Crash Course In Japanese Culture (Part 2 of 5)
The first thing I noticed was that there was no heat in the room and it was quite cold. On the floor was some bedding and there was a woman sleeping there! A WOMAN! Now I was really confused and didn’t know what the hell to think or do. A thousand thoughts went through my head in a millisecond. What’s going on here? I thought. Who’s this? Oh wow, a threesome! No, maybe it’s her roommate. Maybe it’s her mother! A friend? Her Sister? Her boyfriend? Her brother? I didn’t know what to make of this strange turn of events and I became a little nervous. I leaned over to her and whispered, “Who’s that?”
“That’s my sister”, she replied as nonchalantly as if this were the most normal thing in the world. WHAT? HER SISTER??
She then proceeded to take off her clothes like she’d known me all her life. I just stood there dumbfounded. I was so shocked to see her sister sleeping there that I wasn’t even excited to see her removing her clothes. Are we going to all sleep together? I thought. Will this be something I will write Penthouse about? “Dear Penthouse, you’re never going to believe this, but...” I still didn’t know what to make of this. Surprisingly, her sister didn’t wake up. If she did, she didn’t let on.
In her bra and panties, she opened a set of sliding doors, took out some pajamas, removed her bra and slipped into the pajamas. I just stood there in the dim light bewildered. Then she took out some bedding that I was soon to know as futons. She took out two thick mattresses and laid them on the floor next to her sister. She then placed a thinner mattress on top and then some heavy blankets on top along with two small pillows. The “blankets”, I found out, are what are called futons not the mattress itself.
She asked me to get undressed and I did. I started to shiver as I shyly took off my clothes and placed them on the floor next to the futon. She eased herself into the futon next to her sister and patted it with her hand suggesting that I get in. I got in next to her and remember how warm her body felt next to mine. I also remember how heavy the “blankets” felt and soon I was warm. There was a clock on the floor and the time was 2:25am.
I was still so confused that I just laid there, staring at the little bulb in the lamp on the ceiling, kind of sober now, and wondering, Is this normal? Do people here sleep together, sisters and strange men in the same room? I slipped my arm under her neck. She draped her arm across my chest, snuggled her head into my shoulder and was soon asleep. I lay awake for a while fascinated that I was actually in a foreign country, in a real Japanese house, and in bed with two Japanese women. Before finally falling asleep myself, I tried to figure out this weird turn of events and this strange country and customs.
What I thought would be a wild, abandoned night of wild sex with a beautiful woman was anything but. And if you think I was shocked by her sister and all of us sleeping in the same room, that was nothing compared to what I experienced the next morning.
I awoke the next morning and it was light and cold. Man was it cold. It was so cold that I could see my breath. I realized I was alone in the room. I sat up and looked right. There was no bedding where I thought her sister was sleeping the previous night. Just the futon I was sleeping in and an empty pillow where Sachiko had slept. I racked my brain, wondering if there really was another woman sleeping there the night before besides the one who took me home. Or was it all just my imagination?
I lay back down and brought the futon up to my neck to get warm again. Here I was in a strange country, in a strange room, thinking that, yes, I did meet a woman last night and she did take me home. Her sister was sleeping in the same room. There was a strange toilet. It was cold. We drank some beer in the kitchen. “Dee Da Dee Da Dee Da Dee Da”, I could here the theme from the “Twilight Zone” going through my head as I stared at the ceiling trying to get my bearings. Yes, I am actually in a Japanese house and this is no dream.
I sat back up in the futon and looked around. The room was bare save for a tall chest in the corner and a small square table next to it. There were two wide, frosted on the bottom and clear on the top, sliding windows to my left that led to what seemed an outside garden. The windows went three quarters to the ceiling. It was cloudy outside. Between the room and the windows was a narrow patch of polished brown wood about 3 or 4 feet wide that stretched the length of the room. I leaned over and noticed that it led to another sliding door that probably led to another room. In fact I could see that room to the left from the windows. Directly in front of me were what I assumed to be the sliding doors from the hallway and kitchen. To the right were two more sliding doors. Behind me, in the corner, was what looked like a small make-up table with mirror. I looked at the floor and it seemed to be yellow straw mats with green boarders. I didn’t know it then, but it was an eight tatami mat room. One thing I remember thinking was that all the doors and windows slid open. It was just odd to me.
I heard voices from behind the door in front of me. I eased out of the futon towards the doors and looked at the clock on the floor. The time was 8:40am. I gently opened the sliding door and peered down the hallway towards the kitchen. I saw an older woman sitting at the table and Sachiko seated next to her. The older woman looked my way and I quickly closed the door.
What the hell is this? I thought. Who in God’s name is that older woman? Is it her mother? No way, I thought. Maybe it’s her older sister, but she looked too old. I then heard a mans voice and instantly thought, “Sh*t, this is her parents house! I’m dead now. They’ll kill me.”
