Young Gentleman

I am not wholly suited for an office job. 

When I do have one, I find that I become very lazy.  The simplest tasks, taking down the laundry, cleaning the dishes in the sink, making my lunch, all become rather difficult as my energy wanes and my days feel shortened.

To combat this swell of laziness, I take a walk every day after lunch.  My office is in Miyako Machi, a small, semi-rural area of Japan.  Small houses with tilted tile roofs huddle close together along small streets that give way to rice fields and open pastures.  The elderly, the rice farmers, and the labor workers in the area have just gotten used to my presence in their small little town. With every passing car, I nod my head to say hello, and they do the same.

Yesterday, on the fifteen-minute walk back from the post office, I ran across a young boy.  He was wearing his elementary school uniform, and walking at a brisk pace, with his friend trailing behind him in a small track suit.  The little boy walked letting his little feet sway out to the sides, his arms moving with them, like he was skipping stones while he walked.  The clean, yellow sunshine in the brisk March wind matched his freshness.  I was running late getting back to the office after mailing a package, and feeling quite guilty about it.  The post office had been a further walk than I had remembered, and tardiness in the Japanese office is poorly regarded, and as a guest here, I always try to adhere.  I had simply misread my target.

I have taken to saying "Hello" to any of the younger generation in Japan.  I think it is important for them to realize that their English classes in school can actually be of use to them in the real world, so I consider it a part of my reason for being in Japan.  To the older generation, it is always "Konnichiwa."

The "Hello" is sometimes received with a lit up face and a hurried, "Hello!" in response. Other times, it is met with silence.  It's always surprising which ones respond.  You think, when you see the two kids with bleached mohawks and hot pink sweat suits coming towards you, riding tandem on a bike, that you're about to embarass yourself, and that the serious looking one in the school uniform that looks like a three piece suit, carrying his books on a Saturday will surely not embarass you.  Frequently, I find it's the opposite.  The one in the track suits nearly fall of their bike saying hello, and the one in the suit looks the other way.  But nonetheless, I say it everytime.  The students in Japan are known for being shy about using their English, and I realize that even this brief interaction may make them a bit nervous, so I always smile, and if they do not respond, it doesn't bother me in the least.  I am, after all, much more comfortable with the language than they.

Upon seeing these two little boys, as is pretty unusual midday in Miyako machi, I instantly said "Hello!"  I was hurrying back to my office, but their paths ran parallel with mine on the other side of a very small street, and I figured, at least if I am late back to the office, I won't feel like I haven't been doing my job. 

The boy in the small blue blazer turned to his left to look at me, mouth open in what was almost a smile, and said, "Hello!"  The one in the track suit said nothing.  The next question you learn to use in the Japanese classroom is "How are you?" which is always met with the response, "I'm fine thank you, and you?"  Nine times out of ten, this is the response you get, in Miyako anyway.  The other time, it is "pretty good."  It just depends on which elementary school they went to. Sometimes, I will ask students in the hall, "How are you?" first, and they will stop, to reflect, run the words, how ... are.... you... over in their minds, before remembering the correct response.  It makes me smile everytime.  This afternoon, though, the young boy looked quite hurried, and rather casually, he ignored my question, and went straight to, "My name is Sayuko," as he tossed his hair back, his face tilting upwards toward the sun.  

Sayuko quickly crossed the street in my direction, looking both ways before crossing, his little friend, following like a baby duck behind its mother.  He walked like someone much older than his age. His strides were long and relaxed, and his arms swung freely at his sides.  He looked up at me the often, but he never stared at me.  He was not bothered to continue in English and began asking me questions in Japanese... in a way that reminded me of a conversation with an old friend.  Like cutting out the nonsense to really talk.  He was only slightly out of breath, and his words had a healthy freshness to them as they were exhaled with air and breathed back in.  He was not nervous, but out for a walk, and had worked up a steady breath.  At least two feet below me, I looked down at this little man, in his blazer on this fresh spring day, and smiled from within.  His questions were of the ordinary type.  He asked where I worked, and why I was walking there.  I went to say that I was working at the city office, but I forgot how the actual building was called in Japanese for a brief moment, "I work at..." I said, pointing at the building,  he glanced at the building, and filled in my blank, " the city office," and then nodded to himself to show his understanding.  

He didn't ask where I was from, or tell me that my Japanese was good.  Most people usually say that, not because it is, simply because there isn't much else to say.  It's a kind of politesse when speaking with foreigners I think... like talking about the weather, but once the weather conversation has exhausted itself, it is the next best topic.  I liked that he didn't ask me where I was from.  His open hands, his unbuttoned blazer, his slightly longer than average hair for a young boy, was a testament to his openness.  He spoke directly up to my face, and nodded as I responded.  He asked me which schools I was teaching at, pausing for a moment, to make sure that they were only Jr. High schools we were speaking of.  When I said yes, he nodded again. He didn't bother to ask if I knew any of his brothers or sisters, and for quite a few steps, the three of us just walked next to each other.  His small shoes sliding along under his light step.

I asked what they were doing.  It was, after all, about one o'clock on a Thursday.  Almost predicting the question, and understanding the implication, he said, "It's spring vacation."  Oh yes.  Of course, I knew that.  I was asking, actually, where they were going walking like that, and why he was in his uniform, and his friend wasn't.  But before I had time to clairify, he explained that they were attending the closing ceremony for school today, or maybe that they had just come from it, I didn't understand.  I asked where they went to school, and with a kind of obvious nod, he pointed his chin in the direction of a nearby school while saying "a soko" - right there.  Of course.

Without any fanfare, I said I must cross the street and go back to work.  He asked why I was working during spring break if I was a teacher, and I said, because teachers work very hard.  They continued on at a brisk pace without giggling at me, like children usually do, and as I turned back to say goodbye, they both waved at me.  I couldn't help but think of two old men out for their afternoon walk.  "See you!" they said.  "See you."