The Little Sumo and the Gingerbread Dragon, part 1 －小さなお相撲さんとジンジャーブレッドの竜 パート1－

The Little Sumo was on holiday with Mummy and Daddy.  He sat in the back of the car, intently looking out of the window.  Mummy was at the wheel of their old and shabby orange family car, driving toward their hotel.  In fact their car had once been orange.  Now it was so old an spattered with mud that it had become browny-orange.  Daddy was in the front, in the passenger seat.  He too was intently looking out of the window. 

“I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with H,” said Daddy. 

The Little Sumo scanned the people on the pavement.  He spotted a policeman.  “Hat!” he shouted. 

“No,” said Daddy.  “Try again.” 

Mummy made a suggestion.  “Is it a human?” she asked. 

“Nope,” said Daddy.  “Try again.” 

The little sumo scanned the buildings at the side of the road.  “House!” he said. 

“That’s right,” said Daddy.  “Now it’s your turn.” 

So the Little Sumo looked ahead, then to the side, and then behind the car. 

“Well, hurry up!” said Daddy.  “Have a good look around and just pick something you can see.” 

The Little Sumo looked through the window and up into the sky.  “I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with D,” he said. 

“A dog?” suggested Daddy. 

“No,” said the Little Sumo.  “Try again!” 

Mummy made a guess.  “Uh… a doughnut?” she said.  “I didn’t see that policeman we passed eating one, but I’m quite sure that policemen always have doughnuts.” 

“No, Mummy, you’re wrong,” said the Little Sumo.  “Try again!” 

Daddy spoke next.  “A duck?  No, there aren’t any ducks.  A daffodil?  No, there aren’t any daffodils here either.  Okay, I give up.  What do you see that begins with the letter D?” 

“A dragon!” shouted the Little Sumo, happily. 

Mummy laughed out loud.  “I was just joking about the doughnut.  You’ve got to pick something you can actually see,” she said.  “You can’t just make something up, like seeing a dragon.” 

“But I did see a dragon,” said the Little Sumo, pointing to the sky.  “It had big wings and a long neck, and a tail, and it was kind of orangey-brown.” 

Daddy twisted in his seat to try to get a better look at the sky.  “Well, I can’t see anything,” he said.  Maybe it was a bird or a plane.” 

“It’s gone now,” said the Little Sumo.  “But it was there just before, flying in the sky!” 

“Oh!” said Daddy.  “I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with B - a betting shop!  I want to stop and make a bet on the important horse race today,” he said. 

“Oh, Daddy!  Do you have to go to a betting shop when we are on holiday?” said Mummy. 

“Well, it’s a very big, important race today,” he said.  “I just gamble once a year.  It’s a kind of tradition.  And I might win some money for us to spend on our holiday.”  He looked at his watch.  “The race will start soon.  I think I’ve got just enough time to place my bet.” 

So Mummy parked the car while Daddy went into the betting shop.  Mummy and the Little Sumo waited in the car for him to return. 

After a few minutes, the Little Sumo noticed that his window was trembling slightly, as if the ground under the car was being pushed by a heavy weight.  Then he heard a loud sound coming from behind them.  Clip-clop, clip-clop.  It was getting louder, coming nearer.  Clip-clop, clip-clop! 

The Little Sumo looked round, out of the back windscreen.  “Mummy, look!” he said. 

Trotting down the street was a huge white horse.  On its back was a knight in shining armour, carrying a bright and long lance. 

He spotted their mud-spattered, browny-orange car and gave a great shout.  “Huzzah!  I’ve got you now and you won’t escape my steel!” 

The knight flipped his visor down and lowered his lance, pointing the deadly end forward.  Then his horse came on at speed, charging towards the Little Sumo and Mummy in their car. 

* 

Oh, dear.  I hope that Mummy and the Little Sumo aren’t speared by this knight and his lance.  Will Daddy come out of the betting shop to the scene of a disaster?  And what happened to that dragon in the sky?  Find out in part 2 next time!

 

Vocabulary:

to do something intently – to do something with great focus and attention

to be shabby – to be old and in a bad condition

to be spattered with something – to be randomly covered with many splashes or little pieces of something.  For example, “The workman’s shirt was spattered with paint.”

to make something up – to invent or create something fictional

 

Voodoo People Like Us －私たちのようなブードゥー人間－

“Magic people: Voodoo people,

The voodoo who do what you don’t dare do, people.”

