Kanemaru-san invited me on a ‘home-stay’. I’d never heard of this, but it’s really quite evident – I stay at his place for an evening (sleep-over) and get to learn a thing or two about the Japanese family-life. What the heck, when in Rome and all that stuff…
It was September 7, a usual Friday spent at the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education). After work, I rode home, packed a few things and waited for Kanemaru-san to show up at his appointed 5:30PM – which he did to the second according to the clock sitting above my television. I’m unsure if he purposely set his watch to my clock, but I wouldn’t put it past him.
We drove outside the city in a southerly direction for 15 minutes before heading east for another 10. Ohtawara is a large spread out city, and outside of the main urban area where Matthew and I lived, it’s mostly farmland – and at that, 99% rice farmland.
We arrived at a modest split-level home and met his wife, her father, and his youngest son Tomohiro. He had an older son, but he was apparently busy studying his butt off to get into a good high school--I'm unsure why... I think he was 12 and not yet in Grade 7. I never actually saw him while I was there – at least not this visit.
Tomohiro was a precocious 6-year-old. A really, really good looking kid who, if Kanemaru-san will forgive me, proved that genetics aren’t an exact science. Good looks aside, that boy also had good taste, immediately becoming a part of me.
Dinner was tempura – now we all probably know what that is – HERE. But it was the way we ate that was intriguing. Dinner was in a tatami mat covered room, with the plates placed upon a large square table situated over a pit one metre deep. We sat at the edge of the pit and dangled our legs down into. How civilized! We didn’t have to sit cross-legged!
The food was delicious – and it was nice to have a home-cooked meal.
Kanemaru-san smoked his Golden Bat cigarettes throughout the meal, but reverently put them aside for the after-meal entertainment.
He brought out daisho (a pair of samurai swords) consisting of a wakazashi and a katana – I’ll direct you HERE for more information on these two types of weapons.
Kanemaru-san explained that his ancestors had been samurai… you could have knocked me over with a feather. He unwrapped the swords from a silk binding and held the larger of the two swords—the katana—reverently in two thick hands, as though he was making an offering to the gods. Even though it looked as though he was offering the sword to me, I was either smart enough or too stunned to reach out and take it. I’m pretty sure that you don’t touch another guy’s sword.
Besides the obvious wordplay, swordplay to the Japanese is not something you fool around with—especially when the 200+ year-old sword Kanemaru-san was holding was one that had lopped off more than its fair share of limbs in the past.
While it’s always possible that he was embellishing his ancestor’s story, I always got the feeling that Kanemaru-san was a straight shooter.
The sword was in pieces – IE hilt and pommel were apart from the supremely shiny blade—within minutes, he had carefully re-built it… and like the fine piece of weaponry it was, it sang as he slashed the air in front of him. That oxygen never had a chance, as in shock I tried to suck the air in.
Right there in front of me, Kanemaru-san transformed from a humble jowled-faced salary-man at the OBOE, back to tough as nails Bushido-following samurai. You could see him glow. It truly was exciting.
He told me via his dictionary that every time a blade is drawn from its hilt, it must claim blood, so he calmly placed his thumb near the blade to nick it and feed the sword... but that baby must have been sharper than Kanemaru-san because man, did his thumb splurt!
Holy crap, there was blood everywhere. I swear it didn’t even look like he had touched it, but he was bleeding pretty good. His yells brought his wife running, who quickly sized up the situation – shocked gaijin, screaming husband, a samurai sword and tatami mats splattered with blood and ran quickly for a towel and a Band-Aid.
Prying Kanemaru-san’s thumb from his mouth, she looked at the cut, shouted ‘bakayaro!’ (stupid idiot), smacked him on the back of the head, quickly wiped the blood away and applied the band-aid – a Hello Kitty one – all in about 4.7 seconds. The samurai had nothing on the quickness of a wife chastising a husband.
Done gushing, Kanemaru-san mumbled under his breath about something-this and something-that (I’m sure now, as a married man, that it had something to do with how a wife can suck all of the fun out of a party—oh, did I mention we had a few shots of sake (rice wine) at dinner? No? Well, that goes without saying and probably explains why we were fooling around with weapons--oh my gawd... he was a Japanese redneck!), and began cleaning the blood from the weapon before taking it apart and putting it away.
He looked at his thumb, grinned and painfully flipped through his dictionary to tell me one word “owie”. Who the heck put that in the Japanese/English dictionary? I mean, it was appropriate, but… anyhow, the actual Japanese word is ‘itai’, which should translate into hurt or pain. 'Owie' work, too.
It was 10PM, and it was time for bed. I slept in a double-thick futon with a large feathery down comforter and slept very well. In the morning (7AM), Mrs. Kanemaru-san pointed to me and made a snoring noise. I have no idea what she meant – I heard nothing.
We had a horrible breakfast… a cold fried egg atop cold rice, with a glass of orange juice. If that’s a typical Japanese breakfast, I’ll never eat breakfast here again.
Mister and Mrs. Kanemaru, Tomohiro, their grandfather (where the heck had he been all evening and breakfast? – I’m kidding, he was around – just not pertinent to this particular story) and I got into the white van – a Toyota Cherry Vanette and headed back home to my place… but then they drove on by and headed along a road familiar to me… we arrived five minutes later in front of Ashley’s place in Nishinasuno Town. I’m pushed out of the van towards her place, I walk to her door – notice the Kanemaru’s are now standing outside the car – and grab her knocker. You know what I mean.
Ashley answers smiling, sees me and scowls.
Somewhere wondering what the heck is going on,
Andrew Joseph
