Made in Japan and Other Japanese Business Novels

Tamae K. Prindle

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9780873325295
• eBook ISBN: 9781315288956
• Topic: Scienze sociali
• Subtopic: Studi regionali

The term "business novel" is a translation of the Japanese word kezai shosetsu, which may be translated literally as * 'economy novel.'' Critic Makoto Sataka first used the word "business" in place of "economy" in his monograph How to Read Business Novels (1980).l Business novels are "popular novels" (taishu bungaku) widely read by Japanese businessmen, their wives, students, and other professionals.. Business novels were recognized as a * 'field'' or a literary sub-genre in the late 1950s. It was Saburo Shiroyama's Export (Yushutsu) (1957), if not his Kinjo the Corporate Bouncer (Sokaiya Kinjo) (1959), which marshalled their enormous popularity. The seven short works in this collection represent prototypes of the business novel. Their distinctive features are that business activities motivate plot developments, although psycho-socio-cultural elements are tightly interwoven.

Kinjō the Corporate Bouncer

Saburō Shiroyama

I

“Aye!”

“Approved!”

“It’s been decided unanimously that this bill …” shouted President Ohmura, tousling his gray hair. His voice was wiped out by the waves of yelling and did not reach Kinjō and Mamiya, two men sitting by the rear exit of the conference room. Kinjō always chose this spot in shareholders’ meetings because it commanded a full view of the participants’ backs. There were only a few empty seats.

The older man had jet black hair. No loose skin hung from his oval face, which was as firm as a wood carving. He looked perfectly handsome at a glance, but on closer look, his developed jaw revealed his inner strength. An old sword scar on the upper lid of his right eye glistened pink every time he blinked. The man had his arms folded. Newcomers to stock meetings felt uneasy sitting in front of this peculiar man.

The old man looked well advanced in years, yet full of vitality. While waiting for the meeting to start, the newcomers glanced at this man, being cautious at the same time not to look offensive. They became particularly curious when a stockholder or an acquaintance went close and whispered in his ear. Taking advantage of these occasions, they turned back to take a closer look.

That’s Kinjō Naitō, doyen of sōkaiyas. He used to be called Killer Kinjō. He actually killed a man in a meeting. He cut the man with a Japanese sword. The blood splashed to the ceiling….

Professional stockbrokers and sōkaiyas, who used the rear door, would bow slightly, or cast a friendly glance at Kinjō each time they walked by him. These professionals were receptive to Kinjō’s request that greetings be made inconspicuously. Kinjō returned a nod in his usual posture of eyes slightly open and arms folded. He maintained this position from the time he sat down until he got up to leave. The proceedings were not worth staying awake. Agreements with forty, fifty, sometimes one hundred sōkaiyas were made prior to stockholders’ meetings. Kinjō had even rehearsed scenarios with those sōkaiyas who had the potential to disrupt his plans by way of asking impertinent questions. Kinjō had sixty years’ experience in this field. He was faultless in distributing alms and honorariums. No sōkaiya would venture to confront Kinjō even if unfairly treated. An actual shareholders’ meeting, then, was no more than a ritual at which Kinjō monitored the flawlessness of his prearrangements. With his help, shareholders’ meetings held by mammoth corporations—a several hundred million yen venture, a multi-billion yen venture, or one with forty or fifty thousand shareholders—were concluded in no time. The length of the session, the loudness of the applause, or the fluency of the chairman made some difference, but most meetings ended in several minutes or ten minutes at the most. The gains and losses of the company in the past half year were approved, amendments were passed, and the new board of directors of large corporations for the next several years was elected in that brief period of time. It was the continuous heckling by the sōkaiya, “No objections!” “Point of order!” and their imposing applause that forced the ritual ahead. There was no chance for timid stockholders to speak. Sōkaiyas were there to seal off questions, to say nothing of objections.

“The meeting is adjourned,” the wavering voice of Ohmura, chairman of the assembly and president of the bank, echoed in the hall. A final burst of applause roared out. Mamiya impulsively looked at his watch: four minutes from the opening remarks. The brevity of this meeting hardly justified the anxiety felt by the attendants. The sōkaiyas got up. Some still clapped as they walked out of the hall. The acoustic vortex moved toward Kinjō.

“The meeting is over, Sir,” Mamiya told Kinjō in a businesslike tone.

Kinjō, however, made no move to stand up. He opened his eyes slightly wider and watched the ebbing tide of people.

