Harajuku Sunday (29 page)

Hisako was one of the top achievers for a brief spell of her life, before it all came to an end, before I sacrificed my own twenties for an absurdist, completely nihilist chance at the power-brokers.
 
Julian could not be anything other than what he was, although he led and picked up rewards as they came.
 
The tens of thousands in north
Japan
led lives as best as they could and in the play of things, there would also be opportunities for brief and spell-binding periods of happiness.

“Under circumstances X, Y, and Z, undesirable A tends to happen, so better to watch closely Z when X and Y are unavoidable.”

Clinical, clear, logical.

“Alcohol is a cheap way to deal with trouble, better to spend money efficiently on the real fun.”

This is unfolding Shibuya, a couple in love: crowd upon crowd upon crowd, the blaring lights, the honking horns, the single on repeat play from loudspeakers.
 
Karaoke unfolds onto miraculous visions of teens, twenty-somethings, the pleasure quarters, the innocence of life itself.
 
“Oh god, watch out for the CD pushers.”
 
The surveyors and Jesus-ists are obstacles to be avoided.
 
But unfolding another Friday night, another 1/52nd.

“See what Japanese girls really want is a guy in his thirties, makes about six million a year in advertising, has his own flat and car, and just plays.
 
Right?
 
He just plays.”

“Hello, do you have time to sample this perfume?”

“No thanks.”

“Discount! Discount! Discount day at Yamanaka Pharmacy!
 
All products on sale!”

“I think the reason why Jun is cool is because he’s just letting go. You know, nobody can really mess with him.”

“I like rough-edged guys better.
 
No effeminine types for me!”

“God.
 
Did you see that guy with the blonde girlfriend.
 
They’re such a cute couple!”

“He’s okay…”

“I kinda strangely like him even tho’ he’s such a weirdo!”

“Forget about him, let’s go clubbing; let’s go party; let’s go karaoke.”

“Cost 10000 yen. Twice what it should have…”

“Guess we should study a little for class tomorrow.”

“Ritchie is lucky because the thing he worships—Japanese girls—are right here on earth.
 
See, Christians have to believe in some afterlife, and most other people worship invisible gods, but look, Ritchie’s gods are here on earth!”

“Hee hee!”

Three hundred thousand are out tonight, and three thousand one night stands will be had.
 
There is room for all.
 
As she gets older, Hisako’s voice, strangely enough, becomes more childish.
 
But there is an undercurrent of steel as well; a will that asserts itself first against herself and then against others.

“I don’t necessarily want to support Jun, but I do so because the alternative is worse. See, that’s what’s its about. Finesse..”

This is brilliant, her testimony to eternity, the Friday night with friends, the awesome potential of everything because it is the stir of things, rather than the brute logical flow, that generates all futures and all potentials.
 
Victory doesn’t go to the planner or the meticulous scientist—it goes to the fool engaged in the moment, where even losses are converted to gains and all gains are noted for future reference.
 
Drunk, English-speaking, I was a voyeur even where little teenage games unfolded, because I knew what they were saying, and I loved everything about it.
 
Eri Hasegawa, she was a friend from the countryside; Satoko, what a delightful little girl she was from
Tokyo
.
 
The girls had all the power in this society; they determined who won and lost.
 
So I jumped in further and lost myself in a sea of twittering gossip.
 
Hisako was not so absolutely bad at everything.
 
In fashion she was at times original, creative, trend-forming.
 
A magazine gave her a small stipend to come in once a month and discuss photographs. Her aim was not the infinite, but she understood that she had money, in a sense, and she kept track of expenses such that we did not sink into wild and crazy expenditure.
 
The effort of first years is mere existence; after that, the need for complexity, adaptation, and dialectic.
 
Here, now, admidst the fashionable crowds, mere princess of the moment.
 
I built threat exercises against the LDP because it was funny.

XII.

Drums were beating over the village on the valley floor, but nobody could hear them.
 
Or rather--everybody could, but they knew them only as the rip of fireworks unaware of any premonition they foretold.

From the top of the valley ridgeline, where soccer pitches had been built for the express reason of holding regional tournaments, we wound our way down a long asphalt road that was somewhat kept up, keeping our sandals clear of sharp stones or other obstructions.
 
An outside witness would have seen only a young couple in love, dressed for the festival that was scheduled for that summer night.
 
This is set back now in Kitakata, the final summer before the return.

"So that's it, then?"

"Yes, that's it."

The decision had been made.
 
Life in the village was now intolerable.
 
But planning, return, all these things would be put off for later days, for today was the day of the summer festival, and it was pointless to occupy oneself with other thoughts.
 
The smell of thistle and mountain vegetation lay in the air; cicadas buzzing could not be drowned out by the occasional motor-noise of a passing car.
 
The two held hands; the two were close with the closeness of years of association.

