Under the Osakan Sun

by Hamish Beaton

  People seemed to materialise from everywhere. Two of my former students waited for three hours after school to give me some home-made origami. My hairdresser made me a CD filled with all the music on which I had ever commented while having my hair cut.

  My colleagues at the school had decided to throw a farewell party on my final Saturday night. I assumed it would be small and knew of only eight people who had said they would attend. I grew slightly nervous, thinking the party would be a surefire flop. I was, therefore, pleasantly surprised to turn up and find a packed banquet room. As well as the thirty teachers with whom I currently worked, there were another fifteen with whom I had worked but who were now at other schools.

  Mr Yagi, the shaven-haired woodwork teacher, was there with his baseball cap still back-to-front. Mr Kazama, the principal, had come out of retirement for my big night, and was sitting in a corner, dressed in a three-piece suit and grinning broadly. My good friend Mr Higo was wearing a Canterbury rugby jersey, and had bought me a matching one as a gift.

  I looked around. I was surrounded by friendly smiling faces – but someone was missing. Perhaps Mr Doi was off building bombs or driving flash German cars in North Korea?

  My colleagues had made an interesting choice of restaurant: our banquet room was beside a vast aquarium teeming with fish and crustaceans. The waiters explained that we could point at anything we liked the look of, and they would scoop it up with giant nets. The hapless fish or shellfish would then be taken out to the kitchen, banged on the head, and set on a plate so we could eat it before it stopped flapping.

  For customers who preferred their shellfish cooked, small Bunsen burners were supplied so the poor blighters could be roasted slowly before our eyes.

  Despite the gruesome nature of the cuisine, the party was one of my happiest nights in Japan. I was deeply touched to learn that so many people had enjoyed my company: I had often wondered if they had secretly resented my chocolate-eating indolence.

  It was especially good to catch up with Mr Higo. He had initially had a rough time at his new school, where he had been put in charge of a particularly rebellious class. I listened in shocked disbelief to his stories of pregnant teenagers, wannabe gangsters and classroom brawls. One day he had been forced to break up a fight between two boys armed with knives. After a few difficult months, however, his good humour had started to rub off on his students and he now found his classes very rewarding.

  ‘I enjoyed our classes the most though,’ he rapidly added, worried that I might be offended.

  Everyone had brought me a present. There were more paper fans for the emporium, two T-shirts and a male kimono. Including the Okis’, it was the fourth male kimono I had received.

  I stood up and called for hush. It was time for me to deliver my farewell speech. As I began I tripped over a few words. Mr Higo called out something cheeky. I ignored him. Mr Hioki called out something in my defence, and called Mr Higo a rude name. Laughter.

  I continued. I thanked everyone for attending my party. It was a night I would never forget. They had been kind and pleasant colleagues, and I had greatly enjoyed working with them. I finished by suggesting that Kanan Junior High was the best school in Japan. Thunderous applause.

  Another round of drinks was ordered. The night was just beginning.

  It was now my last week at Kanan Junior High School. It was also the last week of term; most classes had been cancelled in preparation for the school swimming sports on Thursday and the ‘Sayonara, Mr Hamish’ assembly on Friday.

  Thursday rolled around, and with it the teachers v. students swimming relay race. Haunted by memories of my accidental striptease, I fretted feverishly and tied my togs with a double reef-knot. I was to be the fourth and final swimmer in our team. Sadly, all teachers who could swim half-way decently had been transferred to other schools: we were completely lacking in élite athletes.

  Mr Hioki, the swimmer before me, needed a kick-board just to complete his length. By the time he gasped and spluttered to the end of the pool, our team was a length and half behind.

  I sighed and dived in. My swimsuit didn’t come off, or even slip down slightly. Not only that, I seemed to have been magically transformed into Ian Thorpe. I carved my way through the water to the other end without even taking a breath. The crowd went wild.

  The ‘Sayonara, Mr Hamish’ school assembly took place the following morning. For only the third time in three years, I wore a shirt and tie. I stood on the stage at the front of the gymnasium with the new school principal. No one pointed. No one giggled. This time I was supposed to be there.

  A couple of teachers made complimentary speeches. The principal coughed and handed me the microphone.

  I started in a loud clear voice. ‘I am sad to leave this school. This is a very good school. You are all very lucky to work and study here.’ Students started to cry. I pinched myself. Not again!

  I continued speaking. My voice boomed out of the loudspeakers, and as I got to the end I remembered that hot summer day when I had given my ‘Oha!’ welcome speech. Surely I should finish things the way I had started?

  ‘Oha, everyone!’ I shouted slickly. Everyone laughed. I bowed. My speech was over. It was time for me to leave.

  Mr Kobayashi stepped forward and barked at the students. They leapt to their feet and formed two long straight lines, a guard of honour. I walked out of the gymnasium, shaking students’ hands as I went. Someone thrust a bouquet of flowers at me. I continued along the avenue of students to the staff changing room.