“It’s over with no problem,” whispered Mamiya once again. He meant to brighten Kinjō’s spirit by adding, “with no problem,” but Kinjō did not answer. His eyelids drooped under the weight of fatigue. Seen at close range, nearly eighty years of life were marked in the old sōkaiya’s face. Mamiya stared at Kinjō to examine if the meeting had ravaged his old body, still convalescing from illness.

“With problems,” a low but distinct voice came back. “Ohgiyama’s men didn’t show up,” added Kinjō while Mamiya searched for the next word to say.

“… But Izumi was here.”

“By himself. He came just to check on us.”

“Only to check on us?”

“Ohgiyama and his group played it easy this time, but they are scheming at something elsewhere.” Kinjō’s voice was calm but firm.

“What can it be?” asked Mamiya impatiently.

Kinjō smiled for the first time as he said, “You are a sōkaiya, too. Figure it out for yourself.”

A wave of people breaking off from the crowd now surrounded Kinjō.

“I’m glad that things worked out well.”

“It was worth making all your effort to be here, wasn’t it?”

“The Ohgiyama camp seems to have chickened out.”

Most of those who spoke with ease were the affiliates of securities companies. They seldom attended these meetings. Had the meeting lasted any longer, this cohort would have been the first to exclaim, “The Taiyō Bank is in trouble!” and to undermine its share prices.

Kinjō wanted to be left alone, but responded to these greeters with a show of pride that he deserved their compliments. Some sōkaiyas bowed wordlessly as they walked past. Amateur shareholders strolled out, disappointed by the unexpected brevity of the meeting. They had the look of having left something behind by mistake.

“Ladies and gentlemen, those who have not picked up a souvenir box, please stop at the reception table….” The announcement came from a man to whom the chairman had turned over the microphone. Now, a fresh and pithy male voice compelled the lazily shuffling guests to move outside.

Attendants had anticipated that major shareholder Tomiaki Ohgiyama’s family would stir up a commotion at today’s 59th regular shareholders’ meeting.

Ohgiyama was the manager of a chain of recreation facilities including cabarets and skating arenas. No one knew his background before World War II. All that was known was that he had made a mint during the war by trucking blackmarket goods. After the war, he turned this profit into Taiyō Bank shares. This being done, the big shareholder had only to pressure the bank to finance his amusement industry.

Banks cower at shareholders’ swashbuckling. Ohgiyama aimed for this soft spot when he raised funds from the Taigin.¹ He was shrewd. He took out 3.5 million yen² to start, 6 million yen next, and 8.5 million yen the third time around; the total of the three loans was 18 million yen. He made no gesture of paying back his loans after the first or even the second due date. Instead, he went on to demand an additional loan of 10 million yen. Rumors started to flow: “Ohgiyama thinks that money belongs to him once it is put in his pocket.” The Taiyō Bank was stirred into action. It demanded that Ohgiyama pay his debt and, at the same time, tried to confiscate his deposit.

Ohgiyama maneuvered to reverse the charges. Claiming that the bank gave out “reckless loans,” he sued the delinquent board of directors. In this, he used his own “irresponsible loan” as an example of sloppy management. Ohgiyama already held over three percent of the bank’s shares. These shares entitled him to appeal, in the name of Commercial Law Article 237, to convene an emergency stockholders’ meeting. Upon the bank’s refusal to convene a shareholders’ special meeting, he charged the bank with “managerial flaws,” and brought the case to a local court. It took clever maneuvering by the bank lawyers to stamp out the suit. This was a matter of only a month ago. Ohgiyama was outdone by the bank, but it was not beside the mark to suspect that he would look for another chance. It was because of this fear that Kinjō accepted Taigin President Ohmura’s request to direct the shareholders’ meeting and dragged his aged and convalescing body to the meeting.

Mamiya surveyed the people still dawdling in the hall. The majority had gone out. Ohgiyama had not come to begin with. Mamiya had met Ohgiyama only once, but his striking appearance was seared indelibly on his mind. His physique was a contrast to Kinjō’s. He was stubby, slightly bent forward, and sallow faced. Loose folds of skin, drooping from his cheeks to his jaws, were wrinkled in vertical lines around his mouth. His broad face directly joined his torso. His small eyes were as immobile as if welded in. Mamiya had heard that Ohgiyama had weak eyesight and was nearly blind. Partly because of this, the old man walked leaning on a young woman. The woman was in her twenties; she was perhaps the select beauty out of all the bars Ohgiyama patronized. The old man, in his grubby black kimono, only reached the woman’s shoulders, as she wore high heels. Together, the pair resembled a wilted leaf clinging to a large white flower. Yet one glance was enough to tell that the flower was no heavier than a dewdrop, up against Ohgiyama’s stubby body and heavy spirit.