"You know--"

"What?"

"Uh... no, nothing."

Such a beautiful couple.
 
By the time we reach the valley, early evening has given way to late, the sky is now darkened to deep blue.
 
Walking amidst the crowds, nobody reacts that he is a foreigner, nobody gives more than one, or sometimes two glances at the summer yukata, the design popular that season and fitting him, who comes off a bit short in the West, somehow more Japanese-like.
 
The concrete sidewalk gives way to an asphalt path amidst rice paddies, where frogs, crickets and late summer insects keep up a chorus, discernible beneath the chattering of the crowd and the increasing frequency of the fireworks, still being sent up one-at-a-time.
 
Gerry--was it Gerry?
 
Yes, he had been the one to put things together; in his half-energetic Midwestern way, he had sent around text messages, and the township's half-dozen foreigners had agreed to meet.
 
Now festival booths begin appearing by the roadside, vendors crying out their hawker cries, fried noodles, flavored ice, okonimiyaki pancakes.
 
The savory smells of oil, soy sauce, grilled sticks fill the air and stir our own hunger, we look over at each other at the same time and stop before the yakitori grill, where the hawker nods and sets to work.
 
It's nighttime.
 
At that moment, a little boy races across the path with a sizzling firework, and the sudden pop is startling, but then we laugh, and I put my arm around Hisako, her warmth able to be felt through the cloth of the summer kimono.
 
But now the sound of music reaching a higher tempo can be heard and we eat quickly to get to the main riverwalk in order to see the spectacle.

"Uh, Gerry?
 
Gerry is that you?"
 
But the voice on the phone is indecipherable.
 
"Send a text."

The others--Eri Hasegawa, Tak--they are already buried too deep by the riverbank to get in.
 
But working our way from one opening to the next, we are able to finally get to the parade already in progress and meet up with Gerry and his girlfriend, who smile in greeting, and we turn now to teams of men or women carrying portable shrines that must weigh several hundred pounds.
 
The largest have as many as twenty or thirty carriers, with three or four separate sections of design that tower eight or nine feet of wooden construction atop brawn shoulders.
 
Dyed-hair girls, remarkably, have their own teams assembled, maybe on a smaller scale, but each one hunkering down the parade route being jerked to and fro even as the teams bounce their way forward is agitated in the same unpredictable motion and the crowd that surrounds the route is similarly engaged, beating on drums, blowing on flutes, drinking and talking loudly and cheering for especial favorites.
 
Flaming wooden torches and festival lights keep the scene vibrant, warm, and full of energy, and Hisako's hand is clasped in mine, tight and warm.

"Ah, so what it is news?"

"Well, it looks like I got into a Master's program back in the States?"

"Oh wow, wonderful. So you're going?"

"Yes."

A quick glance at eyes.

"No more White Cat."

"No indeed."

Finally, the central shrines begin approaching, the really gigantic ones sponsored by the town temples.
 
Some of these are giant enough to have people on top as well, and wearing kabuki masks they leer or chastise the public, warning all of the folly of life or reminding everyone that nothing is known.

-Ha!

The shrine-bearers heave forward.
 
A startle whips through the crowd.

"Oh hi!"
 
Gerry greets one of his students, a thirteen year old with her parents.
 
They exchange formalities.
 
All the town is out tonight.

"We're thinking of moving back together."

"That sounds wonderful. Any other news?"

"May will be staying, Sonja probably not.
 
I don't know about Rick."

The quiet life of foreigner English teachers unfolds.

-Ha!

Another jerk.
 
The shrine is brought up two meters; it must be at least a ton.

"God that must be painful."

"No, I'm sure there's enough of them."

People buzz about, chit and chatter.
 
To one side, a vendor has set up gold fish in plastic bins.
 
It is just about possible to flick one out of the water with a paper spatula.

"The thing about this thing is that it's really when all the Japanese people can let down their hair.
 
You know, you got company presidents right next to factory workers; teachers drinking beer while teenagers are trying to sneak off with somebody special."

-Ha!

Children run laughing and screaming; the feeling of excitement is palapable.
 
The people are now all packed together as close as commuters on a rush-hour subway, but from our viewpoint atop a retaining wall, we can see the full motion of the crowd, the waves of loin-cloth clad men pressing forward to keep the shrines in motion, the religious fervor which fills the tableau with a sense of climactic urgency.

"How about you? What plans do you guys have?"

Hisako and I exchange glances.

"Well, we've been talking about going back to
Tokyo
?"

"Oh yeah?"
 
Gerry does seem mildly interested.
 
"Isn't that a step back?"

The path of the shrine bearers extends forward to the base of a small but steep hill.
 
It seems almost unfair; unright that people should have to heave up a multi-ton structure on their bare shoulders with only straw sandals on their feet.
 
But that is the task of hundreds before them, and hundreds to come in years arriving.