Norman Spinrad - A Thing of Beauty

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NORMAN SPINRAD

A Thing of Beauty

"I once showed some native hunters, who were as keen sighted as hawks, magazine pictures in which

any of our children would have instantly recognized human figures. But my hunters turned the

pictures round and round until one of them, tracing the outlines with his finger, finally

exclaimed: 'These are white men.' It was hailed by all as a great discovery" (C. G. Jung, Modern

Man in Search of a Soul). We can make no greater mistake than to believe what we see is seen by

everyone else.

"There's a gentleman by the name of Mr. Shiburo Ito to see you," my intercom said. "He is

interested in the purchase of an historic artifact of some significance."

While I waited for him to enter my private office, I had computer central display his specs on the

screen discreetly built into the back of my desk. My Mr. Ito was none other than Ito of Ito

Freight Boosters of Osaka; there was no need to purchase a readout from Dun & Bradstreet's private

banks. 1f Shiburo Ito of Ito, Boosters wrote a check for anything short of the national debt, it

could be relied upon not to bounce.

The slight, balding man who glided into my office wore a red silk kimono with a richly brocaded

black obi, Mendocino needlepoint by the look of it. No doubt back in the miasmic smog of Osaka, he

bonged the peons with the latest skins from Savile Row. Everything about him was just so; he

purchased confidently on that razor edge between class and ostentation that only the Japanese can

handle with such grace, and then only when they have millions of hard yen to back them up. Mr. Ito

would be no sucker. He would want whatever he wanted for precise reasons all his own, and would

not be budgeable from the center of his desires. The typical heavyweight Japanese businessman, a

prime example of the breed that's pushed us out of the center of the international arena.

Mr. Ito bowed almost imperceptibly as he handed me his card. I countered by merely bobbing my head

in his direction and remaining seated. These face and posture games may seem ridiculous, but you

can't do business with the Japanese without playing them.

As he took a seat before me, Ito drew a black cylinder from the sleeve of his kimono and

ceremoniously place it on the desk before me.

"I have been given to understand that you are a connoisseur of Filmore posters of the early-to-mid

1960s period, Mr. Harris," he said. "The repute of your collection has penetrated even to the

environs of Osaka and Kyoto, where I make my habitation. Please permit me to make this minor

addition. The thought that a contribution of mint may repose in such illustrious surroundings will

afford me much pleasure and place me forever in your debt."

My hands trembled as I unwrapped the poster. With his financial resources, Ito's polite little

gift could be almost anything but disappointing. My daddy loved to brag about the old expense

account days when American businessmen ran things, but you had to admit that the fringe benefits

of business Japanese style had plenty to recommend them.

But when I got the gift open, it took a real effort not to lose points by whistling out loud. For

what I was holding was nothing less than a mint example of the very first Grateful Dead poster in

subtle black and gray, a super-rare item, not available for any amount of sheer purchasing power.

I dared not inquire as to how Mr. Ito had acquired it. We simply shared a long, silent moment

contemplating the poster, its beauty and historicity transcending whatever questionable events

might have transpired to bring us together in its presence.

How could I not like Mr. Ito now? Who can say that the Japanese occupy their present international

position by economic might alone?

"I hope I may be afforded the opportunity to please your sensibilities as you have pleased mine,

Mr. Ito," I finally said. That was the way to phrase it; you didn't

thank them for a gift like this, and you brought them around to business as obliquely as possible.

Ito suddenly became obviously embarrassed, even furtive. "Forgive me my boldness, Mr.

Harris, but I have hopes that you may be able to assist me in resolving a domestic matter of some

delicacy."

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Norman Spinrad - A Thing of Beauty

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