"Just not a black man"

My friend has a mistress.  He introduced me to her long ago and we've since met several times.  I like her.  With her he's happy.  That I've also met his wife complicates things.  That he and his wife share no love between them makes me sad.  Nothing about this scenario is easy.

Kimiko (not her real name) and I met for coffee several months back.  She told me of my friend's promise to her and her parents that he'd marry her.  He even promised a date.  This was news to me.  Not having heard him say anything about actually marrying her I vowed to stay silent and listen without comment.

As she talked one fact became obvious.  Neither Kimiko nor my friend had told her parents he's married or that he has children.  Breaking my vow of silence I ask why.

"My mother gave me two conditions on men I can't marry," Kimiko tells me.  "One is that she doesn't want me to marry a man who already has kids, and another," she pauses, "don't get mad, okay?" and I promise I won't (more on this in a minute), "my mother said, 'just not a black man.'"

Promising not to get angry or offended by what one is about to hear before actually hearing is a bad idea.  I know this.  Had I known what was coming I wouldn't have promised not to take offense.  Not being blessed with a poker face, I chose to focus on the tea in front of me, swirling the spoon hoping I wasn't showing my true feelings.

There's an unspoken and undocumented fact in Japan.  It's a secret because no one openly discusses it, but I argue most Japanese know of this sentiment.  There's a caste system in Japan.

To be clear, I'm not referring to the caste system students learn about in school.  In the feudal days, there was an open system pegging who belonged in what rank.  Commonly known as shinokosho, nothing about this is a secret.  At the top, the shi refer to the samurai.  Then come the no, the farmers.  Then the ko, artisans and craftsmen (they were mostly men), and then the sho, or the merchants.  Absent from this list is the eta, or burakumin as they're known today.  As non-humans or subhuman, lowest of the low, they don't even rank or warrant mention.  This is not the secret.  This system is a part of Japanese history.

The caste system of today is about race.  Who you are, how special you are, how and where you rank is Japanese society is, while never openly acknowledged determined by race.  More specifically, it's about skin color.  It breaks down like this:  Caucasians, Japanese, other Asians, and then a gradual gradation of skin color, those who are darkest at the bottom.  This means you can be African-American, Canadian or French or Danish of African descent, but citizenship in these countries will do nothing for you.  This is this ranking Kimiko's mother was referring to.

I should also point out a side note as it refers to my particular situation.  There's a parallel caste system which ranks men always higher than women.  That means the distinction of who's over whom between Japanese men and Caucasian women is a blur.  Whites trump Japanese but men trump women.  Who ranks higher then?  No one openly discusses this either.

It takes a discussion held behind closed doors with family members for true feelings to come out.  Kimiko's mother is serious about her wish for her daughter not to marry a black man.  I try to spin this statement by saying to myself Kimiko feels comfortable enough to share with me her mother's comments, which under normal circumstances should never be uttered.  What's unclear to me is whether there's a sense of how truly offensive this is.

On a different note, Kimiko and I have not met since that day.  We're approaching six months.  I'm left wondering if she feels she shared something too private, that she did offend me, or that she left that day embarrassed by her mother's instructions.

Perhaps Kimiko and I will not meet again.  My friend told me the other day he has no intention of marrying her.  Kimiko's mother's words, Kimiko's own situation and all that surrounds this messiness is a particularly unnerving part of life in Japan.  Some days I have more questions than answers.  That day with Kimiko was one of those days.

The truth about lying

Here we go again.  I'm back in Japan, and after getting out of bed way too early for my taste (all thanks to jet lag) I spent the morning looking at apartments.  From the outside, that is.  Where do I want to live?  How much do I want to spend on rent?  I did my homework.  I asked for advice.  Following it, mostly, I took my print outs and combed the streets. 

Looking at buildings only tells me so much.  I know this, of course.  It's the inside that matters.  I want space, a toilet that sprays warm water, air conditioning, an elevator.  I need to get inside.  Before I do, however, I want to walk the distance from the nearest train station.  Is there a supermarket nearby?  A Chinese restaurant?  I walk telling myself research is good.

"Except you need to just go to one of the rental agencies and make the appointments to get inside."  My Japanese Alpha male points this out, not as criticism but as fact.  (He's not "my" Alpha male, per se.  Just one of the few remaining in Japan.)
"I know," I sigh and try not to whine.  "I just don't want to deal with the 'we-don't-rent-to-foreigners' thing again.  Can't you come with me?"
"Not for awhile." 
I don't say anything.
"Just do it."  Now he's annoyed.  "Just go.  It'll do you good.  You need to know how to do this."
And, now I'm annoyed.  I'm annoyed that he's annoyed, and I'm annoyed because he's right.
"Okay.  Fine.  I'll go."
"Let me know what they say."
"I will."
"Gotta go.  I'll call later."  With that, I'm on my own.

I pick one of the rental agencies from the many folded-over sheets I'm carrying with me.  That I can't find the place after 15 minutes of walking is a bad omen.  The map says it's just right around this corner.  It's not.

I stumble upon it (another bad omen) and walk in, say hello, sit down, and show them the apartments their agency lists, and ask if I could see one.

"Do you have a guarantor?"
"Yes.  Does he need to come with me?"
"Is he a family member?"
What?  I'm confused.  No, he's not a family member.  I'm here on my own.
"No," I say slowly and try not to make too much eye contact.
"He's my sponsor.  My employer."
"Ah, well, your guarantor needs to be an immediate family member."
I'm stunned.  No way.  This is news to me.  All along, I've been told my guarantor needs to be someone that the rental agency can go to in case I bail, reneging on my contractual obligations.  An employer, a boss would make a much better guarantor than my father, I think to myself.
"Except that my family doesn't live here," I say.  "Can't I use the president of the company I'm working for as my guarantor?"
Big sigh.  "Aaah, sorry, no."  Then, "What kind of company is it?"  Really?  What does this have to do with anything?  I tell him.  It doesn't change anything.  So, why ask? 

Something isn't right.  I'm not buying this.
"It's very hard to rent a place as a foreigner as you know, which is why my visa sponsor is willing to be my guarantor."
"Sorry, it needs to be an immediate family member."
Who is not here with me, of course.  I almost ask him, "So if my husband were here with me and we couldn't pay the rent you don't think he and I would bail on our contract together?" but I don't.

Truth is cloaked with sugar and icing in Japan.  Truth is used when convenient.  As are untruths.  I'm reminded of an article my mother wrote years ago which I some how ended up reading one day.  It had something to do with the concept of truth-telling (or not) in Japan.  She used me as an example.  Evidently, my completely untrue responses to "Have you brushed your teeth?" were not at all convincing.  Here I thought I was getting away with a). not having to brush my teeth before bed, and b). lying about it, and all along my mother knew I was not being honest.  Stunned she saw through me, I think I brushed my teeth more regularly there for awhile after reading what she wrote.

I know the line between truth and lies is often fuzzy in Japan.  The delicate dance over when to be completely honest and when to tiptoe around it is choreography I'm accustomed to dealing with.....except when it has to do with why I can't rent an apartment, get a cell phone contract, or the like. 

I'm fine.  Annoyed, but fine.  I will find an apartment.  It might not happen the way I had hoped or planned, but I will.  What I can't predict is how I will react to those who continue to tell me as they sigh and cock their heads, why I'm not a suitable tenant.  Then again, the 10-year old me lied to my mother about (not) brushing my teeth.  Clearly, I'm capable of lying.  Or, shall I say, "I'm capably of lying, too"?  It takes two to tango, rental-agency man.  You just may have found yourself a partner.