  I was alone at last. My bags were already packed and I had cleared my desk the previous day. It was time for me to leave the school grounds. I picked up my backpack, grabbed my flowers and began to walk to the bike sheds.

  I stood stock-still in surprise. The entire school had regrouped and were now lining the walls of the bike sheds. ‘Goodbye’ banners, and an archway of coloured cardboard had been hurriedly attached above the school gate.

  I placed my flowers carefully in the basket of my bicycle and wheeled it slowly towards the exit.

  ‘Sayonara, Mr Hamish,’ they cheered. I smiled and waved, blinking back tears.

  ‘Goodbye,’ the teachers were calling.

  ‘Goodbye,’ I called back.

  ‘Goodbye!’ My once tiny pupils stood in rows. They were third-graders now, tall and oily.

  ‘Goodbye!’ Yurika Yurano waved. I laughed and called out a farewell. Yurika had finally come back to school. She had dyed her hair chestnut brown, removed most of her earrings and was attempting to compromise with the teachers by not wearing make-up.

  I paused at the school gates and waved to the students one last time.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Hamish!’ I looked behind me. Nothing. I looked up. Across the road, Magnum and Mr Smiles were waving furiously from the balcony of the Board of Education.

  I waved and mounted my bicycle. It was time to go home. I still had one last goodbye to make.

  Akko was waiting patiently. ‘How was your day?’ she asked as I put my bouquet of flowers into a vase.

  ‘Tiring,’ I replied. ‘I think I’ve said goodbye a million times this week.’

  Akko giggled. ‘And is Pooh-san tired too?’ I swatted her with a cushion and chased her on to the balcony. We hugged and looked out across the rooftops of Jinaimachi. Neither of us spoke. We realised this was our last night together.

  ‘Thank you for such happy memories these past few months,’ I said softly.

  ‘Thank you too,’ Akko replied, and nuzzled my shoulder. ‘I’ll see you in New Zealand.’

  I smiled and stroked her hair. ‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Shall we go for dinner?’ I asked. She nodded. I had booked a table at a local restaurant in Tondabayashi. We had eaten there many times in the past, and had decided it would be a nostalgic place for our final meal together.

  I had not written a farewell speech for Akko. Neither of us wanted to spend the evening being reminded that we were about to be parted.
Saying farewell was too final. I had faith in the durability of our relationship. Tonight was all about enjoying ourselves.

  We walked hand-in-hand through the Jinaimachi streets, remembering our strolls during the spring vacation. At dinner neither of us mentioned my impending departure. We ate our fill of tasty Japanese specialties, and enjoyed free drinks proffered by one of my former students, who was working at the bar.

  Two hours later, tipsy and red-faced, we stumbled out of the restaurant. We leant on each other as we wandered down the street. I started singing.

  ‘Let’s go to karaoke,’ Akko said. ‘I want to sing karaoke one last time with you.’

  I laughed and kissed her. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  Akko was on good form. She belted out her favourite songs in a sexy, husky voice. I happily butchered every song I attempted. After a while, I lost track of time. One hilarious song followed another, and our voices grew tired and our throats hoarse.

  Laughing and talking loudly, we staggered back to my apartment. We sat out on my balcony. The full moon illuminated the ancient streets and cast a ghostly glow on the Kanan Mountain Range. I smiled at Akko. She stared out at the darkness, unaware that I was looking at her. It had been a perfect night.

  Mr and Mrs Oki were on my doorstep. They were an hour ahead of schedule, and keen to get on the road. Mrs Oki stood in the kitchen talking with Akko while Mr Oki and I carried my suitcases down to his car.

  My landlady and her daughters appeared in the doorway. They had brought me some fruit to eat on the plane. The girls were quiet and hid their faces when I said goodbye. ‘They are very sad,’ Mrs Fujita said softly. ‘They will miss you.’ I had prepared some parting gifts – kiwi souvenirs and toy sheep. The girls sped off to show old Mrs Okuda over the road.

  Old Mrs Okuda and young Mrs Okuda clustered around Mr Oki’s car. It was, as usual, parked in Mrs Fujita’s parking space but this time no one cared.

  ‘You’re such a great young man,’ old Mrs Okuda called out. ‘He cooks for himself,’ she explained to Mrs Oki. Mrs Oki was horrified. ‘Heymishi! What do you cook? Why doesn’t Akko cook for you?’

  I laughed, and Akko punched my arm. Mrs Oki nearly fell over in shock.

  Young Mrs Okuda pressed some cakes into my hand. ‘Please enjoy these on your journey home,’ she said warmly, and stepped back with tears in her eyes.

  I was reluctant to leave. As soon as I stepped into Mr Oki’s car I would no longer be a resident of Tokiwa Mansion. Akko smiled at me, sensing my sudden disquiet. ‘Let’s go,’ she said calmly. ‘You need to go to the airport.’

