Mayuyama Ayako
On August 15, 1945, Mayuyama Junkichi was in Suzhou when he heard the war had ended.
Called up in April 1943, he joined the Imperial Japanese Army in Tsudanuma, and by the end of April he had traveled from Shimonoseki to Busan and Tianjin, before arriving in Nanjing. After basic training he was assigned to a company. But then four months later health issues landed him in the Hangzhou Army Hospital. Released from hospital the next year in June 1944, he was sent to the front in the Operation Ichi-Go battles. For the next ten months he fought with the advancing army, moving upstream on the Yangzi River to Wu Chang, Yueyang, Changsha and Nanyue until they reached Guilin. Then in April 1945, they reversed back down the Yangzi to Suzhou where they were garrisoned. In August came the news, “Japan has been defeated. Atomic bombs have been dropped on Japan.” Mayuyama Junkichi was then 31 years old.
Why, might you ask, am I, born after the war, able to retrace Mayuyama Junkichi’s time in the army in such detail. It is thanks to the small pamphlet here on my desk, “Junkichi, a record from call up to demobilization.” In this record, it is striking how unnaturally he phrased what he wrote upon his arrival in Hangzhou. For example, “I want to become a splendid soldier and be useful in a direct way.... In my life, these years of army life will be the most splendid life.... Please don’t worry. If I am healthy and able to serve my country well, the Mayuyama family will be much congratulated.” We can surmise that Junkichi fully understood Japan’s strict censorship at that time. Indeed, the characters written by my grandfather are strange, not like those texts I know written by him. The text, which speaks to us of extreme stress, continues. “I am a stupid lazy horse for hire, of course they had to apply the whip.” The five pairs of eyeglasses he took with him to enlistment were smashed, broken. Before he knew it, only one pair of the five remained. My grandfather told me the story about his glasses, which sounds like it happened around then.
From a way of being in which he had honed his eyes in order to discern the particular qualities of each beautiful object he encountered, to bring joy to the faces of his clients, we can read into this self-condemnation the troubles faced by Junkichi when fated to be in this position. My heart hurts endlessly when I read those words. My grandfather also told me about his ten months in the army hospital in Hangzhou. The soldier in the bed next to him, who he had been chatting with until the day before, died. They dug a hole and buried him.
Conversely, the hospital had relatively stable postal services, and his records indicate that he could exchange postcards with people in Japan and receive the newspapers and books sent to him from Kyōbashi. Among the postcards that Junkichi sent to his family in Kyōbashi with the exception of the passages recording military sentiments he had to include to get the postcards past the censors his comments can be divided into the following two categories.
1) Contents confirming news of his family, gallery staff and friends.
2) Contents with instructions for the gallery or suggestions for merchandise.
“Of course it is regrettable that these difficult times make it hard for the gallery, too. I treasure all of your efforts Mr. Hayashi and those of everyone in the gallery.... No matter what happens, it is my only desire that everyone at Ryūsendō always firmly join hands in good fellowship and go forward together.... I am also extremely happy to hear that Toshie is writing the box inscriptions. I know that staff shortages are hitting the gallery, so I hope that those still there can pool their strengths to carry on.”
And then there is also this kind of postcard. “A letter from Mr. Sugiyama told me about the current situation at the gallery. Thanks to all of your efforts Mr. Hayashi and those of the rest of the staff, the business continues to be profitable. My gratitude knows no bounds.… It is good that you were able to purchase the cinnabar jar thanks to the introduction from Mr. A. I have also received a letter from Mr. A and I will respond. Mr. B in Osaka sent the catalogue for their early October exhibition and I have looked at it. Because for the time being I must be here, please tell me about the gallery’s current situation and to address letters to me here. Also, please send the recent issues of Kobijutsu and Tōji to me here.... The February issue of Kobijutsu has arrived, I have enjoyed reading it.”
At last, I could see my grandfather’s distinctive vocabulary return to his writing. “The weather is good and my feelings are also sunny.... Hibi kore kojitsu, today is a good day, a life with hands folded in prayer, I have regained my spirit." Even amidst the limited, lack of personal agency situation he found himself in, the art dealer Mayuyama Junkichi was back, his art dealer nature was restored.
Even so, his military duty continued. Then unexpectedly the last postcard that Junkichi sent to his family from the front arrived at Kyōbashi. This letter was the last before communications were cut, and it wasn’t until after the war that his mother Miyo and the gallery staff in Tokyo, and his wife and daughters who had been evacuated to Iyo on the island of Shikoku, knew how he was.
(to be continued)
* As I write this I think of all soldiers at war, forced to experience the unimaginable for ages on, and those who never make it back. I have published this text here with prayers for peace in my heart.
* Some of the people’s names found in the passages quoted above have been identified solely by an initial letter.
Reference Bibliography
Committee for the Publication of the Centennial History of the Tokyo Art Club, eds., Bijutsusho no Hyakunen [A Century of Art Dealers], p. 153, “Tokyo Art Club During World War II,” (in Japanese).
Junkichi Ōshō kara fukuin made no kiroku [Junkichi, A Record from Call-up to Demobilization].