A thousand thoughts ran through my head and my heart raced as I tried to figure a way out of there. Hell, I didn’t even know where I was. And even if I did slip out, I wouldn’t know how to get out of there as I didn’t even know what city I was in or how to get back to the base!
Can you imagine how dumbfounded, confused and scared I was at this point? I mean, here I meet a great looking woman who takes me home, and, expecting a great night of bliss, I find her sister in the bedroom. Then there are these strange people in the kitchen when I wake up. And these are her parents! Yikes! In the states I would be dead man for sure.
After what seemed like a long time, but was only a minute, the sliding door opened and Sachiko entered. “Good morning”, she said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Sleep sh*t”, I said. “Who are those people out there?” I said in an almost panic. I could feel my heart beating against my chest I was so anxious.
“Oh, my family. You want eat something?” she said as calmly as can be.
“No! I don’t want anything to eat! Just get me out of here please. Why didn’t you tell me you lived with your parents?”
She answered to the effect that she didn’t think it mattered or that I wouldn’t mind. I can’t remember exactly what her answer was.
I went on to tell her that in my country, this just didn’t happen. It was not cool to take a man home for the night without meeting the family first. Besides, a father would never allow a strange man to sleep in the same room with his daughter, let alone two daughters!
She laughed and explained that everything was ok. This was Japan she explained, and unlike the US, her parents wouldn’t be angry or upset. She then asked that I get dressed and come into the kitchen.
After I calmed down a bit, I began to believe her and nervously got dressed while thinking “What the hell did I get myself into here? What kind of country is this?” I began to shiver and got into my clothes as quickly as I could. She neatly folded up the mattress and futons and placed them into the closet with the sliding doors. Pretty neat I thought. Now the room looked quite large. She placed the small table in the center of the room.
I sat on the floor and slipped on my socks, stood up and readied myself to meet my fate. I had no idea what to expect, but man was it cold!
I slipped me feet into the slippers in the hallway and nervously followed her into the kitchen where her mother, father, and younger brother were seated at the table. I noticed the distinct odor of fish and welcomed the toasty warmth from the kerosene heater that had a kettle of water on top with steam coming out of the spout.
She introduced me in Japanese and her mother stood up, smiled, bowed and said something I did not understand. She had on a gray everyday kimono with white apron and, when she smiled, I noticed a couple of gold capped teeth. I looked at Sachiko and she said, “My mother is glad to meet you and wants to know if you are hungry”. I was so nervous I wasn’t the least bit hungry. I smiled awkwardly back at the mother and said to Sachiko that I was glad to meet her mother also and that I would like some coffee. She translated this and the mother took the kettle off the heater to make my coffee.
She motioned that I sit down and I nervously took a seat while her mother took out a jar of Nescafe Instant Coffee and proceeded to make me a cup. To my left was her father, seated at the head of the table and across from me was her brother who seemed to be about my age. She then introduced me to her father and she translated that he was glad to meet me also. He didn’t offer his hand or anything. He just sort of nodded and continued eating. I estimated her parents to be in their late forties or early fifties.
She went on to introduce me to her brother. He just looked at me and said something real short while holding a rice bowl up to his mouth and shoveling rice into his mouth with chop sticks. I instantly got the distinct feeling that he didn’t much like me. “He’s glad to meet you also, Sachiko translated. Yeah right. I’m real sure he is. And I’m really sure that your father is glad also, I thought sarcastically to myself. I also wondered where her sister was.
On the table was a wide variety of food and plates. Everyone had about three or four different plates in front of them: A rice bowl, a small soup bowl, a flat, rectangular plate that had cooked fish (head and all!) and fish bones on them, and a small round cup with no handles for drinking tea. In the center of the table were a few plates that had what looked like red, green, and yellow pickles and cabbage in them. Another plate had some rectangular, what seemed to me to be black paper. This I later found out was dried seaweed for wrapping in rice. I had never seen so many plates on one table before.
No one said anything as they continued eating and I just sat there nervously waiting for the “hammer to fall” and the father to start questioning me. One thing I observed was that there was no silverware on the table and no one used a spoon while drinking the soup. They just drank it directly from the bowl and picked out some food with their chopsticks. Weird, I thought. I also found it amazing how expertly they ate their rice and fish with the chop sticks as I had never observed up close a whole family eating with these utensils.
The mother placed the cup of coffee next to me and placed a small container of milk and a small bowl of sugar next to the coffee along with a spoon. I mixed the sugar and milk into the cup and took a sip. WOW! Talk about strong coffee. She must’ve put in a lot of coffee or this is the most concentrated coffee I ever drank. I was used to “weak” American coffee. I sipped at the hot coffee which burned my lips.