From the Prodigy song, “Voodoo People”

Do you remember the scene in the Indiana Jones movie, “The Temple of Doom” in which an evil child sticks a pin into a doll?  The doll represented Indiana Jones, and whenever the pin was stuck into the doll’s body, the real Indiana Jones started screaming in pain. 

This scene seems to be based on the idea of a Voodoo doll.  The movie is set in India and Voodoo originated in West Africa, so it was a little strange to use it in the movie.  But I can’t think of a better example of Voodoo dolls in popular culture. 

Not many people reading this blog will believe that sticking a pin into a doll representing your enemy can really cause that enemy to feel pain.  But it is not hard to believe that sticking the pin into the Voodoo doll can bring you pleasure! 

I recently read about a scientific study in which people were asked to remember a time when they were the victim of an injustice – for example, to remember a time when they were bullied at work.  Then half of the people studied were given the chance to stick a pin into a representation of the person who had wronged them, and half were not.  According to the researchers the people who stuck the pins in (actually, they stuck “virtual pins” into an image on a computer screen) experienced positive mental benefits.  Their feelings of injustice and victimhood were lessened by the symbolic act of revenge.  Even though their enemy in the real world was not harmed, they still got some psychological benefit from taking action to harm a representation of their enemy. 

So now you know what to do the next time your boss asks you to do overtime.

 

Making Mummified Chicken, Korean Style －韓国風鶏のミイラを作ること－

“Oh, God,” I thought, “Let the dessert be small!” 

I had already eaten crispy vegetables in batter, fruit wrapped in kimchee, toppogi (pounded rice), chijimi (a bit like a pancake), dak hanmari (a whole chicken and vegetable hot pot), and udon noodles.  I was full before the end of the chicken hot pot.  Like a soldier going into battle, I got through the hot pot and the udon, feeling my belly bulge against my waistband. 

“Maybe it will be one scoop of ice cream, or a single wafer of chocolate?” I hoped. 

Then the waiter announced annin dofu in lemon (a sort of sweet curd made from apricot kernel).  And I prepared for one last battle. 

I was in a lovely Korean restaurant in Ebisu called Suragan.  It was a birthday treat and so I ordered the 4,500 Yen lunch course.  It was very good value, and the chijimi was particularly nice.  I had only ever eaten it in cheap izakayas before, and I was surprised at how fluffy and light it was. 

But I really wanted to try the dak hanmari hot pot.  It was very interesting.  The waiter had us test the soup to see if it was acceptable, before we started, as customers test a bottle of wine before the waiter pours a full glass.  The soup was indeed very rich and tasty. 

The trouble is, especially for a blind person, it is rather difficult to eat a whole chicken in soup with chopsticks.  I had to pick a bit out with the chopsticks, try to find a bony bit, and then hold the bone with my fingers while I tore off the meat.  And the restaurant provided a little pot to put the bones into.  My wife commented that it put her in mind of the process of creating a mummy.  I know what she meant.  In ancient Egypt the embalmers used lots of little pots to put in various body parts that could not be preserved. 

For a Scotsman like me, one of the benefits of living in Tokyo is the quality of Asian restaurants.  Of course the Japanese food is nice.  But there are also lots of Koreans and Chinese living here.  And there are good Vietnamese and Thai restaurants too.  Scotland has good Indian and Cantonese restaurants, but not so many nice restaurants from other Asian countries. 

I’ll be sure to enjoy Korean food again.  But maybe a smaller course next time.

 

Half a Glass of Chilled Beer －グラス半分の冷えたビール－

French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre once wrote a play in which three characters are punished in the afterlife by being forced to spend an eternity locked together in a room.  This is sometimes summarised in the phrase, “Hell is being locked in a room with your friends”, or just, “Hell is other people.” 

Sartre’s vision of Hell came to mind this week when more than sixty people were trapped for several days and nights in a pub in the north of England.  People gathered at the pub to see an Oasis tribute band when there was a sudden flurry of snow.  The pub became cut off, and the concert-goers as well as the band were snowed in.  The strangers had to sleep on floors and sofas, and spend days trapped in a small space with strangers, listening to covers of Oasis songs.  Sartre probably would have committed suicide by the second day. 

But being stuck in a pub has its good points too.  English poet William Blake once said, “A good local pub has much in common with a church, except that a pub is warmer, and there is more conversation.” 

Perhaps a comparison of Sartre and Blake says something about the differing temperaments of the English and the French? 

