Shibumi by Trevanian Page B

proceeds will go for your maintenance and instruction in Japan.”
    “As you think best, sir.”
    “Good. Tell me, Nikko. Will you miss Shanghai?”
    Nicholai considered for a second. “No.”
    “Will you feel lonely in Japan?”
    Nicholai considered for a second. “Yes.”
    “I shall write to you.”
    “Often?”
    “No, not often. Once a month. But you must write to me as often as you feel the need to. Perhaps you will be less lonely than you fear. There are other young people studying with Otake-san. And when you have doubts, ideas, questions, you will find Otake-san a valuable person to discuss them with. He will listen with interest, but will not burden you with advice.” The General smiled. “Although I think you may find one of my friend’s habits of speech a little disconcerting at times. He speaks of everything in terms of Gô. All of life, for him, is a simplified paradigm of Gô.”
    “He sounds as though I shall like him, sir.”
    “I am sure you will. He is a man who has all my respect. He possesses a quality of… how to express it?… of
shibumi.”
    “Shibumi,
sir?” Nicholai knew the word, but only as it applied to gardens or architecture, where it connoted an understated beauty. “How are you using the term, sir?”
    “Oh, vaguely. And incorrectly, I suspect. A blundering attempt to describe an ineffable quality. As you know,
shibumi
has to do with great refinement underlying commonplace appearances. It is a statement so correct that it does not have to be bold, so poignant it does not have to be pretty, so true it does not have to be real.
Shibumi
is understanding, rather than knowledge. Eloquent silence. In demeanor, it is modesty without pudency. In art, where the spirit of
shibumi
takes the form of
sabi,
it is elegant simplicity, articulate brevity. In philosophy, where
shibumi
emerges as
wabi,
it is spiritual tranquility that is not passive; it is being without the angst of becoming. And in the personality of a man, it is… how does one say it? Authority without domination? Something like that.”
    Nicholai’s imagination was galvanized by the concept of
shibumi.
No other ideal had ever touched him so. “How does one achieve this
shibumi,
sir?”
    “One does not achieve it, one… discovers it. And only a few men of infinite refinement ever do that. Men like my friend Otake-san.”
    “Meaning that one must learn a great deal to arrive at
shibumi?”
    “Meaning, rather, that one must pass through knowledge and arrive at simplicity.”
    From that moment, Nicholai’s primary goal in life was to become a man of
shibumi;
a personality of overwhelming calm. It was a vocation open to him while, for reasons of breeding, education, and temperament, most vocations were closed. In pursuit of
shibumi
he could excel invisibly, without attracting the attention and vengeance of the tyrannical masses.
    Kishikawa-san took from beneath the tea table a small sandalwood box wrapped in plain cloth and put it into Nicholai’s hands. “It is a farewell gift, Nikko. A trifle.”
    Nicholai bowed his head in acceptance and held the package with great tenderness; he did not express his gratitude in inadequate words. This was his first conscious act of
shibumi.
    Although they spoke late into their last night together about what
shibumi
meant and might mean, in the deepest essential they did not understand one another. To the General,
shibumi
was a kind of submission; to Nicholai, it was a kind of power.
    Both were captives of their generations.
    Nicholai sailed for Japan on a ship carrying wounded soldiers back for family leave, awards, hospitalization, a life under the burden of mutilation. The yellow mud of the Yangtze followed the ship for miles out to sea, and it was not until the water began to blend from khaki to slate blue that Nicholai unfolded the simple cloth that wrapped Kishikawa-san’s farewell gift. Within a fragile sandalwood box, swathed in rich paper to prevent damage, were two
Gô ke
of