At the table opposite mine, in the Saigon café where I dine alone, slowly working my way through a brie and blue cheese omelette, there sits a Japanese husband and wife. They are both old, in their 80s, perhaps even in their 90s. The wife sits only slightly hunched toward the table, clearly having won the battle against a lifetime of gravity. She is impeccably dressed with a silk scarf delicately tied around her shoulders; not overly expensive, but, quality, just the same. The old husband, has brown sun spots on his hands, face and neck, and is working through some calculations on a piece of paper, a task he has clearly excelled at in the past but has since slowed down. The wife looks across the table serenely at her husband; something about her face: pleasant, good natured. I immediately want her as my grandmother. As she watches her husband, through the oversized round glasses that give her a slightly comic owl effect, she exhibits supreme patience. I get the feeling she may be more adept at these calculations than her husband, though this may be no more than the effect of her oversized glasses.
The couple talk easily, if only occasionally, completely at ease with their long periods of silence. It is the wife who holds the money and, at the finale of the complex calculations the husband has painstakingly worked through, she quietly and nonchalantly hands over enough to cover lunch. Their roles are clearly defined. They have been together forever. If one died, the other would surely follow within a short time.
Watching this old Japanese couple, my mind begins to muse on such matters as old age, marriage, coupledom. I wonder what the interior of their house in Japan looks like. I try to picture them in their house, perhaps in the countryside, everything neat and clean and in its rightful place; everything small, minimal.
The couple order noodles and begin to eat deftly, but slowly and carefully with the chopsticks, preferring to eat rather than talk. As I sit reading, I continue to glance at them over the top of my magazine. To call the wife’s face sweet would be an insult, but that’s what it is: sweet, calm, easy…patient. This is the wife who has taken care of this husband all these years; through all those nights when he was out drinking sake with work colleagues, she was at home, cleaning, cooking, patiently waiting for him to stagger home, smelling of the wine and the cigarettes. Not to lay blame with the husband, this was (and still is) exactly what was expected of a Japanese company man. These are good people, that much is easy to see. Perhaps he had risen to a management position in a large company. Perhaps he had gone to war. And through all of those years, she had remained loyal and patient, taking care of his needs.
I wonder if they have children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. I wonder if they are proud of their achievements, proud of their family and of their house. As I sit alone at my breakfast/lunch table, with my magazine, iPod and iPhone, gadgets that have come to replace family, I wonder how often, if at all, now in old age, that they ever leave each other’s side.
As I surface from my thoughts, an ocean of thoughts, I look up to see that, just as surreptitiously as they arrived, the old Japanese couple have quietly left the café, leaving the waitress to clear the remnants of their noodle lunch; I immediately miss them. I imagine them taking the steep stairs from their upstairs table carefully, with concentrated faces, eyesight not what it used to be. I wonder if he held his wife’s arm as they descended the stairs. How many more stairs would there be to descend? How many more noodle lunches? Probably not many. Even for me, a complete stranger to them, it’s difficult to accept that this fine Japanese man and his fine wife, a flower once in full bloom, will one day soon, cease to exist. I imagine them outside on the streets of this traffic-congested developing metropolis, attempting to navigate through a world that probably barely makes sense to them anymore, moving slowly, bravely, carefully; I wish them well.