The snowed in patrons seem to have sided with Blake, and taken the view that their glasses were half-full, not half-empty.  Speaking to the media about the incident, the pub owner said, "All of our guests have just been wonderful, so we've been incredibly lucky. They've been very supportive, understanding and patient.”  She said customers had helped out with washing up, clearing tables and collecting glasses. 

I must say that I’m not a big fan of Oasis.  After hearing a dodgy cover version of Wonderwall for the fiftieth time in four days, I probably would have agreed with Sartre.

 

Vocabulary:

a tribute band – a band that plays only cover versions of one particular band

a flurry of snow – a sudden heavy snowfall

to be snowed in – to be trapped and unable to leave because of heavy snow

a patron – a customer; someone who supports a business etc. with their money

dodgy – of low quality; unreliable

 

Fried Rice, Fried Rice, Fried Rice, Repeat －炒飯、炒飯、炒飯、繰り返し－

An American with Chinese ancestry told media this week that he has eaten at over 7,800 different Chinese restaurants, mostly in the U.S..  Mr. Chan is 72 now, and has been keeping a record of all the different Chinese restaurants he has visited since the 1960s, when he became interested in exploring his cultural heritage. 

You’ve got to admire the tenacity of Mr. Chan.  If you were to go to a different Chinese restaurant every night of the week for ten whole years, you would still not have eaten at half the number of Chinese restaurants that he has.  Would you really never once fancy some pasta, or cous cous, or sushi instead? 

And also, if your goal is to explore your Chinese heritage, and you still haven’t satisfied yourself after thousands of hours spent sitting in front of plates of fried rice and dim sum, mightn’t you be going about it the wrong way?  Perhaps Mr. Chan could have used some of the hours spent in restaurants reading Confucius and Sun Tzu, or practicing calligraphy instead. 

And I wonder what happens to a man who has had 7,800 fortune cookies?  Isn’t he tempting fate?  One day a really unlucky fortune cookie will just say, “In ten seconds you will die from an overdose of prawn crackers!” 

Good luck, Mr. Chan.  It’s nice to have a passion in life. 

Vocabulary:

to have (Chinese) ancestry – for your parents, or grandparents, or great-grandparents, etc., to have come from (China), even if you may have been born elsewhere

your cultural heritage – the culture that is passed down to you from earlier generations, such as your parents

tenacity – the property of continuing, without giving up

to fancy something – to feel like something; to have a slight desire for something

to tempt fate – for superstitious people, to act in a way that might cause a supernatural power to want to cause you harm.  For example, boasting about how lucky you are might be seen as tempting fate, since the jealous gods might want to give you bad luck instead.

 

The Fall and Rise of Yumenishiki Anko and the Sumos from Nerima －練馬出身、夢錦安子の栄枯盛衰－

My son’s nursery holds a sumo tournament every year, and it has been taking place over the last week.  The nursery students are each asked to choose a sumo name, and then they fight each other in a round robin style tournament.  They each fight two bouts a day, and if they win they get a star next to their name. 

My son’s sumo name is “Yumenishiki Anko”.  He fought as Yumenishiki last year, when he was four, and got no stars next to his name at all.  He lost every bout.  If I were a nursery teacher, I would probably set up the tournament so that every child could win at least one time.  But at this nursery, it’s a hard lesson in life. 

I didn’t want my son to lose every bout again this year, so I have been practicing sumo with him at home.  “Push, push!” I encourage, or, “Go for my shoulders.  Oh, no – I’m falling over!” 

Sadly, on the first day of the tournament, my son lost both bouts.  Then on the next day, he lost both bouts again.  He seemed quite upset. 

Then on the third day he fought against another student who had also lost every bout.  And Yumenishiki won!  He lost the other bout that day, but he came home very happy. 

“Daddy, Daddy, I won!” he said.  Then he switched language, talking to me in Japanese.  “Ore mecha yowai no ni, X-kun wo taoshita!  X-kun ga mecha mecha yowai, ne!”  In English I might translate that as, “Even though I’m dead weak, I pushed over X.  He’s dead, dead weak!” 

I feel sorry for the boy I have called “X-kun”.  It is very early in life to feel weaker than your peers. 

But Yumenishiki took great confidence from knowing that he was no longer considered the weakest.  On the next day, he won both bouts.  “Ore sugoi tsuyoi yo ne, Daddy,” he now tells me – “I’m amazingly strong, aren’t I Daddy?” 

Perhaps in a few years he will be able to beat me, even if I don’t crouch down.

