Justin and I were, nonetheless, welcomed by the town officials and dignitaries with whom I had revelled the previous year, and provided with sake, fried noodles and hapi coats. In the evening we took to the streets and followed the Kankoji float, waving large banners and proudly displaying our new coats.
Towards the end of all this revelry it suddenly became apparent that we had made scant progress in finding me a girlfriend. Justin was keen to return to our original plan. We spied a group of young women dressed in Italian designer clothes – Gucci jackets, Prada shoes and Louis Vuitton handbags – and immediately struck up a conversation. After they had giggled at our jokes and applauded my Japanese, they fiercely debated which Hollywood stars we resembled, until consensus was reached that I looked like Matt Damon and Justin looked like Leonardo DiCaprio.
As we paraded behind the Kankoji float, I got ready to ask for some phone numbers. ‘We’re very busy these days,’ one of the women confessed shyly. ‘Maybe we can meet up after our exams are finished.’
‘Oh, you’re university students?’ I asked, surprised to learn they were so young. ‘What are you studying?’
The women covered their mouths with their beautifully manicured hands. ‘We’re not in university – we’re still in high school. Year two.’
Justin exploded with laughter. ‘So you’re all seventeen?’ he chuckled. The girls nodded, and we bade them farewell. My love life was not looking up.
On day two, rain bucketed down and Justin and I stayed at home nursing our hangovers. The festival season was not producing the plethora of romantic prospects for which I had been hoping. It was time to venture into the big city to look for a girlfriend who did not drive trucks, set fire to houses, and was not still in high school. Osaka, I assured myself, was teeming with such young women.
After more than a year, my friends and I knew Osaka City like the back of our hands. We had visited most of the beer gardens, dined at numerous pubs and bars, and danced the night away at every nightclub.
We had spent many lazy Saturday afternoons trailing around the web of streets and arcades that surrounded central Namba Station. Usually we met on the middle of Dotombori Bridge, a local icon where tourists gathered to take photos of the enormous neon displays reflected in the river, and local youths came to meet, flirt and be seen.
On Friday nights we had often ended up at Shinsaibashia, a district crammed with trendy clothes shops, and backstreet bars selling drinks at ridiculously cheap prices.
And then there was Amerika Mura – America Town – where hip-hop- and skateboard-obsessed teens pretended to be living on the rough streets of New York. The district was full of American-style urban clothes stores and, unlike the rest of Japan, resplendent with graffiti to create the illusion of actually being in New York. Large American billboards and businesses such as Domino’s Pizza dominated.
This sheen of coolness attracted not just crowds of rebellious Japanese teenagers, but also a criminal element from West Africa. Large thuggish goons dressed as gangster rappers in oversized clothes lurked on street corners. ‘Hey beby,’ they would yell at passing women. ‘I em fram Ameriika! Beby, you like Ameriika? You want Ameriika boyfriend, beby?’
These chat-up lines seldom met with success; it was reassuring that the young women of Osaka appeared uninterested in falling in love with West African bovver boys. However, finding a young woman who was willing to fall in love with Hamish Beaton from Christchurch, New Zealand was proving to be a bit of a challenge. My friends assured me that I would one day meet someone at a bar or nightclub. Matt had met his girlfriend, Naoko, at a bar. A new member of our drinking circle, Andy from Leeds, had met his girlfriend, Megumi, at a bar. Wij had also met a girl at a bar, and had even convinced her to go back to his apartment with him. He had then drunkenly fallen asleep during the train ride home, and woken up the next morning alone at Osaka International Airport.
I began to think that my Japanese language ability was more of a hindrance than a blessing. My spoken Japanese was certainly sufficient for talking about groceries with Mrs Okuda, describing the content of my mother’s wardrobe to Mrs Oki, and discussing the weather with my Japanese mothers. And I was able to entertain my teenage students with silly jokes and humorous nicknames. But after a year of living and working in rural Japan I had picked up a bizarre linguistic hodgepodge, consisting of old-fashioned expressions used by rural pensioners and classroom slang used by thirteen-year-old-girls. I certainly did not sound like a hip Japanese Fonzie, and even my best rendition of ‘Oha!’ was an uncool chat-up line.
