A Memoir of "Onii-chan"
Hiroko Koyama, President of Shinji Shumeikai

Ms Hiroko Koyama, known to Shumei members by the honorific "Kaicho-Sensei," is the President of Shumei. In honor of Mikotosama, we present our readers with Kaicho-Sensei's words about her brother, which she delivered after his funeral. In this account, Kaicho-Sensei refers to the sorrowful time many years before when she was grieving the sudden death of her husband, and of her big brother’s efforts to re-awaken her to life.

A strikingly clear blue sky, a harshly glaring sun, the chirping of cicadas in chorus showered throughout dense, dark green leaves on trees set in rows. A scorching sun at the height of summer always takes me back to just such a summer over 20 years ago, when I was overwhelmed by tragedy, a bolt from the blue. I was so shocked that I couldn't be calm and composed enough to appreciate the warm-hearted kindness of my mother. I was so young and inexperienced.

The fact of the matter was my brother, Mikotosama, decided he was going to take his "feeble sister" on a journey overseas. At that time, travelers could take only five hundred dollars out of the country, so that it was difficult for ordinary people to go for a trip abroad--especially to Europe or America. My brother had the experience of having lived in the States, and had come to speak English well. I could speak English only well enough to exchange greetings because I had learned it solely in school. Mikotosama was persistent, and our itinerary was steadily developed by him. I was scared and saddened at the thought of leaving Japan. Reluctant and scared though I was, almost tortured by a fear of being homesick, I was finally cornered and I was consequently driven to the Haneda Airport in Tokyo around the middle of June for the beginning of our journey.

Our first stop in Europe was the Netherlands. Amsterdam had brown bricked apartments standing in neatly arranged stately rows along both sides of the streets. There were sheer, white lace curtains trimming their windows. I also saw red or pink blossoms in flowerpots arranged outside of the windows, blooming gloriously enough to attract passersby. All of these sights were just like the scenes I had seen in picture books as a child and had yearned to see one day. I said, "Everything is so wonderful here, isn't it?" Mikotosama sniffed at me, saying, "You are just a visitor from the country. You can see this everywhere around here, it is so common." But I think men and women differ in their sensibilities. Whatever he might have said, everything looked fantastic to me.

In Hamburg, Germany, a representative of a Japanese firm was so kind as to take us on a picnic with his family; and, he took us to a very fine restaurant to treat us to deer meat steak, which is served only at such a first-class place. My brother looked very happy. One day he saw an instant photo shop at a certain station. He said, "Let's take our picture as a memento, and send it home!" We played the fool a bit, sitting side by side with our heads close to each other. To this day, this photo retains a freshness of color you see only in a recently printed photograph.

Another thing. By chance, we came across Mr. & Mrs. Michida at three different locations during our trip. Mrs. Yoshiko Michida has been one of my close friends since elementary school. I had learnt from a letter she had sent to me that her husband had finished a year's work in America as a professor, and that they were coming back to Japan by way of Europe. But she didn't mention an itinerary. When we got onto the train at Zermatt, Switzerland, we encountered them. I talked quite a lot with her and was tearful as it brought home to mind.

At one hotel in Switzerland, Mikotosama and I were mistaken for newlyweds. At dinner, an ensemble of yodelers began to entertain us, and other guests joined in. It was so embarrassing. We came across Mrs. Michida in France, also. As we were taking this trip cheaply like students, we stayed at hostels and inns. The Michidas were so kind as to treat us to wonderful French food at a first-class hotel. We enjoyed real French food thanks to their generosity. My brother especially enjoyed the moule soup--so much so that he used to look for it on the menu after that whenever he went to a restaurant.

We usually had meals at self-service cafes, though he once said in Paris, "I want to buy you a meal of the finest food in the world." He reserved seats at the famous Maxim's. We went there dressed as nicely as possible, but we were treated in a humiliating way--little pride as we had at that time. The fact is that our table had been set on the second floor beside the stairs; we weren't ushered into the dining room. I'd like to think it was because every table was full. I watched ladies and gentlemen who were dressed up ushered to the room parted by a curtain, and I heard cheerful voices coming to us from there. I actually wasn't happy with the meal as it tasted too sweet for me, which I found annoying. Maybe that was because we were treated in that manner.