One couldn’t possibly miss Ohgiyama if he had come. His sons, hot tempered Tomio and Tomijirō, were also absent. Only sōkaiya Izumi, who was then employed by the Ohgiyama faction, had attended, but this gigantic sumō wrestler had already slipped out. What was the Ohgiyama family plotting to do? Pacing behind Kinjō, who finally got onto his feet, Mamiya kept looking back toward the conference hall, as if trying to sniff out the scent of Ohgiyama’s cigarettes.

II

Kinjō broke out in a cold shiver after coming home from the general assembly and went straight to bed. He only poked twice at his dinner with his chopsticks. At seven o’clock, he said to his wife, Moto, who was sitting by his pillow, “Ohmura-san³ is here; help me put on my half coat.” A car had just come to a screeching halt in the darkness of the neighborhood, and it seemed that Kinjō had taken the sound to be President Ohmura’s visit. Moto tilted her head quizzically, but got up without a word. By the time his lattice door was pushed open with a gentle sound, Kinjō had sat up on his bed and had put on his half coat with Moto’s help. Mamiya had only to go to the entrance hall to find that Kinjō had guessed right. Probably because Ohmura was on his way home from the party to celebrate the successful stockholders’ meeting, his cheeks were rosy and shiny.

“I’m truly grateful to you for today’s success,” said Ohmura jovially as he opened the sliding door to Kinjō’s room. But he halted as if he had tripped over Kinjō’s miserable condition.

“Gotten worse again?” asked Ohmura.

“He seems to have the chills,” enjoined Moto.

“You should lie down. Mrs. Naitō, please have him lie down.”

Kinjō brushed off Moto’s hands, saying, “I’ll suit myself after our business talk is over.” He protested against his guest, who kept insisting that he lie down, and started talking in a slightly husky baritone voice about what he had mentioned to Mamiya after the assembly. The bank president’s silver hair and the bright glow on his red cheeks gradually lost luster as he listened to Kinjō.

“What do you think Ohgiyama is doing?” said the president with a deep sigh.

“As I’ve told my research assistant,” Kinjō continued without looking at Mamiya, “Ohgiyama will call for an emergency meeting.”

“An emergency meeting?” “Another special meeting?” Mamiya and the president exclaimed in unison.

“But Ohgiyama has just missed the chance to convene a special meeting,” protested Ohmura.

“That’s over. That motion was based on Commercial Law Article 237. There’s another way to summon a special assembly, right, Mamiya?”

Mamiya shook his head ambiguously.

“Commercial Law, Article 294.” Prefacing his narration, Kinjō closed his eyes. “In cases where there is any cause to supect that there is a dishonest act or a grave fact in contravention of a law or ordinance or of the Articles of Incorporation in relation to the administration of the company’s affairs, shareholders who hold shares representing not less than one-tenth of the total number of issued shares may apply to the Court for the appointment of an inspector whose duty shall be to examine the affairs of the company and the state of its property.”⁴

“More than ten percent?” The president let out a gasp.

“Ohgiyama will open a frontal assault on the ‘untrustworthy staff in the coming special assembly.” Kinjō put force into his voice. “The mere rumor that Ohgiyama would fight today has depressed the price of your stock. That’s all they wanted. They must have frantically bought the devalued shares until the bitter end of the meeting.”

The president put his chubby, womanlike hand on his forehead. He looked as if he were trying to find a weakness in Kinjō’s foresight, which had never before proven faulty.

“We must closely watch the movement of the share prices.” So saying, Mamiya found himself frightened by the vision of the old, semiblind Ohgiyama walking toward him, surrounded by a dark gray mist.

Presently, the president looked up at Kinjō, as if devouring the other’s face with his eyes.

“Even if he stores up shares, the court verdict must stay the same.”

“There’s no telling. You will do well to give your lawyer, Ishida, about one million yen.”

Ishida was Taigin’s company lawyer who had protected the bank from Ohgiyama in the previous meeting.

“I’ve already given Ishida-kun⁵ half a million yen,” replied the president immediately.

“I’m not talking about the payment for what he has done. This is a separate issue.”

“Why give so much, then?...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• MADE IN JAPAN
• SILVER SANCTUARY
• KINJŌ THE CORPORATE BOUNCER
• IN LOS ANGELES
• FROM PARIS
• THE BABY BOOM GENERATION
• GIANTS AND TOYS