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"I'm going to work, save some money." "No indoor sports?" "Oh, that," Oliver said. "I don't know." Mark shook his head. "Well, love is one thing, but I'd keep in practice if I were you." "Maybe I'll buy a new sweater." "Now you're talking. What was his name again? George . . ." "Nakashima." "The man!" Mark drank. "So how did you hear about him?"
Oliver was immediately attracted to the photographs of walnut, cherry, and chestnut tables. The tops were made from wide slabs that had been left in their natural contours. Where the wood had separated as it dried, Nakashima had inlaid butterfly keys to prevent the splits from widening. The keys were made of contrasting woods rosewood and oak.
We passed to the right of the huge rock, which proved to be a detached and uninhabited islet, Hakashima; and in another moment we were steaming into the archipelago of Oki, between the lofty islands Chiburishima and Nakashima. The first impression was almost uncanny.
He put his toolboxes in the Jeep and covered them with a tarp. He dumped his clothes in piles on the back seat, shoes and boots on the floor. He filled a cartridge box with cassettes and put it in the front seat with the George Nakashima book.
He decided not to send her a letter; she had her hands full. If she needed cash, she knew how to get it. The arrangement gave him a warm feeling when he thought about it. He was useful to her, even if she never touched the money. There was a gift note inside the package: "This is the guy I was telling you about. Home in one month. Muni." The book was by George Nakashima, The Soul of a Tree.
One fragment, I remember, as it caught the slanting sun upon the irregularities of its summit, seemed an immense grey skull. At the base of this mountain, and facing the shore of Nakashima, rises a pyramidal mass of rock, covered with scraggy undergrowth, and several hundred feet in height Mongakuzan. On its desolate summit stands a little shrine.
That educated Japanese have shown real ability in the former sense can hardly be doubted by those who have read the writings of such men as Goro Takahashi, ex-president Hiroyuki Kato, Prof. Yujiro Motora, Prof. Rikizo Nakashima, or Dr. Tetsujiro Inouye. The philosophical brightness of many of Japan's foreign as well as home-trained scholars argues well for the philosophical ability of the nation.
What kind of work you do?" "I program computers. Used to teach math. I like to make things out of wood sometimes." That seemed to sum it up. Not a very big sum, Oliver thought. "You know George Nakashima? Made furniture?" "No." "Mmmm . . . He lived in Pennsylvania, died two, three years ago." His father reached inside his jacket and handed Oliver an envelope. "This yours," he said. "What is it?"
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