 

Vocabulary:

a round robin – A style of competition in which each competitor plays every other competitor.  The football World Cup starts with a round robin section

a bout – a match, especially in some combat sports

one’s peers – one’s social equals

 

Windswept and Interesting Parenting －吹きさらしで興味深い子育て－

I recently read the autobiography of the Scottish comedian, Billy Connolly.  It is called, “Windswept and Interesting”.  Connolly recommends living your life as a windswept and interesting person, rather than as a neat and ordinary one.  If you are windswept then you look untidy after being exposed to the wind.  Perhaps your hair has been blown into a chaotic state.  For Connolly this is one sign of an interesting person. 

Connolly grew up in a working-class area of Glasgow.  He tells an interesting story about the parenting style of one of his neighbors. 

A family who lived near Connolly when he was a small boy had nine children.  In those days the children were left to play outside by themselves, or with the other children of the neighborhood. 

“I’m going to the pub for a drink,” said the father of the nine children. 

“Oh, no you’re not,” said his wife.  “Not until you bring our children in from playing outside and put them all to bed.” 

Annoyed at being delayed from going to the pub, the father goes outside and picks up the first nine children he sees, brings them into his house, and puts them all to bed.  Then he goes off for a drink.  The nine children included seven of his own children, and Billy Connolly and his sister, who just happened to be playing near the man’s house. 

When Connolly’s family went looking for him, they found two children crying outside the house.  “We can’t get in,” they wailed.  “The bed’s full of people!” 

This is a windswept and interesting style of parenting.

 

Thoughts of a Fiction 20 Per Center －フィクション小説二割さんの考え－

I heard on the news recently that in Britain 80 per cent of fiction sales are to women, and only 20 per cent to men. 

Men are just less likely to read books, and less likely to listen to audio books.  And for those men who do read, they read a higher proportion of non-fiction than women do.  I wonder why? 

Since non-fiction contains truth, and fiction contains lies, perhaps the simple answer is that women are more comfortable with lies than men are! 

Or maybe women are better at empathising than men.  To read a novel to the end, you have to care about the characters.  Maybe men just don’t care.  “So Harry Potter’s parents both died and he is an orphan.  So?  It’s a tough life.  Grow up and stop complaining!” 

I am one of the 20 per cent of fiction readers who is a man.  I have been listening to The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens recently.  But I have also been reading less fiction and more non-fiction as I get older.  My last two books before I started Dickens were an autobiography of a great Scottish comedian (“Windswept and Interesting”, by Billy Connolly) and a travel documentary (“Michael Palin: Around the World in 80 Days”).  I must be becoming more manly.

 

Vocabulary:

to empathise – to understand and share the feelings of others

an orphan – a child whose parents are dead

manly – having the good qualities traditionally associated with men, such as courage and strength

 

Ashes to Ashes －灰は灰に－

I have a student who had a romantic notion about what should happen to her ashes after she dies. 

“Although I’m Japanese, I wanted my ashes to be scattered into the River Ganges after my death,” she told me. 

She changed her mind after actually visiting India. 

“The river seemed quite dirty.  I’m not sure I would like to spend eternity there.” 

In Britain people are sometimes cremated too, and their ashes are placed in an urn and given to their family. 

Just like my student who had a romantic notion about the River Ganges, Britons sometimes have romantic notions about where their ashes should be placed after their death.  It is not uncommon for fanatical fans of a particular football club to request that their ashes be buried underneath the pitch of their club’s home ground. 

But what if the club moves to another ground? 

This happened at the football club York City recently.  The club sold its old ground, where the team had played for 89 years, to housing developers.  The ashes of 15 fans had been buried under the old ground.  The club called in archaeologists to try to recover the ashes before the houses are built.  In the last article I read about the story, they had recovered 7 sets of ashes.  So 8 sets of ashes have not been recovered. 

I suppose the moral of the story is that this world is for the living, not for the dead.

A Foreigner’s View of Japanese Elections －ジャパンタイムズに記事が掲載されました－

What would you say to the Japanese prime minister if he suddenly appeared in front of you?  How about suggesting that the government support a Go To English study campaign, like the Go To Travel and Go To Eat campaigns?  Maybe you wouldn’t recognise the new prime minister because he is so new in office. 

I recently wrote an article for the Japan Times about elections in Japan.  I wrote about a friend who came close to a former Japanese prime minister, and a foreigner who really wanted to say something at a political rally in Tokorozawa. 

You can read the article here:

ジャパンタイムズ記事リンク（2021/10/18）

The Sand in your Eyes －目の中の砂－

Do you ever wake up with something small and hard, like a grain of sand in the corner of your eye?  If so, then you have been visited by the Sandman.  According to legend, he throws sand into the eyes of sleepers.  In some tales he does this to give them pleasant dreams. 

