Hokkaido Highway Blues

means “in another life, another time.”
    “And your daughter?“
    He laughed. “She will learn how to fly. Just like Godzilla.”
    “And destroy Tokyo?’
    “Oh, I don’t think so. She will be a cheerful monster. She is too kind to smash such things.”
    A Bedouin. A long-distance rider. A cheerful monster.
    “Wait till you meet my father,” said Yoshi. “He is very cheerful. Too cheerful. He speaks English. My mother doesn’t speak English, but she is very kind. Why don’t you come to meet them?”
    So we slipped away from the party, walking past pools of laughter and flowers lit in the night. His parents lived not far from the park, down a maze of narrow avenues, in a house tucked in beside a temple. The last time I met someone’s father was in Uwajima, and he turned out to be an A-bomb survivor. I hesitated at the threshold of Yoshi’s home.
    “Your dad,” I said. “He wasn’t in Nagasaki or Hiroshima or anything, was he?”
    “No, no,” said Yoshi. He slid the front door open and we stepped inside. “But he was a PO.W“
    Damn. “Listen, Yoshi, your father’s probably asleep, I’ll go, okay? Maybe another time.”
    “Don’t worry,” said Yoshi. “I’ll wake him. Tōsan!“ He called out to the dark sleeping house. “ Tōsan!”
    A moment passed, and then a light flicked on and a silver-haired, sturdy-looking man came out. He was wrapping his bathrobe around his waist like a samurai answering a distress call. “Yoshihiro?” He put on his glasses and smoothed down his futon-tousled hair.
    “Ah!” he said when he spotted me, his smile as broad as Yoshihiro’s was soft. “Come in, buddy!”
    Soon we had roused the entire household. Yoshihiro’s wife came out and welcomed me with a sleepy bow. His mother smiled and fussed with her nightgown. Even little Ayané staggered out, rubbing her eyes lazily and peering at me with a rather annoyed expression.
    Yoshihiro’s dad was ebullient. “Sit down, sit down. We speak, okay? I study English every day, you want to see my notebook? I write English sentences and words, new words, proverbs, everything. ’A penny saved is a penny earned.’ I show you my English notes.“ He went to get them, but halfway across the room he was distracted by a photo album and he forgot all about his original errand.
    He came back with a stack of albums and opened one onto my lap. The photos inside were gloriously jumbled, completely out of order, much like the flow of the conversation.
    “Here, you see. This is Yoshihiro as a young boy, just a baby. Here he is on motorcycle in Kumamoto City. That’s where we are from, Kumamoto. Yoshihiro looks thin in this picture. Now he is fat a little, his wife is too good cook. Here is my wedding. Japanese wedding, very formal. Nobody smiles, too serious. This is Ayané, very cute. Here is Yoshihiro and Chiemi-san’s wedding. She speaks English, you know?”
    Green tea and sweets appeared as if having condensed out of the air. I was the only one who drank the tea. This is common; tea and small snacks are presented to guests as one might offer oranges to an altar—more in spirit than for actual sustenance. For a long time in Japan I had the uncomfortable suspicion that the tea was poisoned because no one else would touch it when I was around. It is a test as well. You know you have crossed the threshold from guest to friend when they join you in tea and snacks.
    Old Mr. Nak wanted to know if I was married. “You have a wife? No? Everybody say get a Japanese wife, right? Tell you Japanese wife is good, right?”
    I nodded, it was true. Everyone from street sweepers to company presidents had advised me on the merits of marrying a Japanese woman.
    Mr. Nak had other ideas. “Don’t marry Japanese woman. Whatever you do, don’t marry them. Japanese wife is very good —before the wedding. After the wedding—” He threw his hands heavenward in defeat. “Very strong.” Everyone laughed on cue, even Yoshihiro’s mother, who didn’t follow the English but was tickled to see her old hubby chattering away in another language. When she laughed her eyes disappeared into two perfect crescents, like upside-down u’s.
    “Before my marriage, wife is very gentle. Always bowing to me, saying ‘You want tea, you want saké?’ And if she need to—” He made a hand-burst gesture from his rear.
    “Fart?” I said.
    “Yes, when she need to do such thing, she goes into washroom. She turns on the water. She locks the door.