Alone in Kyôto
10月12日 (月ー火) 1:33am JST
After hopping out of a car in the middle of the street, fetching my bag from the trunk, and avoiding the oncoming taxi, I found myself wandering alone through Kyôto without where to stay for the night. Catching the last train to the city center, I found myself immersed in a bath of neon, my head soaked with the notion that those whose fortunes are undecided, if only in the matter of finding a pillow for the night, are more free than those with a bed to their name.
I had ridden down from Toyama in a car full of whites talking about post-colonial African fiction. After imparting my share of both truth and fiction to their quest (truth: the directions I translated from Japanese; fiction: the higher -jô numbers are the ones further north), I fixed my fate to my feet.
As time dragged on and my pack became heavier with time and realizations, I found myself walking with increased resolve and doubly increased doubts. From the station, I made it all the way to 4-jô and the river before being forcefully made to see that which I already knew about the layout of the street numbers. Passing increasingly expensive love hotels, I wondered if I shouldn’t have stuck with the others and tried to wrangle a room in their hostel, instead of taking a train that I knew would take me only one stop— and in the direction away from my host family at that. And yet, I pressed on down the alien streets, past the pimps posed in parlorways and bum beslept on subway steps.
The normal people had all, no doubt, gone home.
And yet, a grin grew on face, as though the city of Kyôto was itself my pleasure. At the same time, what wasn’t quite tears grew closer to my eyes.
Excitement, loneliness, joy, fear? Who knows.
I thought back to that day at school. Some teachers were discussing Karl, the homophonic snack food. Hearing what seemed my name, I edged into the conversation.
“[Oh no,]” they decried, “okashi kaaru.”
“え〜っ,” I joked, “okashii kaaru; that’s me!]”
Now, the romance of foreign streets fading, but my feet failing to end their endless emulation of the Aristotle’s Unmoved Mover, I no longer saw myself as my self. I felt myself the 変なやつ that so many others had always spoken of. Whereas in ordinary circumstances, my own motivations are clear enough to myself (strange as they are) and my actions thus justifiable, now, my motivation was naught and my actions inexplicable. In not understanding myself, I understood others not understanding me. “To 3-jô? To Marutamachi? To Demachiyanagi?” I wondered, not knowing the answer.
My throat was uneasy, and my burden was heavy. I happened into a bar. Though I protested that it was a long story, I soon related the translations to the barman. He himself had been to New York City some time before. He no longer knew why. Presumably, like his solitary patron, he did what he liked but could not yet master liking what he liked. My ¥500 went to a good cause, and the Sapporo was both delicious and good for staring at while pondering.
I backtracked down the boulevard and attempted to sleep in a karaoké box. Sound seeped in from all angles, preventing a _____ sleep, but having paid in advance, my stinginess outweighed all other options.
Come 5AM, I made the four dollar, hour and a half journey to the doorstep of my host family. It was the ride I would have taken the night before, if the rain had not delayed our car until the last train departed. The rain continued drizzling. My throat was still sore. I uselessly tossed rocks at the host parents’ bedroom window, knocked on the front door, and rang the door, before resigning myself to the dry interior of their unlocked car. Time had become unhinged once more. Eventually, host father awoke by his natural rhythm, and I took to the futon that had once before been mine.
10月13日 (火ー水) 12:17am JST
I slept until 10:30 or so, a respectable time to awaken even for those who spend most of the night out of karaoké boxes.
One partial motivation in my fevered walking of the streets the night before had been sightseeing before the predicted typhoon. However, the storm passed us by on its way to Tôkyô. The days of my break were clear and relaxed thereafter.
I ate, drank, slept, played a mind boggling amount of Tetris, and otherwise chilled out. I swapped GBA cartridges with the host nieces. It seems that the only difference between the US and Japanese versions of “Mario Land” is the framing of the cover art. (Incidentally, this is one of the few Mario games that doesn’t call out for a rerelease.)
D--- is still working in Ôsaka, and so came over. There was a BBQ of massive proportions, lasting from Sunday afternoon to leftovers Monday morning. It was soothed in the way that a family reunion can only be after the participants drop the fiction of using common language. Conversation roamed far and wide. Thoroughly delightful.
After the last bit of improvised apple pie was baked and final brownie eaten a la mode, I took took to the road home by means of sightseeing in Kyôto.
In Yodo, I pursued my phantom lost loves, the Uji River’s disappearance, the relationship of kudzu to baseball. (Hint, both are invaders that overwhelmed the foreign environment.) Past the train yards and crumbling castles, on to Fushimi-Momoyama and then Demachiyanagi. At departing-willows, I endured my least favorite thing for the sake of my most. I ate at the Bon Bon cafe. I breathed deep the perfume of sophisticated life— When a man tires of Kyôto, he tries of the contemplative life!
The day before my return, a train on its way to Toyama hit a bear. My train hit only a wild boar. The other passengers joked that next we’ll hit a tanooki. “[No,]” I said, “[a tengu.]”
Today in school, I whipped up a 50 minute writing class in about 15 minutes, start to finish with handouts. T--- has gone to America for the week, and exams start soon, so the schedule is unpredictable. My key advice to the kids was to give up on trying to translate 自分 andできた and to capitalize Your sentences properly. I also instructed them on the proper use of “y’all,” “ain’t,” and other Southern terms. My lesson on grits will have to wait until later, I suppose. Perhaps, tomorrow?…
Stay tuned.
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