PART II

Well-- suffice it to say, the outcome of my meeting at the sushi shop was less than fantastic. In fact, I know think of my old Sushi Master as the Sushi Pimp. Here's how it went down last Thursday:

I arrived in good time with a box of chocolates for the Master and his wife, as a token of my appreciation for their previous kindnesses. I sat down between the Mama and an older customer; a portly, graying old guy. Assuming I was waiting for the arranged 'date' fellow to arrive, I made polite conversation (to the best of my ability) with the Mama and the customer-- he had just been to the dentist and his cheek was puffed up. I should have clued in more quickly- who wastes good money in a sushi shop with frozen taste buds? It started to slowly dawn me that this greasy old fellow could be the fellow... ice-cold fear trickled into my guts. The Mama wrote down dates-- which date was I free to go on a Date? Still playing dumb, I asked dare desu ka? (with who?). With him, of course. With the guy next to me with the mouth full of crooked yellow gravestones and the glasses as big as coasters. The sukebe oyaji. Oh god, oh no, with him!
I have always been one to err on the side of polite behavior. There have been far too many times in my life where every nerve ending has been humming with the refrain 'get the the hell outta here', but I stayed on in attempt to seem affable and diplomatic. Unfortunately, this was one more of those times. I grinned my terror-stricken grin and chose a date. I kept half hoping that someone would start laughing and say "Ha-ha! Got you En-chan! It's just a joke!" No such luck. I guess I felt that in some way, I could understand the good intentions of the Master and his wife. They must have assumed I was desperate though, to have chosen for me someone older than my own father, someone who couldn't speak any English, someone so absolutely unsuitable. He left shortly after arrangements had been made to his satisfaction, on account of his sore tooth. He dropped a man (about 100$) on the counter in front of me to pay for my dinner-- I tried to refuse it, to give it back-- I was too freaked out to eat anyway-- but the Mama gently but firmly tucked it into my purse. He left and I excused myself from the sushi bar shortly thereafter, bowing and expressing watery thanks for the tea. I made my way home with wobbly legs and my head spinning. What was I going to do? How was I going to get out of it this time? I couldn't ask Bubu-- he had made it very clear once already that I was far too trusting of others. He would be disappointed to know that I had given the sushi Master a second chance, when Bubu had warned me against him. I couldn't ask Miho-- she tells Bubu everything anyway. I can't do it myself-- I'm terrified to go back to the shop. That, and I can't explain my situation sufficiently in Japanese-- how can I politely extract myself? How can I say, "Gee, you know, I really don't think my family would approve of this situation. I don't approve of this situation. Here is your money, thank you, goodbye forever!" Tonight I have a language exchange meeting with my friend Kenji; maybe if I buy him coffee, I can convince him to write me a letter of repeal and apology. No matter how I look at it, I'm going to be changing my bike route to work permanently-- no more passing that sushi shop, thank you very much.

On a positive note, everything else in life is going fairly swimmingly. I had my contract evaluation and got some really positive feedback about my teaching abilities; I can renew my contract if I wish (and I do). I'll have to go by train to some other city to get my visa updated, so that will be an adventure in itself. Let's see... I'll have my art displayed at the Uchimachi culture fair next week, so that will be nice; always good to get a little more artistic exposure wherever I can. Maybe this time I'll actually sell a painting or two... you never know! And on an extremely good note, Satoshi is back in town. I met him almost a year ago when I first arrived. He's a Tokushima guy who has been studying in Adelaide, Australia-- for what? Three years? I dunno. But his English is fabulous, he's super-bright, well-traveled, and just unconventional and funky enough to hold my interest. I didn't really get to know him very well before he left last-- March? and he confessed to me that he had found me to be aloof. I probably was. For one thing, when I was new in town I was overwhelmed with new companions, so I probably didn't pay him too much attention. The other thing was the way he dressed. He didn't get the nickname (sorry Satoshi, now the world will know) 'The Gay Pirate' for nothing! Back in Canada, fancy dress for a guy involves wearing a discreet silver chain with your T-shirt and jeans. It took me some getting used to hanging out with guys who were more colourfully dressed than I was! Guys here are like peacocks, fitted out with the most alarmingly loud clothes and the biggest hair, and a variety of accessories including long necklaces and bracelets and rings. Just today in Uniqlo (the Old Navy of Japan) I saw a braided pink leather belt-- in the Men's section. Anyway, now I've pretty much completely changed my opinion about men's fashion, and I have difficulty remembering what was so great about looking boring. Here's to every purple-jacketed, big-haired, pink-belt-wearing guy in Japan! I love you guys! Keep it up!

The autumn is still dazzling me, and the leaves are still changing with a delicious slowness. One of the best sights has been the kaki (persimmon) trees-- all bare aside from their wealth of shocking orange fruit. I went on the train to Anan a couple of weeks ago on a walking tour and got some really dazzling shots of the coral-coloured fruits against the astonishing blue sky. Christmas has also been creeping in to my consciousness... tacky santa-and-reindeer-and-angel decorations are up all over the place; even the life-size Colonel Sanders statue outside the KFC has been decked out in a Santa Claus outfit. During the week before and after Boy's Day in May he was wearing a samurai costume. I'm beginning to think I can measure the seasons according to Col. Sanders! Got to start writing Christmas cards, I guess...

Namaste

Endrene