Light My Fire

I was wondering when it would happen. My friends had expected it almost from the instant I moved into my apartment here in Ohtawara-shi (city of Ohtawara), Tochigi-ken (Province of Tochigi), Nihon (Japan).
I had a lot of frayed octopus cords lying about the apa-to (apartment), but still... you never think it'll happen to you. And, will wonders never cease... it didn't.
One cloudy day in Ohtawara (that's redundant, it's always cloudy in Ohtawara), after peeping through my front door's peephole weren't waiting to waylay... I mean, speak to me, I opened up the door and walked out. Out into the thickest, most acrid, foul-smelling smoke I'd ever encountered since my last officer party two days earlier.
This time, however, the black smoke was billowing out from my neighbour's apartment!
Uh-oh! A fire! Just what I needed. Everytime I step out my door to by razor blades (only then), something happens. Fortunately for me and my writing, I need razor blades quite often.
Since I'm not Japanese, I decided to get involved.
Fortunately, I had just learned the Chinese/Japanese Kanji symbol for fire - 火... let's see... that's pronounced 'Ka', right? Like in the translation for Tuesday - 火曜日?
I began pounding on my neighbour's door yelling "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!", but there was no answer. I tried the door - feeling it first for heat (none), I turned the doorknob figuring the Japanese rarely lock them - but this time, it was locked! I guess living next door to a foreigner (gaijin) does have its drawbacks.
Next, I ran back into my apartment, dialed 9-1-1 - which is what we in North America dial to call for the police, ambulance or fire department. But not here in Japan or other countries.
As I hung up the phone and was about to dial again, the phone rang. I screamed into the phone: "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!"
Pausing for a second to catch my breath, I heard a "Herro" on the other end. Nertz. It was that student of mine from Nozaki Chu Gakko (Nozaki Junior High School) who liked to call me up and not speak English. He was/is mentally-challenged - but then who isn't? - but a heck of a nice boy with absolutely no sense of timing.
Without saying a word to him, I hang-up and dial 1-1-9! A voice on the other end says: "Konichiwa. (Hello). Chotto matte kudasai. (Just a moment, please)". Strains of Greensleeves stun my already stunned senses. I've been put on hold.
Once again, I raced out of my apartment and pounded on the neighbour's door. I then ran to the units of some other neighbours and pounded on their doors.
I could hear them inside! I could hear their eyeballs scratch up against the inside of the peephole as they stood on a chair to peep out. I screamed: "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!", but no one opened their door.
I ran down the stairs (I'm on the third floor) - never take the elevator! - and ran into the liquor shop directly below my place. I yelled: "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!"  to the old man who runs the store. He looks to his 30-year-old son before handing me a large bottle of sake (Japanese rice wine).
Quickly realizing they have missed the point, I thank them for the booze, bowing deeply, grab the old man's cigarette lighter from the counter and set fire to a display of HOPE cigarettes (Hope? Hope for what? Hope I don't die from cancer?).
The father and son both yell "Bakayaro (stupid idiot)!" and put the boxes of lit cigarettes into their mouth. Old habits, I guess.
The son, between gigantic puffs, then asks why I set fire to their display (in English, by the way!) I tell him in broken English (as apparently I've forgotten how to speak it in the last couple of years) that there is a fire upstairs!
The son screams: "Ay Carumba!" (I had lent him a video of The Simpson's) and calls the fire department for me.
His end of the translated phone call went something like this: "Fire! At Zuiko Haitsu! ... Where is it?... Uh, at the corner of two nameless streets... No... not that one... the one with the strange car... yes, that's right. The blue one!"
Seconds later (I forgot I actually live quite close to the fire station), the fire engine pulls up. The chief confers with the old man, who is still puffing away on 20 or more cigarettes. next, the firemen haul out their equipment and begin shooting a jet of water into my apartment on the third floor!
Bakayaro!
After 10 minutes of translation, I'm able to convince them that it's not my apartment on fire, but rather the one with the black smoke pouring out of it next door. They cart the equipment upstairs - they took the elevator! - and see the thick acrid smoke pouring out from an apartment. In unison, they yell: "Kaji!"
Okay... so that's how you say 'fire'.
They rush to the door and ring the doorbell. My neighbour unlatches the door and peers out. The chief asks: "Kaji desu ka (Is it a fire?)".
The husband smiles and says it's only the wife's cooking.
Not understanding why my neighbours didn't open up the door for me, I got the old man's son to write a translation for me.
It turns out (more translations) that with me yelling: "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!", they thought I was a large crow beating its wings on the door trying to get in to eat their crying child.

Somewhere sitting on a wet couch,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Originally entitled Come On Baby Light My Kaji, this blog's title is by the Doors: LIGHTMYFIRE.