In the 1954 song by the Chordettes (which is the most famous version), the Sandman also has a “magic beam.”  Perhaps he is carrying a torch, which produces a magical beam of light, allowing him to see into a sleeper’s dreams.

 

Edited extract from, “Mr. Sandman,” by the Chordettes:

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen.

Give him two lips like roses and clover

Then tell him that his lonely nights are over

 

Sandman, I’m so alone

Don’t have [anybody] to call my own

Please turn on your magic beam

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

*

And what were you dreaming of last night?  Why is there so much sand in your eyes?  Don’t overuse that magic beam.  Lips like roses and clover can be addictive, you know.

 

The Spy who Loved Me －私を愛したスパイ－

The new James Bond movie is being released in some countries.  A lot of people are excited, since the movie’s release was delayed several times because of the coronavirus pandemic. 

The Bond movies are famous for spectacular stunts, a luxurious lifestyle of fast cars and Martinis, and beautiful “Bond girls”.  James Bond seems to have difficulty maintaining a long term relationship with any of these women.  Maybe it is too difficult to have a long-term girlfriend when you are regularly travelling around, saving the world.  And even if Bond could keep a girlfriend, would it be a happy relationship for his partner? 

* 

His proposal of marriage was certainly memorable.  Instead of going down on one knee and asking me to marry him, he booked a luxury room in an underwater hotel.  There was a window in our room, which looked out into the ocean.  You could see fish swimming past the window, because the room was 10 metres underwater. 

One morning I awoke to the sound of an alarm clock.  My boyfriend wasn’t in the bed next to me.  I turned the alarm clock off and, as I did so, I found a note next to it.  On the note was written, “Look out of the window, darling.” 

So I ran to the curtains and opened them.  My boyfriend was there, outside the window.  He wasn’t wearing a diving suit.  He was just holding his breath.  He pulled out a note from his swimming trunks, and held it up against the window.  It said, “Will you marry me, darling?” 

Well, I didn’t have much time to think.  I thought he would run out of air if I waited too long, so I held up a thumb and nodded my head.  My boyfriend kissed the glass, then pushed a button on his swimming trunks.  I think he had some sort of clever device attached, because he suddenly shot up to the surface in a cloud of bubbles. 

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband suggested that we celebrate by drinking champagne in a private aeroplane, while watching the sunrise. 

When I got to the airport at the time we had arranged, he still wasn’t there.  But he called me to say that he would meet me on the plane.  So I boarded.  The funny thing was, he wasn’t inside.  I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just sat in my seat and read an in-flight magazine. 

The plane took off.  An attendant brought me some champagne.  Next to the champagne there was a note.  The note said, “Look out of the window, darling.” 

“Not again,” I thought.  Couldn’t he just give me some flowers or chocolate like a normal man?

 

 

Perseverance in Japan －日本での忍耐力－ ジャパンタイムズに記事が掲載されました

I wrote an article recently for the Japan Times about the importance of perseverance in Japanese culture. 

The article mentions a colleague of mine who wanted to start studying a martial art at a Japanese dojo.  When he went there to ask about lessons, he was told that he would have to wait to see the instructor.  He had to wait several hours before the sensei emerged.  The instructor told him that he deliberately made him wait so long to test his patience.  He only wanted to instruct students who were totally committed. 

I might try the same thing with my English students.  You can keep ringing my doorbell, but I won’t answer until you have proven your commitment. 

Here is the article: ジャパンタイムズ記事リンク（2021/9/27）

 

Dangerous Words －危ない言葉－

“They verbally attacked each another with Mao’s quotations, making cynical use of his guru-like elusiveness – It was easy to select a quotation of Mao to suit any situation, or even both sides of the same argument.”

From “Wild Swans,” by Jung Chang

 

I once had a friend who said that poor people should not be allowed to have children.  “In that way,” he said, “The number of poor people will slowly be reduced.” 

This friend of mine now works in a bank.  Should someone who has said such a controversial thing be allowed to keep his job?  Shouldn’t the bank fire him for his unacceptable opinions? 

No, they shouldn’t.  It would be especially harsh to fire my friend for his opinion of poor people, because he said it when he was about 13 years old.  He has probably changed his mind since then. 

