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attention to the social life of Japanese monkeys, I was more fascinated with the Comb-Over Strategy itself. Do these people really think anyone is fooled? Don’t they have mirrors? Or is it mirrors that are the problem? Straight ahead in your bathroom mirror must be the only way that combed-over hair looks even remotely natural. And even then, how often do you see people with hair growing horizontally across their forehead? The Japanese, who have a certain flair for comic description, refer to the comb-over look as bar-code head , in reference to the bar-code prices in supermarkets. Sitting in the backseat with this uncomplimentary view of a Tokyo University (pause) Professor, I was longing to pass a light wand over his head and see what kind of price would come up.
    “And so, you can see how important the social life of the monkey is,” he said in conclusion.
    “Absolutely,” I said.
     
    * * *
     
    South of Udo Jingu, the sea was the clouded silver of a shrine mirror. The highway unrolled low along the water, slipping and sliding and falling off the shore entirely at times in a series of bridges and causeways. The mountains crowded in, almost pushing the villages into the sea. Regimented forests, planted generations ago in straight lines for easier cutting, marched up the mountainsides in perfect formation. In Japan, even the trees behave themselves.
    The Professor talked to me through the rearview mirror. I talked to the back of his head.
    “Japanese monkeys are more advanced than other monkeys,” said the Professor. “Foreign monkeys are individualist. They don’t get along. But Japanese monkeys have very complicated social something-or-other and blah blah blah blah blah, therefore Japan is unique.” (I’m paraphrasing.)
    The Professor was a closet nationalist. The academic world of Japan teems with them. I have had experts tell me—straight-faced and sober—that the Japanese use a different side of the brain from other people (which is why the shrill cry of the cicada is a thing of beauty to the Japanese, while Westerners find the insect annoying); that their tongues are shorter (which is why they have trouble pronouncing English words); that their intestines are longer (which is why they have trouble disgesting beef, especially foreign beef) and so on. In Professor Takasugi’s case, it was monkeys he was interested in but the subtext was clear.
    “Japanese monkeys have social patterns that are very different from foreign monkeys’. They prefer stability. Just like the Japanese. “In the Oita Monkey Park,” said the Professor, “a new leader has taken over. His name is Dragon and he has the respect of six hundred monkeys even though he has only one front paw. He lost the other in a train accident.”
    “A train accident?”
    “That’s right. I studied Dragon, and I believe that the experience of losing his paw taught him compassion for the other monkeys. Together with his fighting spirit, he could become leader even though he is handicapped. What does that teach us?”
    “Perseverance?”
    “Exactly. Now, Dragon’s lieutenant is named Schola. Schola is larger and younger than Dragon, and could certainly beat him in a fight, but Schola knows his place and does not challenge the older monkey. Schola does not have a secret ambition for higher office. If a group has a strong leader and sincere lieutenants, the group will have unity and increased power.”
    “So Japanese monkeys like strong leaders.”
    “But there is much more to it than that. It is not simply a matter of raw power, as in foreign countries such as yours. In his book, The Frontiers of Monkey Studies, Professor Tachibana”—he said the name as though I should recognize it—“has shown that the dominant-male theory does not apply to Japanese monkeys. It is more subtle. Professor Tachibana has shown that consensus is the key to understanding Japanese monkeys. The monkeys watch the actions of other monkeys very carefully, and when