  I nodded and waved to my neighbours for the final time. ‘I will miss you all very much,’ I called out and climbed into Mr Oki’s car.

  I stared out the car window. Jinaimachi sped past. Tondabayashi sped past. Osaka sped past. I closed my eyes and held Akko’s hand. My three years in Japan were nearly at an end.

  A crowd of people were waiting for me at the airport: Mr Tokunaga, Mr Higo, Mr Hioki, eight other teachers from the school, the Isoi family, Wij, Matt, Justin.

  Mr Higo held a banner: ‘Sayonara, Mr Hamish’. ‘I made this myself,’ he announced proudly.

  Mr Oki was already at the check-in desk, impatiently gesturing for me to join him. ‘Come on,’ he said hurriedly, looking at his watch. ‘You have only three hours until your flight leaves.’

  I laughed. ‘Thank you for driving me to the airport,’ I said and patted him on the back. He relaxed and smiled. ‘It was a pleasure.’

  I checked into my flight. It was time to go home. My long goodbye had been going on for long enough. I was tired and emotionally spent. I shook hands. Hugged people. Hugged Akko. Kissed her goodbye.

  I stepped through the metal detectors and my crowd of friends vanished from view.

  Epilogue

  Three months after I returned to New Zealand, Akko came for a visit. We spent three happy months together before her tourist visa expired and she had to return to Japan. Several months later, we agreed not to pursue a long-distance romantic relationship. We are still in regular contact and remain firm friends.

  Mr Higo has married a fellow teacher, whom he had been secretly dating for several years. He is now the proud father of a baby girl.

  Mr Hioki has undergone a dramatic transformation, injecting humour into his classes and replacing his trademark pudding-bowl haircut with a spiky crew cut. He wears smart designer suits to school and is now regarded as one of the ‘popular’ teachers.

  Mr Tokunaga is still teaching at a local primary school. He works long hours and has been unable to take a holiday, let alone go on a camping trip, in years.

  No one has heard from Mr Doi since his departure from the school.

  The people I knew at the Board of Education have all retired, resigned, been transferred to other roles, or passed away.

  Rachel Brown returned to England at the same time as I left Japan.

  My Japanese mothers still meet regularly to drink tea, chat and gossip. They are all in good health and we send each other Christmas cards every year.

  After I returned to New Zealand, the Okis proved mysteriously difficult to contact. Letters to their home went unanswered, and I was at a loss as to how to reach them. Finally, early in 2007, I managed to find a phone number for Mr Oki’s office. The female receptionist quietly explained that Mr Oki was no longer coming in to work, and had not been doing so for some time. She hesitated before adding that both Mr and Mrs Oki were now in an ‘institution’ and that only immediate family members could contact them. I have heard nothing since.

  Acknowledgements

  The enthusiasm of my friends and family for my stories sowed the seed of inspiration for this book, and were a driving force through some frustrating moments in the writing process. I would particularly like to thank my parents, without whom this book would never have made it on to the page. As well as saving my emails from Japan and painstakingly compiling them, they have provided sound counsel, encouragement and support.

  Considerable thanks go to Karen for her ideas, comments, suggestions, advice, support, and for putting up with the reclusive lifestyle of a part-time writer. I would also like to tip my hat to my brainstorming pals Chris, Jonathan, Campbell, Geraldine, Al and Russell. Thank you for being such willing and helpful sounding-boards.

  The literary advice and guidance I received from Lydia MacKinnon, Graeme Lay and Donna Wright was crucial to my stumbling my way into the publishing industry. My publisher, Awa Press, has been a professional joy to work with, and Mary Varnham has been a brilliant editor.

  Finally, I would like to thank the people of Kanan Town and my friends in Osaka for their kindness, limitless hospitality and great sense of fun, all of which made my life in Japan so rewarding and enriching.

  About the author

  Hamish Beaton was born in Christchurch, New Zealand. He graduated in Japanese and French at Canterbury University, and after travelling in Europe, spent three years living and teaching in Japan under the JET programme. He now lives and works in London.

  Copyright

  First eBook edition published in 2012 by

  Awa Press, Level 1, 85 Victoria Street

  Wellington, New Zealand

  eISBN: 978-1-877551-07-9

  First edition published in 2008

  Copyright © Hamish Beaton 2008

  The right of Hamish Beaton to be identified as the author of this work in terms of Section 96 of the Copyright Act 1994 is hereby asserted.

  Copyright in this book is held by the author. You have been granted the right to read this e-book on screen but no part may be copied, transmitted, reproduced, downloaded or stored or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form and by any means now known or subsequently invented without the written consent of Awa Press Limited, acting as the author’s authorised agent.

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Data for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

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  Hamish Beaton, Under the Osakan Sun