Roberto The first time I saw Roberto he was in a swordmaker’s workshop, preparing to light the forge. His body movements and gestures were so Japanese that my host father had to point out that he was obviously a foreigner – a round-eyed, barrel-chested Brazilian. Over the months he opened many doors for me, and, he was always at my side to make sure things went smoothly – with gentle pressure on my back so I would bow low and long enough…explaining why Roberto could spend 18 hours grinding a sword to perfection using nothing more than stone age tools. He had the discipline of a samurai warrior and an absolute obsession with anything to do with blades. Friday nights would find him in a Brazilian restaurant, hanging out with friends and tapping his feet to the Latino beat. He spoke five languages and had learned to read and write Japanese inless than a year.
Eventually I realized that it wasn’t just the sword that bound him to Japan. Yes, he’d had to learn the rules, but he’d also come to cherish the courtesies, the kindness, and the simple gestures that are so quintessentially Japanese. Somehow the tradeoff was worth it. |
||
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
Books&Films || LifeInJapan || AgainstAllOdds PhotoJourneys || AboutKarin || Home |
it was absolutely unacceptable for me to eat a candy bar while sitting on the train…or teaching me the proper way to hand over a business card. Yes, he looked Brazilian, but in almost every other way, he was Japanese.
I couldn’t understand why he accepted, with apparent equanimity, the slurs and slanders of a system that couldn’t reconcile itself to the landscape of his face.