I had spent the first seven years of my life in Japan, but I had forgotten the experience of day-to-day living, and besides, a great deal had changed since I had left with my father to travel to New Britain in 1935. Paradoxically, although Anna and I spoke the Japanese language with commendable fluency, we knew very little about the people. My knowledge was almost entirely based on my father’s reminiscences and his academic interest in Japanese culture. Putting it crudely, as an adult the closest I had come to the Japanese in any numbers was when they’d charged me in battle with fixed bayonets and, in turn, I had mowed them down with an Owen submachine-gun. Anna’s exposure to Japanese culture was, to say the least, problematic. Her mentor, Konoe Akira, had instructed her only in the things that interested him. These were mostly to do with how she deported herself, the niceties of language, her manners and appearance and the appreciation of art.