It seemed I would have more luck at impressing women by not speaking Japanese at all. As soon as young women learned I could speak their language, they would enlist me as an interpreter to help them befriend my more ‘mysterious’ and ‘cool’ friends who were still unable to count to ten in Japanese.
I grew tired of translating questions about Matt’s favourite food or Blake’s favourite pet animal. I fumed in frustration when females gasped in wonder at Wij’s stammering attempts to introduce himself in Japanese, and boiled with rage when they asked me to tell Wij that he spoke beautiful Japanese and was very handsome.
It was time, I decided, to stop speaking Japanese in bars. This soon led, however, to equally frustrating conversations conducted in broken English.
‘Hello, my name is Hamish,’ I would say with a smile.
‘Hem? Hem? Name?’ would come the refused reply.
‘My name is Hamish,’ I would repeat even more slowly. ‘What is your name?’
If successful, I would follow this up with, ‘What is your job?’
‘Huh? Job? I don’t know job. What is job?’ Blank confused stare.
‘Ummm … job. What do you do? What work do you do?’
I refused to say the word ‘job’ in Japanese. I was damned if I was going to give in, speak Japanese, and be written off as a nerdy foreigner. No, by the end of this conversation the woman would consider me mysterious and cool, and no doubt very handsome as well.
‘Huh, walk? What walk do I do? I don’t understand. I stay here. Not walk.’ A frown of non-comprehension.
‘No, no, I mean work. What work do you do? Do you have a job? I am a teacher. What is your job?’
‘Teacher? I don’t understand. Are you American?’
‘No!’ I explode with frustration. ‘No, I am from New Zealand. I am a teacher. What is your job? Job. You know, shigoto. What is your shigoto?’
‘Oh, job! Aha! I am an office lady. You speak good Japanese. Umm …’
The English conversation ends, and the young woman switches to Japanese. ‘Do you know that man over there?’ She points at Wij. ‘I want to talk to him. Can you translate for me?’
My patience with the Osaka bar scene was nearing breaking point when Justin and I finally met a pair of young women who not only made coherent conversation but wanted to spend time with us. Rina and her older sister, Haruko, danced happily with us for an entire evening. Rina had long dark hair and an alluring smile.
I quickly told Justin that I was interested in Rina and that he would therefore have to make do with her slightly less attractive sister. Justin was miffed: the dimly lit nightclub made it difficult to tell whether Haruko had two separate eyebrows, or a disturbingly long, caterpillar-like monobrow. I reminded him of his promise to act as my wing man, and pointed out that, in any event, I had seen Rina first and she was nearer my age than his. He reluctantly agreed.
The four of us danced and drank until dawn, and then ate a big greasy breakfast at a family restaurant. We arranged to meet again the following Friday, and Rina gave me a kiss on the cheek as she left.
I was ecstatic. I spent the next week at school grinning and smiling and looking forward to my Friday night date with Rina. There were no last-minute cancellations due to neighbours’ houses burning down, and the four of us duly met at a downtown Indian restaurant. Rina was looking ravishing. She was wearing tight crocodile-skin trousers and an expensive black Italian jacket.
I caught Justin sneaking a few admiring glances.
Dinner was a happy affair, full of laughter and easy conversation. It soon became apparent, however, that the real reason the girls had accepted the invitation to dinner was that Haruko had a crush on Justin and was eager to spend more time with him. At one point during our entrée of samosas and chicken curry, Rina leaned across the table and whispered in my ear that Haruko thought Justin was very handsome and looked like Johnny Depp.
I burst out laughing and she scolded me for not taking the situation seriously. ‘Does your friend like my sister?’ she asked earnestly.
I looked at Haruko. She seemed very serious and very determined. I suddenly realised that if Justin did not like Haruko, Rina might not see any point in the four of us meeting up again.
‘Yes, I think he likes her,’ I lied. ‘Maybe we should go out again next week to give them more time together.’
Rina frowned. ‘Hmmm … I’m busy next week. I have bought a bar in downtown Osaka. It is the bar’s grand opening on Friday.’ She paused, looking thoughtful. ‘Would you and Justin like to come to my bar opening? It will be a good chance for Justin and Haruko to talk some more.’