The trouble is that nowadays 13 year olds’ opinions are recorded on Twitter, or other social networks.  And when they apply for a job ten years later, their most stupid childhood comments may still be visible.  The same is true not just for children, but for adults too.  Maybe in the past people could get away with saying stupid things after having a few too many alcoholic drinks.  Now if they post a stupid comment on the internet after drinking a bottle of wine, the message may haunt their life forever more. 

Even if you say something that is not very controversial, it is easy for another person to take what you have written out of context, to twist the apparent meaning into something else.  I remember reading in the book “Wild Swans,” which describes life in Mao’s China, how dangerous a time it was for writers or poets.  They could be attacked so easily for what they had written. 

A poet might write about how beautiful a sunset was.  Then one of his enemies would attack him, saying that the poet really meant that he hated communism and Mao.  The beautiful sunset actually represented the pre-communist era, and the poet was sad that this beautiful era had ended.  Soon the poet was in a prison camp, or worse. 

If we are not careful, in our own society too it will become too dangerous for anyone to share their opinions, or even to write poetry.  People must be allowed to take risks with words.

 

Vocabulary:

verbally – with words

a guru – a kind of teacher, especially a religious leader or cult leader

elusiveness – a quality of being difficult to catch or capture

to get away with something – to do something without being punished for it

for something to haunt you – for something to be an ongoing source of strong regret (eg. “The accident still haunts me after ten years.”)

 

The Curious Curiosity Shop, part 3 －不思議な骨董屋 パート3－

In parts 1 and 2, the narrator and his son enter a narrow lane, which soon becomes a dead end.  But in the lane there is a strange shop with “Curiosity Shop” written on the window outside.  The blind narrator and his five year old son go inside.  The shop clerk, a Japanese lady, shows them some curious items such as “Bruce Lee shoes” and headphones which play “The Devil’s Playlist.”  The Bruce Lee shoes seem to turn the young boy into a kung fu expert, and on the Devil’s Playlist, rock’n roll stars who have died are singing songs they recorded after their death. 

* 

I took the headphones off in shock.  That’s not a real John Lennon song!” I said.  “The correct title should be Strawberry Fields Forever!” 

The clerk said, “Oh, yes.  Lennon has a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t he?  He recorded Sulphurous Fields Forever as a kind of joke, after he died.  All of the songs on the Devil’s Playlist are versions recorded from beyond the grave.” 

* 

“The Curious Curiosity Shop,” part 3: 

I shivered as I felt a chill pass through me. 

“So you sell music from beyond the grave?” I said, trying to make my voice sound cheerful.  “That is a very curious selection of music.” 

“Thank you very much,” said the clerk.  A little movement of air suggested that she had bowed.  “We pride ourselves on providing our customers with only rare and delicate curiosities, and all for a reasonable price.” 

My heart rate quickened.  “Uh, a reasonable price?” 

“We always match the price to the customer’s ability to pay.  The delights of culture should be for the masses, not just the privileged few with the means to pay.  Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Who are the masses, Daddy?” asked my son. 

“People,” I said.  “It means lots of people.” 

There was a strange taste in the back of my throat.  Some of the smells of the shop seemed to be seeping into me.  I thought I could taste natto.  I cleared my throat.  “So how much would it cost for, say, an album of John Lennon’s, recorded after his death?” 

“One hour,” answered the clerk.  “Or two hours if you buy three albums.” 

My son tugged my sleeve.  “Are you going to buy the Bruce Lee shoes, Daddy?  I could kick any bad people if I had my Bruce Lee shoes.” 

“Um, no,” I said.  “We won’t be buying shoes.”  I turned towards the clerk.  “Sorry, you said the price was one hour.  What do you mean?  One hour of what?” 

“It’s a fair exchange,” said the clerk.  “One rare and delicate commodity for a rare and delicate finished product.  You may find posthumous releases by artists on Amazon Music or Spotify, but you will not find posthumous recordings.  So we ask for one hour of your allotted lifespan in exchange.  You could listen to one album 100 times, enjoying it for many hours.  And you would only need to pay one hour of life in return.” 

My son tugged again at my sleeve.  “Ask about the Bruce Lee shoes, Daddy.” 

My breathing was unnaturally quick.  I needed a little time to think.  I wondered if I could get the clerk to move away from us for a little while. 

I bent towards my son’s ear.  “Did you see anything else interesting in the shop?” I asked. 

“Um, um, um…  I like the coffee maker” he said. 

“But you don’t drink coffee,” I said. 