The mother sat down and said something to Sachiko. I heard the words “Zama” and “Joe” and I looked at Sachiko. She immediately said that her mother wanted to know where I was stationed. They went on talking and then the father spoke and the three of them began speaking while I just sipped my coffee. I did understand the phrase “Ah soo desuka” that the father said a few times indicating that he was saying “Is that right?” I figured that he was questioning Sachiko about me. Damn, I have to learn this language I thought.
For about the next 15 minutes I got the 20 question routine about where I was born, my family, what did I think of Japan, how long I was here and when I would leave, did I like Japanese food, what I did at the base, etc., etc. As the parents asked, Sachiko translated. Even though I told her the answers to most of their questions the previous night, I politely answered. The brother didn’t say anything.
By now, the caffeine from the coffee started to kick in and I was getting quite a buzz. The father looked at me and asked a direct question. I looked at Sachiko and she said “My father wants to know if you have to work today or tomorrow.” I answered that no, I didn’t. She translated, her father answered, and then she said, “My father wants to know if you will stay again tonight and have dinner with us?”
What? I was really taken aback at this. It was not what I expected. This was all so fascinating and interesting that I told her that, yes, I would. I wasn’t doing anything anyway. Besides, I thought, this would be a great way to get to know the Japanese people and their customs. I may never get a chance like this again. I’m really in an actual Japanese house with real Japanese people. They seemed to be really nice and not the least bit angry or upset that I had spent the night in their daughters’ room. They talked and acted as if they’d known me all their life. What a great country this is, I thought, as I sipped my coffee.
For some unknown reason, I began to feel at ease and comfortable in this small kitchen and with the people around me whom I had known for a little over thirty minutes. They really made me feel welcome.
After a while, the father and brother got up, put on their coats and left. Her father was tall for a Japanese man. I estimated his height at about 6 ft. I was right as he was actually a little under 2 meters. Now I knew why his daughter was so tall for a Japanese woman.
Sachiko mentioned that they were going to work. I was later told that the father had his own plumbing business, a three man operation, and was contracted to do various work in Yokohama and Tokyo. I was later to become his assistant and would go to work with him on the weekends.
After they left I silently breathed a sigh of relief. Sachiko and her mother began to clean off the table, leaving the pickles, and the mother began washing the dishes in the sink. Sachiko sat down across from me, poured herself some green tea, and I asked her about her sister. She said that she was at work and worked for a major hotel near Yokohama station. Her brother was a senior in high school and would be working with his father full-time after graduation this month.
After the mother finished, she asked again if I was hungry. By this time I had calmed down, my breathing returned to normal and, yes, I was hungry. Sachiko asked if I wanted what they had.
Fish for breakfast? Those colored pickles and that black paper? Rice? No way, I thought. I can’t eat that for breakfast.
I asked her if she had any eggs and toast. She replied that she did and the mother made me a couple of fried eggs with what was the thickest toast I had ever had ever seen. It must’ve been a half an inch thick. But it was the freshest, softest, and best tasting toast I’d ever eaten. I was surprised that bread this thick could fit into a toaster. Man was it good. I asked her if she made it herself and she laughed and said that it was store bought. This store bought?
I was also given a bowl of a cloudy, brownish soup with cubes of some white stuff and onions. I was to later learn that this was miso (fermented soy bean paste) soup with tofu. The tofu was tasteless and reminded me of soft Jello, but the soup was delicious. Sachiko laughed as I ate the soup with a spoon as I was accustomed to. She explained that, in Japan, you just bring the bowl up to your mouth and drink it and eat the food inside with chopsticks or a spoon. Cool, I thought. It was a lot easier and less tedious than eating it with a spoon even though I was awkward with the chopsticks. I asked for more.
The bowls of pickles were in front of me and Sachiko asked that I try some. I picked out a green one and tasted it. Man was it salty. But being a salt freak anyway I enjoyed it. I then tried the yellow one. It was also salty, but a little less tasty and man did it stink. The odor reminded me of dirty feet. I only had one of those. The cabbage was also salty and tasted better with a little soy sauce that Sachiko put on it. She then asked if I wanted any rice. Rice? For breakfast? I politely declined. I had never eaten rice for breakfast before. One thing I distinctly noticed was that all the Japanese food was salty.
I finished it up and the mother made me another cup of coffee. All in all it was a pretty decent first semi-Japanese breakfast with my first taste of miso soup, tofu, and Japanese pickles. However, the best was yet to come.
What I didn’t know at the time, was, that this was the weekend I was being introduced to the Japanese culture and their way of life. It was the beginning of a love affair with a country, her people and customs that continues to this day and would change my life forever and send me in a whole new direction. There are a few important so-called “turning points” in one’s life and this was one of them.
Continued here (part 3)
SOURCE : www.jref.com/forum/showthread.php?t=18293