‘Yes, yes, Justin would like that.’ I chuckled to myself. A second date with Rina had just been arranged.
When the women went to freshen their make-up in the bathroom, I informed Justin of my devious conduct. He was less than impressed. ‘You little bugger,’ he ranted. ‘You owe me for this. This is the last double date I’m coming on with these two. Haruko keeps smiling at me and fluttering her eyelashes – it’s really creepy. Next time you can get Wij or Matt to fill in for me.’
I assured Justin that there would be no need for a third double date, as I would ask Rina out properly at the bar opening. ‘You better,’ he said. ‘And don’t give Haruko any funny ideas.’
Rina’s brand new bar turned out to be situated in the heart of Osaka’s red-light district. Justin and I apprehensively made our way through a dense neighbourhood of strip bars and hostess clubs.
‘What sort of place did she say she was opening?’ Justin asked. ‘Do you even know what this new girlfriend of yours does for a job?’
I was suddenly a little concerned. ‘Actually no,’ I replied. ‘I thought she worked in an office.’
Justin grinned. We had arrived at Rina’s bar. ‘You have some terrible luck with girls,’ he smirked. The bar was on the fifth floor of an eight-storey building. Outside the hostess club on the ground floor, leggy women were strutting up and down the street handing out fliers and drinks coupons.
We made our way past the hostess bar and up the elevator. Rina’s dimly lit bar was almost empty. Rina stood behind the counter. Haruko sat in a booth in the corner. Some mean-looking Japanese men sat at the bar drinking.
Rina ushered us over to Haruko’s table. We noticed a few other patrons, but both Justin and I were transfixed by a well-dressed old man who was sitting at the bar, flanked on both sides by the mean-looking men.
Haruko was drunk. She smiled at Justin longingly. Justin went pale and made me sit between them.
Rina returned to the bar to serve the old man and his entourage. ‘Wow, this place is great!’ Justin lied. ‘How’d your sister manage to buy it?’
Haruko giggled drunkenly. ‘She borrowed the money from her’ – she paused, searching for the words – ‘from her friend.’ She gestured towards the old man at the bar.
‘That’s her friend?’ I asked stupidly. ‘But he’s kind of old. Where did she meet him?’
Haruko blushed. She looked around cautiously and lowered her voice. ‘He is a gangster. Rina used to work at one of his hostess clubs. He was her best customer. So he agreed to lend her some money to buy this bar.’
Haruko paused. She seemed a little worried. ‘I hope my sister’s bar will be successful. It will be very bad if she has a debt to that man.’
Justin slapped me on the back. ‘Man, you really know how to pick them. Your girlfriend is in debt to the Yakuza.’
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. How on earth had this aspect of Rina’s life managed to go unnoticed until now?
I looked at my hands – my eight perfect fingers and two healthy thumbs. Becoming romantically involved with Rina and her mobster pals could lead to my losing some of my digits. I liked my hands the way they were. It was time for Justin and I to distance ourselves from debt-ridden Rina and monobrowed Haruko.
I tapped Justin on the shoulder. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I hissed. Justin nodded.
‘Where are the toilets?’ I asked Haruko.
‘Down the hall,’ she pointed, smiling drunkenly at Justin.
‘We’ll be right back.’ We sprinted out the door.
I now added the occupations of hostess-club worker, strip-club owner and Yakuza debtor to my existing list of truck driver’s assistant, pornography collector’s daughter, potential arsonist and stalker as unsuitable girlfriends. I crossed inner-city bars off my list of potential places to meet lovely women. I was resigned to waiting for fate to intervene, and for the perfect girlfriend to fall from heaven into my waiting arms.
The next day, with girlfriend-hunting now off the agenda, I set off to north Osaka City to do some shopping. I soon found myself in a large book store that stocked English novels and magazines. I had visited the store many times before and knew my way around. I was busy scanning the English magazine rack, when I suddenly looked to my right. A beautiful angel was standing on tiptoe, trying to reach a magazine on the top shelf. She was dressed in a simple summer dress, and her dark brown hair was tied in an elegant twist.