“I think your son means the curious drinks dispenser.  Imagine waking up every morning to a steaming mug of mammoth and crouton soup.  Or refreshing yourself during a hard day’s work with dodo consomme.  Perhaps, Sir, your son would enjoy the tyrannosaur pottage?” 

The clerk had found exactly what my son desired.  He started jumping up and down.  “I want it, Daddy, I want it!” 

“And all for only a six months down payment, with a one week rental fee every year,” said the clerk.  “Perhaps you would like to try a free sample, Sir?  I am not a gourmet, but I believe the tyrannosaur pottage is admired for its robust flavour, with just a hint of chicken.” 

“Uh, yes.  A free sample.  Yes,” I said. 

As the clerk shuffled down the aisle to prepare the soup, I called, “We’ll just take a look around the rest of the shop!” 

Switching to English, I said to my son, “Let’s go and see what curious items there are near the door.  I think I noticed something very interesting just inside the door.” 

There was a whistling, steaming noise coming from the curious drinks dispenser, and the air smelled of dinosaur, which is to say a little like chicken.  I felt the welcome mat just before the door. 

“Can I try the tyrannosaurus soup, Daddy?” asked my son. 

“Yes, well, maybe,” I said.  “But only if you read the letters of the sign outside the shop to practice your English.” 

The bell above the door tinkled as I pulled open the entrance to the outside.  I felt the ground start to shake under my feet as my son pulled me out the door. 

“Is it an earthquake, Daddy?” he asked.  The earth was really shaking beneath our feet.  I wondered how badly the ground would shake if a tyrannosaur were to start running towards us. 

“Never mind the letters,” I said.  “Can you find the way out of this dead end and back into Tokyo?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” said my son and he led me at a jog away from the shop.  We soon reached the narrow entrance to the back lane on which the curious curiosity shop was open for business.  As I stumbled through the gap, I felt that the walls on either side were shaking violently.  My son and I squeezed through to the other side.  We heard the toot of a car horn, and lots of other noises produced by a modern city containing millions of people.  The shaking stopped, the little earthquake subsided. 

“Daddy, look!” said my son.  He grasped my hand and pushed it against the wall behind us.  The wall was smooth.  The gap which had led to the dead end and the curiosity shop was gone. 

“Who wants ramen noodles?” I asked. 

“Can I get the dumplings set too, Daddy?” 

We held hands and strode down the Tokyo street.

 

Vocabulary:

to seep – to leak or flow slowly through small holes or gaps

to tug – to pull sharply

a commodity – a raw material such as copper, or simple product such as coffee

posthumous – after death (e.g. The recently deceased artist’s work was posthumously exhibited.)

allotted – given or set aside

to subside – to become less intense or severe

 

The Curious Curiosity Shop, part 2 －不思議な骨董屋 パート2－

In part 1, the narrator, who is blind, and his five year old son go looking for dead ends.  They find a dead end down a small lane in a quiet corner of Tokyo.  The lane contains a curiosity shop, and the two of them enter it. 

* 

So I had my son guide me through the front door and called, “Good day!”

*

The Curious Curiosity Shop, part 2: 

“Welcome,” answered the Japanese lady in the shop.  It’s hard to be very precise with voices, but I’d say that she was in her mid fifties.  And she probably wore spectacles.  Something in her voice suggested spectacles. 

There was a strange atmosphere in the curiosity shop.  It was the odd mixture of sounds and smells.  One moment I was reminded of a museum, noticing a curious scent that I have only smelled in an exhibition of dinosaur bones – perhaps it was some kind of preserving fluid?  In the next moment I was reminded of an organic food shop or delicatessen, with a hint of truffles or fungus in the air.  Then I smelled coffee. 

“What can you see?” I asked my son.  My voice echoed back to me from several angles, as if we were in a tight space, or down a deep hole. 

“I don’t know, Daddy,” he answered.  “Is it a toy shop?  I can see headphones, and books, and shoes.  I think I can see a coffee grinder!” 

The shop clerk walked over to us and spoke.  “Can I speak to you in Japanese?” she asked. 

I said that was fine. 

“Oh, that’s a relief,” she said.  “We have a lot of different curiosities here.  Perhaps you would like me to introduce a few items to you?” 

“I’m not sure if we will buy anything,” I said.  I was a little worried about what the price might be.  If this shop sold antiques, then they would probably be very expensive. 

“Not at all, Sir.  It does no harm to take a look.  Is there anything that catches your fancy?  Perhaps your son has seen something he is interested in.” 

I bent down to my son’s head height to see if he would answer. 

“Um, um, um,” he hesitated.  “Can I see the shoes?” 

