Selecting a Toro (Japanese Stone Lantern)

     "If you want a nice toro for a reasonable rate, I am happy to introduce you to the owner of a local shop," said tomodachi san.  With a wedding anniversary looming and endless remarks from shujin (husband) upon viewing Japanese stone lanterns around town, the offer was accepted instantly. Temples and shrines on every Tokyo corner boast at least one granite ishidoro (ishi = stone, toro = lantern): a hollowed out, lidded candle holder weighing about a ton perched upon a pedestal carved from stone. Since the sixth century these exalted carvings have lit the path for worshippers along ancient routes, with 2,000 lighting the way in Nara to the Daibutsu (Great Buddha). During the Edo Period they were adapted as decorative touches to private gardens. While to the Western eye the stone sometimes appear chunky or even awkward, they symbolize the light that Buddha sheds upon human ignorance.  

    One dull Saturday afternoon at Ebisu eki, tomodachi san collected us and we headed to Setagaya (one of Tokyo's 23 wards). First stop was a stone mason's yard in the neighborhood known as Yoga (no relation to the Indian practice). "Please use this bug spray," admonished tomodachi san, who was well aware that stones are a breeding ground for Tokyo's blood thirsty mosquitoes. Within minutes our ankles were covered in welts, as we browsed the many styles of toro. Since the proprietor was nowhere to be found, we moved on to the second stop: a gallery of lanterns below the Shuto Expressway behind the local Book Off (used book shop chain). The owner, an elderly gent, emerged from the building. When asked for a price, he sucked his teeth, the Japanese signal of reluctance: The lantern in question was made in China, a copy, so not a good choice. No price was quoted.

   Climbing up the fire escape to another level, more lanterns were examined. Each selection was rejected as not worthy of a sale ("That one is from Korea"). Unlike Western salesmen, this proprietor did not seem eager for business. Back down on the ground, we entered the showroom. A lantern with no price tag beckoned, and the proprietor looked in his price book: It was for sale at a reasonable price! But what about delivery? Generous tomodachi-san offered to drive it to the Manor. The proprietor wrapped the three part toro in burlap and climbed into the trunk of the car to tuck it in carefully. In his office he produced a bill of sale with the official hanko (seal), which was ceremonially handed over to shujin. Out of the shop we rode, victorious, proud owners of a toro that will live out its days in the Berkshire hills of Massachusetts.

The Gotoh Museum in Setagaya

     "Would you like to visit the Gotoh Museum?" invited tomodachi san, referring to the family-owned gallery in the southwest corner of Tokyo known as Setagaya ku. "There is a calligraphy exhibit and afterwards we can stroll through the garden." Hai, the automatic answer to every question, meant a thirty minute ride via two trains to Kaminoge eki on a summery morning. Tomodachi san brought two parasols since Tokyoites never allow the sun to touch their skin. A short walk through tree lined roads led to the Gotoh, formerly the private home of a railroad magnate. In another part of town visitors flock to the Nezu Museum, once home to another railroad family. With train lines privately owned in Japan, railroad families collect items that the government deems National Treasures and Cultural Properties that train travelers may enjoy for a price not much more than a train ticket.

     Shodo (the way of writing), the ancient art imported from China, has no Western equivalent. Poems on exhibit currently at the Gotoh date from the Heian era (ninth and tenth centuries); mounted on patterned textiles they hang vertically like window shades. Impressive that the paper and legible, vivid ink are a thousand years old. As tomodachi san translated, our voices lifted a notch triggering the security guard to request that we keep down the volume. Outside in the garden, visitors are free to speak at any decibel. On a slope, Japanese stone lanterns of different designs lead downwards; my favorite was the "snow viewing lantern." Beyond the hill lies the Tama River, dividing Tokyo from Kanagawa, the neighboring prefecture of which Yokohama is the capital.

    En route to tomodachi's home for a spot of lunch we passed the last remaining farm and even a vineyard; both used by NHK television crews when seeking local color. In her large garden tomodachi has many fruit trees including the native biwa (loquat), in full bloom now. "Here, try one," she offered, peeling it. Resembling an apricot, it is a closer relation to the apple. Lunch included many tasty treats from the garden; as we ate in the formal dining room, her ancient mother-in-law busied herself outside with weeding. The meal ended with the presentation of a furoshiki (cloth) wrapped box: a calligraphy brush from Tokei-ji, the temple of the family and a refuge for battered women since 1285. Ichi go, ichi e (one time one meeting) she wrote on the card, the slogan of tea ceremony. Our singular chance to spend an afternoon together properly savored, only five days remain until the Class of 2010 say farewell to Yokohama International School.