She retrieved the magazine and looked around. Our eyes met and the angel smiled.
I stepped forward in a daze. ‘Excuse me,’ I asked in English. ‘Could you tell me where the English books are?’
The angel’s smile widened. ‘Ah, yes, I am looking for an English novel too. Do you know Pride and Prejudice?’
I blinked in surprise. The angel spoke perfect English. ‘This way,’ she beckoned, and led me to the English fiction section, where I had been standing only minutes earlier. We chattered happily as I helped her locate Jane Austen’s classic novel. I then pretended to be looking for a Charles Dickens’ novel to prolong the conversation.
The angel’s name was Yumi and she was in her final year studying English at a university in Kyoto. She had come to Osaka for a day’s shopping and was trying to find Pride and Prejudice for a coming reading assignment. I quickly explained that I had studied Pride and Prejudice at high school and was very familiar with Jane Austen’s work. I neglected to mention that I had completely detested the book and never actually read the ending.
‘Would you like to go and have a drink?’ I asked impulsively.
To my surprise Yumi nodded and suggested we go to a nearby café. For the next three hours we talked non-stop. Yumi laughed at my stories of life in Kanan Town, and I was smitten with her stories of her rural Kyushu childhood and her life at university.
Conversation soon turned to our respective interests in music and movies, and Yumi suggested that we move to a nearby CD store so she could show me her favourite Japanese artists. We laughed our way around the CD store, joking about each other’s taste in music. In a lovesick haze, I splashed out and bought a CD I had never listened to before (and, after listening to it at home later that night, decided never to listen to again).
It was starting to grow dark outside, and I daringly asked Yumi if she would like to have dinner. Again to my surprise she agreed, and we ate at a pasta restaurant on the top floor of a department store with an amazing view of the city. The sun set and the lights of Osaka came to life. The meal was delicious. I did not want the evening to end.
‘I know it’s getting late,’ I said at length, ‘but would you like to go for a ride on the Ferris wheel on the top of the building? I’ve always wanted to ride it, but have never had a chance before.’
Yumi nodded enthusiastically. She too, she explained, had wanted to rid
e the Ferris wheel for some time. ‘I hear it’s got the best night-time view in all of Osaka.’
The Ferris wheel certainly gave an unobstructed view of greater Osaka. I was sure I could even see Tondabayashi’s awful PL Tower. I pointed. Yumi peered into the darkness. ‘I don’t see anything,’ she teased. ‘You’re making it up.’
The lights of the city twinkled merrily beneath us. It was a truly breathtaking view. I was still dazzled by the day’s unexpected events and convinced it was all a dream, and that Yumi would soon announce her romantic allegiance to a mafia overlord.
The ride came to an end. ‘I’d really like to see you again,’ I gushed. ‘Would you like to go to the movies next week?’
Yumi smiled. ‘I’d really like to see you again too, but my university trip to America leaves this Thursday. I’ll be back in three weeks and we can meet up then.’
I blushed. ‘Oh yes, sorry – I know you told me that.’ I remembered now that Yumi had mentioned her trip to America at least twice. ‘Well, I’d really like to go to the movies with you after you get back.’
She agreed enthusiastically and we exchanged phone numbers. I walked her to the station, and stood on the platform waving as her train slowly pulled away.
I raced home and was on the phone to Justin within seconds of arriving at my apartment. ‘You’ll never guess what happened to me today,’ I began breathlessly.
Justin listened patiently as I recounted the day in intimate detail. ‘So, she doesn’t own a strip club?’ he asked sarcastically when I finished my story.
I laughed. ‘No.’
‘Her neighbours haven’t had their house burned down recently?’
‘No!’
‘And she’s not on drugs, escaped from prison, or secretly a man wearing a summer dress? Then good luck. It sounds like fate is finally on your side.’
I was still grinning as I hung up the phone. For the next three weeks I counted the days until Yumi’s return. I had already planned a romantic evening in downtown Osaka. Finally, my cell-phone beeped and I jumped with joy. There was a text message from Yumi.
Under the Osakan Sun Page 18