LUNCH - CHUSHOKU by Edmund Bridgewater
I glanced at the calender positioned on the transportable synthesizer and noted again the date and time of day. The location was fixed in my memory - Hotel Okura, located in the Toranomon area of Tokyo.
This was going to be my second lunch date with the Ambassador in eighteen months. Our first at an upscale Indian restaurant in Hibiya, as I recall, was a success. Most of the dialogue had been recorded on my miniature cassette recorder. The Ambassador had given his approval after I had briefed him in advance on the topics to be discussed. It was a tentative experience. We were initiating friendship. We have much in common. We are both natives of the Caribbean.
On that first occasion, our lunch session lasted tow hours. I had traveled from Nagoya, where I was based, to interview the Ambassador.
Tuesday morning arrived and I prepared slowly, then more quickly, as departure time drew closer. Minutes after eleven in the morning, the front door of my apartment was closed quietly, then locked. The journey from the eleventh to the ground floor using the lift, was solitary. Immediately outside at the front entrace was a familiar figure, security, with a broom in his hand sweeping at the front of the building. I exchanged greetings with him before entering the garbage area to dispose of rubbish, that I was carrying in both hands - last night's garbage.
I walked the short journey down to the Korakuen metro station. En route, I mailed letters to the Caribbean and the USA from the sub-post office outlet annexing the station. Films were handed in to a photo processing facility.
To save time, I asked a station attendant politely: 'Toranomon made ikura desuke? How much does it cost to journey to Toranomon? A quick reply was given. The transit point is Tameike Sanno on the Namboku Line. Change to the Ginza Line to get directly to Toranomon.
With extra time in hand - forty minutes, I decided to check again the directives I had been given by the Ambassador's personal secretary on the telephone:
'Exit at exit one, turn right then first left. You'll notice a Pronto eaterie and a branch of CitiBank. Walk up the one way street, along which is a main road. Across the street is a coffee shop. The Embassy is next to it.'
I know Tokyo geographically with a few exceptions. Toranomon was one of them. Fortunately, my sense of direction is good.
During the short period that I had to wait in the waiting room of the Embassy, I was offered a cup of coffee and accpeted. Photographic images, powerful, of Jamaican political heroes, all dead, stirred in me fixated interest: Sam Sharpe, George William Gordon, Alexander Bustamante, Nanny, Norman Washington Manley, Marcus Mosiah Garvey, and Paul Bogle.
The Ambassador entered with his right hand outstretched for a firm handshake. He ushered me into his private office. He wanted to chat, and did. The subjects touched on included the Congo, homogeneity, Christianity and Buddhism.
The menu at the restaurant in the basement of the five star Hotel Okura offered a variety of cuisine choices. I asked the Ambassador to suggest what I should have and he graciously compiled: steak-medium, rice and lettuce salad. Two hours seemd insufficient for conversation and eating. The other patrons appeared to be diplomats and embassy officials.
The embassy car arrived back at 3:00 pm. I shared the back seat with the Ambassador. He instructed his driver to take him back to the embassy, then drive me to the nearest metro station entrance at Toranomon station.
Very little transpired between myself and the Japanese chauffeur, who spoke understandable English.
Minutes later, I was on my way back home, using the Ginza Line. A letter, thanking the Ambassador, began to formulate in my thoughts, as I journeyed.
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