikko! Plow in hell did we get on to politics? Let's go and get some food. I'll agree there's a certain aboriginal common sense in what you say…'
'Don't talk to me about the aborigines! What in hell do you think you know about the aborigines? Do you know that in my country there's a move afoot, not afoot, at full gallop, to give the aborigines the vote? You pommy poofter. You give me any more of that liberal crap and I'll have your balls for a bow-tie.'
Bond said mildly, 'What's a poofter?'
'What you'd call a pansy. No,' Dikko Henderson got to his feet and fired a string of what sounded like lucid Japanese at the man behind the bar, 'before I condemn you utterly, we'll go and eat eels—place where you can get a serious bottle of plonk to match. Then we'll go to "The House of Total Delight". After that, I will give you my honest verdict, honestly come by.'
Bond said, 'You're a no-good kangaroo bum, Dikko. But I like eels. As long as they're not jellied. I'll pay for them and for the later relaxation. You pay for the rice wine and the plonk, whatever that is. Take it easy. The wingy at the bar has an appraising look.'
'I come to appraise Mr Richard Lovelace Henderson, not to bury him.' Dikko Henderson produced a wad of thousand yen notes and began counting them out for the waiter. 'Not yet, that is.' He walked, with careful majesty, up to the bar and addressed himself to the large Negro in a plum-coloured coat behind it. 'Melody, be ashamed of yourself!' Then he led the way, with massive dignity, out of the bar.
5
MAGIC 44
DIKKO HENDERSON came to fetch Bond at ten o'clock next morning. He was considerably overhung. The hard blue eyes were veined with blood and he made straight for the Bamboo Bar and ordered himself a double brandy and ginger ale. Bond said mildly, 'You shouldn't have poured all that sake on top of the Suntory. I can't believe Japanese whisky makes a good foundation for anything.'
'You've got something there, sport. I've got myself a proper futsukayoi - honourable hangover. Mouth like a vulture's crutch. Soon as we got home from that lousy cat house, I had to go for the big spit. But you're wrong about Suntory. It's a good enough brew. Stick to the cheapest, the White Label, at around fifteen bob a bottle. There are two smarter brands, but the cheap one's the best. Went up to the distillery some whiles ago and met one of the family. Told me an interesting thing , about whisky. He said you can only make good whisky where you can take good photographs. Ever heard that one? Said it was something to do with the effect of clear light on the alcohol. But did I talk a lot of crap last night? Or did you? Seem to recollect that one of us did.'
'You only gave me hell about the state of the world and called me a poofter. But you were quite friendly about it. No offence given or taken.'
'Oh, Christ!' Dikko Henderson gloomily pushed a hand through his tough, grizzled hair. 'But I didn't hit anyone?'
'Only that girl you slapped so hard on the bottom that she fell down.'
'Oh that!' said Dikko Henderson with relief. 'That was just a love-pat. What's a girl's bottom for, anyway? And so far as I recall they all screamed with laughter. Including her. Right? How did you make out with yours by the way? She looked pretty enthusiastic.'
'She was.'
'Good show.' He swallowed the remains of his drink and got to his feet. 'Come on, bud. Let's go. Wouldn't do to keep Tiger waiting. I once did and he wouldn't speak to me for a week.'
It was a typical Tokyo day in late summer - hot, sticky and grey - the air full of fine dust from the endless demolition and reconstruction work. They drove for' half an hour towards Yokohama and pulled up outside a dull grey building which announced itself in large letters to be 'The Bureau of All-Asian Folkways'. There was a busy traffic of Japanese scurrying in and out through the bogusly important-looking entrance, but no one glanced at Dikko and Bond, and they were not asked their business as Dikko led the way through an entrance hall where there were books and postcards on sale as if the place were some kind of museum. Dikko made for a doorway marked 'Coordination Department' and there was a long corridor with open rooms on both sides. The rooms were full of studious-looking young men at desks. There were large wall maps with coloured pins dotted across them, and endless shelves of books. A door marked 'International Relations' gave on to another corridor, this time lined with closed doors which had people's names on them in English and Japanese. A sharp right turn took them through the 'Visual Presentation Bureau' with more closed doors, and on to 'Documentation', a large hall-shaped library with more people bent over desks. Here, for the first time, they were scrutinized by a man at a desk near the entrance. He rose to his feet and bowed wordlessly. As they walked on Dikko said quietly, 'This is where the cover tapers off. Up till now, all those people really were researching Asian Folkways. But these here are part of Tiger's outside staff, doing more or less classified work. Sort of archivists. This is where we'd be politely turned back if we'd lost our way.' Behind a final wall of bookshelves that stretched out into the room a small door was concealed. It was marked 'Proposed Extension to Documentation Department. Danger! Construction work in progress'. From behind it came the sound of drills, a circular saw cutting through the wood and other building noises. Dikko walked through the door into a totally empty room with a highly-polished wood floor. There was no sign of construction work. Dikko laughed at Bond's surprise. He gestured towards a large metal box fitted to the back of the door through which they had come. 'Tape recorder,' he said. 'Clever gimmick. Sounds just like the real thing. And this' - he pointed to the stretch of bare floor ahead - 'is what the Japanese call a "nightingale floor". Relic of the old days when people wanted to be warned of intruders. Serves the same purpose here. Imagine trying to get across here without being heard.' They set off, and immediately the cunningly sprung boards gave out penetrating squeaks and groans. In a small facing door, a spy-hole slid open and one large eye surveyed them. The door opened to reveal a stocky man in plain clothes who had been sitting at a small deal table reading a book. It was a tiny box-like room that seemed to have no other exit. The man bowed. Dikko said some phrases containing the words 'Tanaka-san'. The man bowed again. Dikko turned to Bond. 'You're on your own now. Be in it, champ! Tiger'll send you back to your hotel. See you.'