“Certainly,” said the shop clerk, and she walked off to fetch the shoes.  I didn’t think my son had made a good choice.  Who ever heard of someone buying antique shoes? 

But the shop clerk came over carrying the shoes.  “I think these will fit your son, Sir.  Perhaps he would like to try these Bruce Lee shoes on?” 

“Bruce Lee shoes?” said my son and I together. 

The clerk put the shoes in my hands, and I felt their shape and material.  They were tiny little things, perhaps small enough for my son to wear.  They were a little like slippers, with a soft, silky material on the outside, and hard, flat soles.  I thought I had better be polite, so I thanked the clerk, and helped my son take off his trainers and put the “Bruce Lee shoes” on. 

My son was very happy.  “Am I like Bruce Lee now, Daddy?” he asked. 

“Yes, they’re very cute,” I said. 

I was about to ask the clerk why they were called Bruce Lee shoes when she asked if my son would like to try them out. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” he shouted.  And so the clerk led us down a narrow aisle to an exercise mat.  She led my son onto the mat and said, “Why don’t you try a few kicks?” 

He shouted “Hiyaa!” and started kicking imaginary opponents.  Strangely, he seemed to be kicking the air with incredible speed.  I could feel a little gust of wind coming from the air above the mat.  I held my hand out and invited my son to give my hand a little kick. 

“Hiyaa!”  My hand was kicked sharply backward, and my palm was stinging with pain. 

I gave a little cry of shock, and the clerk apologised and asked if I was okay. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said.  “But I don’t think we’ll buy those Bruce Lee shoes.  They seem a little dangerous.” 

“Sorry, Daddy.  Sorry, Daddy!” said my son, as he took off the shoes. 

The clerk was very apologetic, and kept asking if my hand was okay.  She was very keen to find a curiosity that I could enjoy to take my mind off my hand, which was still stinging.  I told her that I liked music and audio books, and wondered if she had anything I could listen to. 

“What kind of music do you like?” she asked. 

“Um, all sorts of music,” I said.  “I like folk music, rock’n roll, jazz…” 

The clerk brightened up.  “I think I have something you will like,” she said. 

Once my son had put his trainers back on, the clerk led us down another aisle to a different area of the shop.  Then she pulled out some headphones.  “Through these headphones you can listen to the Devil’s playlist,” she said. 

“What’s the Devil, Daddy?” asked my son. 

“He’s sort of like a demon,” I said.  “When bad people die, they go to Hell, and the Devil is kind of like the king of Hell.” 

“Excuse me,” said the clerk, and she slipped the headphones over my head and ears. 

I reached out and grasped my son’s hand.  “Some people say that the Devil has the best music.”  My voice was muffled by the thick headphones. 

I didn’t catch my son’s answer, as I was distracted by a familiar voice, which began to speak into my ears.  Elvis Presley was introducing a song from his comeback-comeback album, which he said was called, “Elvis Has Left the Graveyard”.  He started singing something like, “Don’t step on my Bruce Lee shoes!”  I stretched out the headphones so that my son could listen with one ear.  I held my thumb up to the clerk to show that I was enjoying the song. 

Then the next one started and I recognised John Lennon’s voice.  I am a big fan of Lennon’s work, and I wondered whether this was going to be a Beatles song, or one from his solo years.  Then he started singing something called, “Sulphurous Fields Forever.” 

I took the headphones off in shock.  That’s not a real John Lennon song!” I said.  “The correct title should be Strawberry Fields Forever!” 

The clerk said, “Oh, yes.  Lennon has a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t he?  He recorded Sulphurous Fields Forever as a kind of joke, after he died.  All of the songs on the Devil’s Playlist are versions recorded from beyond the grave.” 

* 

Oh, dear.  This really is a curious shop.  Will the narrator and his son be okay?  How did this shop clerk get hold of songs recorded by singers after they had died?  Will this be a dead end for the customers?  Find out in part 3 next week!

 

Vocabulary:

preserving fluid – a liquid which is used to prevent dead bodies from decaying

a delicatessen – a food shop that sells a variety of luxury food items, such as cheeses, salami, ham, etc.

an antique – a rare or valuable old item, such as a 200 year old clock

to catch one’s fancy – to attract one’s interest

to be muffled – of a sound, to be unclear or partly blocked

a comeback – of a singer, a tour, album etc. which is intended to recapture lost popularity

sulphurous – containing or being similar to sulphur, a smelly yellow chemical which can often be smelled around volcanoes