Nomura pushed the decrypts away and finished his tea and cookies, keeping an eye on the bronze mantel clock. It was almost time to meet with Kurusu. He sighed, resigned to his fate, and pressed a button on his telephone. “Please bring my hat and coat, Miss Ito,” he said in approximation of his usual jovial, gentle tones. “We must prepare to welcome Special Envoy Kurusu.”
At the press conference, held outside the Japanese Embassy in Washington, cold winds blew, making it difficult for the sound technicians to set up the microphones. Finally, the platform was arranged, with a lectern and the various radio stations’ microphones surrounding, like a wall of thorns. All they needed now was the “Special Envoy.”
Ambassador Nomura pulled out his pocket watch. Kurusu was late. The Japanese were never late. Everything was always timed perfectly, down to the second.
Finally, finally, the long black limousine pulled up and Kurusu emerged to applause from various Japanese diplomats and their staff, who had been allowed to attend.
He was a short man, even shorter than Ambassador Nomura, and slighter, with an almost delicate appearance. He wore an impeccable gray suit, a black wool overcoat, black hat, and black round glasses. Over the frames, his eyebrows turned up almost comically, like upended commas, and he had a faint mustache.
He walked to the podium, took a breath, and began to speak. “I am indeed glad to be here, in your nation’s capital,” he said in a clear but thin voice, his English accented but still understandable. “I extend greetings to all from the bottom of my heart.
“You all know how difficult my mission is,” he continued, the wind dispersing his words. “But I will do all I can to make it a successful one, for the sake of two countries, Japan and the United States of America.”
With that he lifted his hat to the audience and made his way down the reception line to Ambassador Nomura. Both men bowed, then reached out their hands for a Western-style handshake. “Welcome to Washington, Special Envoy Kurusu.”
“Thank you,” the shorter man replied. “We have much work to do.”
“Indeed,” Ambassador Nomura responded, noticing Hull’s tall shadow. “And now,” he said, with his most charming smile, “I would like to introduce you to the United States’ Secretary of State Hull.”
Kurusu bowed deeply, then extended his hand to Hull. Hull did not return the bow, but shook the envoy’s hand. “Welcome to America, Special Envoy Kurusu,” he said, cigarette clenched between his teeth. “You certainly have your work cut out for you.”
Then he clapped the Japanese man on the back. Kurusu tried not to flinch at being touched in such a familiar way during formal introductions.
But Hull didn’t notice. “Come on, let’s shake a leg!” he said to the two Japanese ambassadors, looking at his wristwatch, then turning to stride down Massachusetts Avenue toward the White House, still chewing on his cigarette. “The President’s waiting for you boys.”
Still walking, Hull looked back toward the Japanese diplomats, his voice rising against the icy wind: “I know you must be hungry, so we’ll have some nice chop suey waiting for you when you’re done.”
Kurusu and Nomura met with Hull and President Roosevelt. Kurusu presented Japan’s proposal: that the United States should stop sending aid to China and resume trade relations with Japan.
Hull countered with President Roosevelt’s demands for Japan to withdraw its troops from China, and, just as important if not more so, to sever its Axis ties with Germany and Italy.
The meeting was polite, but when it was over, Kurusu turned to Nomura as they waited for their car to be brought around to the front door of the White House. “If this is the attitude of the American government, I don’t see how an agreement is possible.”
“The Americans won’t budge, and Tokyo will throw up its hands at their demands. And that,” Nomura said, his voice breaking with barely contained frustration, “is what I’ve been dealing with.”
“It’s all right—it’s not as if any great change can be effected now. Even an extension won’t affect the ultimate outcome.”
Nomura’s eyes widened behind his round spectacles. “What do you mean?”
“We’re only here for show. We are just part of the three-ring circus.”
Nomura shook his head. “There is still a chance for peace,” he insisted. “I believe that to be true.”
Kurusu tapped his foot, clad in black leather Rohde shoes he’d picked up in Berlin, as their limousine approached. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, my friend.”