broken," added the kid.
Max could hear the clock on his desk ticking in the ensuing silence. He looked out the window. Rainy season. It dawned on him what had happened. "Good Lord," he thought, "there must have been dozens of people involved in this." Max had originally asked the kid for a breakdown of the figures.
Another situation involving a Japanese staff member must have caused ripples not only within the company, but with parents, friends, relatives, neighbors, and various legal advisors. The results could have been tragic, and all because of communication difficulties centering on the phenomenon of a "foreign boss."
The guy in charge of toting up all corporate costs in Japan was named Yamamoto. Every year for at least ten years Yamamoto would send a report to the New York Head Office. He included in his report all expenses—every single yen—spent by the Japan operation. The expenses included not only payroll, rent, and supplies, but the cost of cleaning office windows and sweeping lobby floors.
Soon after Max's arrival in Japan, he discovered that Yamamoto and the Head Office had two different accounting concepts in mind. The Head Office thought they were getting all those years incurred expenses, that is, expenses for which the company was committed, like the cost of a new computer, but was paying for over a period of years. Yamamoto, meanwhile, was merely sending actual expenses, or, checks issued during the fiscal year. These things make a big difference to accountants.
When Max revealed the discrepancy to the Head Office, all hell broke loose in the New York accounting and budgeting departments. In the flurry of exchanged telexes, Max found himself defending Yamamoto, since he had been doing what he understood he was supposed to do. The Head Office, meanwhile, referred to Yamamoto as an idiot, fool, incompetent, bonehead, jerk, and even worse. (Max felt obliged to shield Yamamoto from the comments of his peers in New York.)
The last telex in the exchange, from the Head Office to Max, was as follows:
| TO : | M. DANGER - TOKYO |
| FROM : | W. WYLIE - NEW YORK |
| RE : | YAMAMOTO EXPENSES |
TELL THE ABOVE WE WANT CORRECT NUMBERS ON HIS EXPENSES THIS TIME OR ELSE HE'S FINISHED.
WARM REGARDS, W. W.
Max was in Korea when the telex arrived. Max's secretary passed the telex on to Yamamoto. Yamamoto left and did not show up in the office for three days.
When he did come in, Yamamoto was accompanied by a family friend who was also an attorney. They sat on the couch in Max's office; Yamamoto had the look of a man totally shattered by life. (He clutched in his hand, wrinkled and no doubt tearstained, what Max later discovered to be the damning telex.)
Yamamoto couldn't speak. The attorney did the talking. He described "family conferences" during which it was decided that Yamamoto would "resign with honor"—provided the gaijin boss allowed it—so as to spare the two daughters who would soon be applying to "good colleges." Not only that, continued the lawyer, Yamamoto was prepared to pay everything back. (With this, Yamamoto began weeping.)
"Pay everything back?" asked Max.
"Yes," said the lawyer, "it's the custom in Japan."
And with that, Yamamoto spilled his guts. For perhaps a year, he had been making monthly visits to a bank on behalf of the company. He had submitted expense vouchers for the taxi rides to and fro. He knew the vouchers for the taxis totaled ¥14,750.
Yamamoto, however, confessed that he had been taking the subway.
The Columnist
"GOOD GOLLY ," exclaimed Max's companion as they stepped from the cool darkness of the LaForet Museum into the warm sunlight of a Tokyo autumn afternoon. Max's companion was ecstatic.
"That exhibition of late Edo calligraphy—particularly the demonstrated influence of badger-hair brushes on the evolution of stroke modification—was especially stimulating," continued the companion. He was rocking from toe to heel in excitement.
"Yes, it certainly was interesting," confirmed Max. "Let's get a drink."
"Well, I suppose we do have time for tea and cakes before the first act at the Kabuki Theater," said Max's companion. "But we don't want to miss the thrilling drum/samisen/ shakuhachi overture."
"Plus the clanging things," added Max.
"Particularly the clanging things," stated his companion.
The two gentlemen settled themselves in a cozy little teahouse staffed by ladies in black dresses with white aprons. The aprons served the purpose of distinguishing the waitresses from the middle-aged clientele.
"Do try the éclairs here," said Max's companion, "they're scrumptious." They, assuming one likes those things, were.
"And now," said the companion, wiping a globlet of whipped cream from the tip of his nose, "there's something I'd like to seriously discuss."
Max sat back in his chair. His companion took the napkin from under his chin and re-folded it along the original creases. He laid it carefully next to the oshibori (hot towel), which had earlier been rerolled and inserted into its torn plastic bag. A kindly waitress came by and refilled his cup of tea.
"I would like you to consider," said Max's companion, between tiny sips of tea, "writing a column on expat life for my weekly newspaper."
"What?"
"I would like you to consider ..."
"I heard what you said, but I've only been in Japan a short time," said Max.
"The clearer your eye will be for details," rejoined the famous Tokyo editor/publisher.
"But I'm not out and around much," said Max. "I'm always working."
"The more objective you'll be," rejoined the famous editor/publisher.
"All my spare time, what little there is, goes to my wife and children," said Max.
"The more wholesome your opinions for my readership," rejoined the famous editor/publisher.
"I can't write," said Max.
Someone dropped a tray of teacups and saucers in the rear of the restaurant.
"That could be a problem," the famous editor/publisher admitted after a minute or so. He had been making little mountains of sugar on the table and shaping them with his thumb and index finger.
"But," he continued, "if you submit the stories, I'll critique them for quality and then you'll rewrite them."
Max watched his companion playing with the sugar. By dipping his fingers in the tea, he was able to sprinkle little droplets of liquid on the white mountains. Instant erosion, with lakes and rivers.
"So it's a deal then?" asked the famous editor/publisher. He covered the table with his palms as the waitress brought the check.
"It's a deal," confirmed Max, giddy from the éclairs.
They shook hands, and Max spent the rest of the day at Kabuki licking his fingers.
It was a dark and stormy night when Jack Armstrong, President of the American Chamber of Commerce in Japan, savagely murdered his Executive Director and took off for Brazil with the Chamber funds. . . .
"Ah, actually you might want to be a little less specific when writing about existing institutions," suggested the famous editor/publisher after Max had submitted his first manuscript. "You don't want to write too close to home."
It was a dark and stormy night when General Mayhem