to leave a message. He pondered on a few other people he could phone, tapping his mobile in the palm of his hand as he did so, but then thought against it, so he switched off his phone and returned it back to his pocket.
It wasn’t quite what he’d imagined when he’d first signed up.
Fujiwara openly recognised that in terms of the hierarchy he was still well down the pecking order, in fact he was just one level above the shop floor - and was grateful for that meagre fact, but even so life had become a little wearisome. Not even the gorgeous creatures who routinely adorned his office and paid him no little sexual attention, attention that his repulsive features as a rule would not warrant – not even they could distract him from the underlying feeling that all was not well in his life.
The pressure was beginning to tell.
He recalled his spell on the shop floor which if anything, at the time, had seemed even worse than his current predicament. It had all been a world away from his romanticised dreams that had prompted him to volunteer in the first place. In the numbing reality the foot soldiers of the organisation were forced to handle almost everything that was needed to be done: driving, manning telephones, patrolling, cleaning, enforcing – every dirty and degrading menial job that could be conceived of and due to the working hours, sometimes from six in the morning to midnight, and there being virtually no salary, he’d only survived, like every other shop floor worker, through a system of patronage and gifts, where the organisation supplied what they could at their own discretion. It had taken a long time to be accepted and it wasn’t unusual for new, voluntary starters to remain in their positions for over a decade. It had been tough and uncompromisingly boring work. At the time there was little else to do but to knuckle down and hope to be admitted more formally onto the organisation’s first rung of the hierarchy but even then, after being moved up in rank, the salary was barely above the minimum wage.
It would be wrong to suggest that Fujiwara was seriously questioning his career decisions but he was certainly becoming tired of the position he had found himself in.
And he was certainly becoming stressed! Not that he would articulate how he felt in such a feeble way. After all he was Yakuza!
He looked across to a small sake cup artfully displayed on the shelf opposite and above him. This cup was enormously special to him - a cup that had been used during his adoption ceremony known as the sakazuki-goto - the sakazuki being the small sake cup on the shelf and which was handed over to him after the ceremony. In the ceremony itself, which had its origins in Shinto ritual, he had taken turns with his Oyabun , father, to drink from the cup, an act which symbolised a physical contract between the two. It had been a cementation of his elevation from shop floor onto the first rung. The cup had to be returned or destroyed in case of his expulsion. He had experienced nothing but exaltation on that day.
Much like the rest of Japanese society, his Oyabun placed a strong emphasis on loyalty and the importance of seniority. All members of the organisation were expected to obey without question, sacrificing themselves without hesitation should the need arise, acting as teppodama (bullets) to be fired, whenever and wherever by their boss. To foster this kind of blind loyalty his Oyabun offered him protection and advice on how to maintain and run his organisation and in addition he provided entertainment and gifts. In return he expected complete and utter servitude from Fujiwara and the payment of regular tribute money. While Fujiwara sometimes struggled for a decent existence his boss by comparison lived luxuriously off the tribute money. This siphoning of funds from the lower ranking members meant that his Oyabun no longer actually had to commit any crimes at all and instead
It wasn’t quite what he’d imagined when he’d first signed up.
Fujiwara openly recognised that in terms of the hierarchy he was still well down the pecking order, in fact he was just one level above the shop floor - and was grateful for that meagre fact, but even so life had become a little wearisome. Not even the gorgeous creatures who routinely adorned his office and paid him no little sexual attention, attention that his repulsive features as a rule would not warrant – not even they could distract him from the underlying feeling that all was not well in his life.
The pressure was beginning to tell.
He recalled his spell on the shop floor which if anything, at the time, had seemed even worse than his current predicament. It had all been a world away from his romanticised dreams that had prompted him to volunteer in the first place. In the numbing reality the foot soldiers of the organisation were forced to handle almost everything that was needed to be done: driving, manning telephones, patrolling, cleaning, enforcing – every dirty and degrading menial job that could be conceived of and due to the working hours, sometimes from six in the morning to midnight, and there being virtually no salary, he’d only survived, like every other shop floor worker, through a system of patronage and gifts, where the organisation supplied what they could at their own discretion. It had taken a long time to be accepted and it wasn’t unusual for new, voluntary starters to remain in their positions for over a decade. It had been tough and uncompromisingly boring work. At the time there was little else to do but to knuckle down and hope to be admitted more formally onto the organisation’s first rung of the hierarchy but even then, after being moved up in rank, the salary was barely above the minimum wage.
It would be wrong to suggest that Fujiwara was seriously questioning his career decisions but he was certainly becoming tired of the position he had found himself in.
And he was certainly becoming stressed! Not that he would articulate how he felt in such a feeble way. After all he was Yakuza!
He looked across to a small sake cup artfully displayed on the shelf opposite and above him. This cup was enormously special to him - a cup that had been used during his adoption ceremony known as the sakazuki-goto - the sakazuki being the small sake cup on the shelf and which was handed over to him after the ceremony. In the ceremony itself, which had its origins in Shinto ritual, he had taken turns with his Oyabun , father, to drink from the cup, an act which symbolised a physical contract between the two. It had been a cementation of his elevation from shop floor onto the first rung. The cup had to be returned or destroyed in case of his expulsion. He had experienced nothing but exaltation on that day.
Much like the rest of Japanese society, his Oyabun placed a strong emphasis on loyalty and the importance of seniority. All members of the organisation were expected to obey without question, sacrificing themselves without hesitation should the need arise, acting as teppodama (bullets) to be fired, whenever and wherever by their boss. To foster this kind of blind loyalty his Oyabun offered him protection and advice on how to maintain and run his organisation and in addition he provided entertainment and gifts. In return he expected complete and utter servitude from Fujiwara and the payment of regular tribute money. While Fujiwara sometimes struggled for a decent existence his boss by comparison lived luxuriously off the tribute money. This siphoning of funds from the lower ranking members meant that his Oyabun no longer actually had to commit any crimes at all and instead
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