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And so, by stages, he had gotten into the business. Others had opened similar places, taking advantage of the evergrowing Japanese craze for Americana. . . . but Childan had always kept his edge.
Your fare, the chink was saying, bringing him out of his meditation, is a dollar, sir. He had unloaded the bags and was waiting.
Absentmindedly, Childan paid him. Yes, it was quite likely that the client of Mr. Tagomi resembled Major Humo; at least, Childan thought tartly, from my point of view. He had dealt with so many Japanese. . . but he still had difficulty telling them apart. There were the short squat ones, built like wrestlers. Then the druggist-like ones. The tree-shrubflower-gardener ones. . . he had his categories. And the young ones, who were to him not like Japanese at all. Mr. Tagomi's client would probably be portly, a businessman, smoking a Philippine cigar.
And then, standing before the Nippon Times Building, with his bags on the sidewalk beside him, Childan suddenly thought with a chill: Suppose his client isn't Japanese! Everything in the bags had been selected with them in mind, their tastes --
But the man had to be Japanese. A Civil War recruiting poster had been Mr. Tagomi's original order; surely only a Japanese would care about such debris. Typical of their mania for the trivial, their legalistic fascination with documents, proclamations, ads. He remembered one who had devoted his leisure time to collecting newspaper ads of American patent medicines of the 1900s.cell phones android 2.2
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There were other problems to face. Immediate problems. Through the high doors of the Nippon Times Building men and women hurried, all of them well-dressed; their voices reached Childan's ears, and he started into motion. A glance upward at the towering edifice, the highest building in San Francisco. Wall of offices, windows, the fabulous design of the Japanese architects -- and the surrounding gardens of dwarf evergreens, rocks, the karesansui landscape, sand imitating a dried-up stream winding past roots, among simple, irregular flat stones. . .
He saw a black who had carried baggage, now free. At once Childan called, Porter!
The black trotted toward him, smiling.