In Venice, Italy, my brother had a good time talking with students from UCLA who came to spend their holidays there. My walking shoes had become worn out by that part of the trip, and Mikotosama gave me a pair of sandals as a birthday present. I appreciated his kind consideration very much--all the more so because he often seemed so forceful and so very "older-brotherish" that his tender and sensitive care of me warmed my heart.
  That summer in Rome was extremely hot. We stayed in a hotel well-known from the movie "Termini Station", located close to Termini. We walked and walked throughout the city, which was like a treasury of history and art. My brother made it a principle to keep on walking, having an eight-millimeter movie camera on his shoulder, a camera around his neck and a map in his hand. I just tried to catch up with him, being afraid I should be left behind! The city was so vast, with ruins of ancient Rome and squares here and there. I kept following my brother, so full of vitality and interested in seeing everything he could. We looked around so many places that I could hardly remember where we went. Returning to the hotel, I became dead tired from doing our laundry. My brother asked me if I wanted to go out or not, but I said, "Why don't you go out on your own--wherever you want to." He went out, and he enjoyed that night in the city. When he came in he wrote a letter to his girlfriend--his future wife Chikako.

The whole city of Florence, a quite ancient city, was also like a museum with pictures, sculpture, art-works and cathedrals. We looked around everywhere.
When we walked around the Isle of Capri, surrounded by the blue sea, a group of young hippies followed us and didn't seem to want to leave us. It seemed rare for them to see Oriental people.

It was September when we went to America after enjoying Spain with the deep blue sky behind reddish-brown houses, and Portugal with pure white houses shining in the crystal blue sky.

Different from Europe, America--with its big cars driving fast along large roads and people being very active--as a country, seemed very fresh. There were no siestas as we'd found throughout Europe. Supermarkets and cafeterias were well equipped, and fresh vegetables were plentiful. As if we were visitors from the country, we took pictures at the top of the Empire State Building in New York, the tallest building in the world at that time. I didn't have the courage to enter Tiffany's, the world-famous jewelry store, also renowned for the movie with the same name “Breakfast at Tiffany's.” Although my brother insisted on going in, I was afraid we would be expelled because we appeared so travel-worn.

It was very humid in Miami that summer. We felt as if we were in a steam bath. We joined a deep-sea fishing tour. I got seasick, while my brother successfully caught a big game-fish. It really took a lot to land the fish, which was stuffed and sent home to Japan later.

There seemed many places in Europe where people cannot speak English. As for my brother, America was like his home country. He easily applied for visas to Mexico, and we soon flew to Mexico City. In Acapulco, we saw a show done by native divers where they dive from high cliffs into the sea. We also enjoyed a glass of salty tequila liquor.

Los Angeles was the end of our trip. I was deeply homesick for Japan by that time. However, my brother said to me, "I'll leave Hiroko here." He said that as if he were leaving his baggage behind! It had always been our plan for me to stay on in Los Angeles. But, as I was not much of an extrovert, I was already regretting that I was not going back home. When I went to the airport to see my brother off, I was filled with anxiety at being left alone in America. It was such a vast land. I already missed my brother, even though we had quarreled often during the trip.

Looking back on those days, I realize I depended on my brother for everything, especially as I was not good at speaking other languages. I was certain I would have been able to enjoy much more had I at least been able to speak English. Therefore, I decided to learn that language.

Mikotosama and I were typical brother and sister; he talked tough, while I was offended. But this was only superficial and in no way detracted from the love and esteem we held for one another. My dearest brother passed away so early.

I had been calling him "Onii-chan," which means “Big-Brother,” since I was a child. I was needlessly concerned that Onii-chan was too childish a name for him especially after he became "Kaicho-Sensei" and finally "Mikotosama". I will never again be able to hear his answer, "What “Opi” (his nickname for me)?", when I call him Onii-chan.

Now in the summer heat, when I look at the sky with not a speck of a cloud, I recall those days of years ago when I ran to catch up with my tough, big brother, walking fast, under the hot sunshine of a mid-summer's sun.