Nothing about the morning of June 2nd let on that it would be anything other than unremarkable in every way. It was room temperature mild when I pre-empted my 5 am alarm at 4:55. I threw open the living room sliders on the south side, walked out on to balcony and drew in a deep breath. Aside from an old man plying his way through the ashen twilight across the road, and faint echoes of the scattered calls of the earliest of birds, it was a ghost town.
There was almost no traffic. That usually starts in at around 5:30, with the rumble of container trucks on the main road, just beyond our housing complex's 'protective barrier' of trees and greenery. Though it was almost half an hour past sunrise, there weren't any golden fingers of sunlight reaching through the trees and splashing the sides of the danchii across the road, either. Just the muted light of a uniform, dull grey dawn.
I came in, put away the dishes, evacuated my bowels, and put in the day's first load of laundry. Everything like clockwork. I clicked on the TV and let the first shit news of the day wash over me as I got breakfast set up. An hour of whatever the BBC was dishing out, followed by the Nagoya TV morning crew at 5:57. Weather, and COVID updates. According to their garrulously incompetent weatherman, the previously promised Wednesday piss down now wouldn't be materializing until tomorrow evening. The ponderous bank of low altitude dark clouds hanging on the western horizon seemed to be suggesting something rather different, though.
I decided to hang the first load of washing outside, and see how the situation played out. I'd wait until mid-morning to decide whether to stay in and use Mina's elliptical spin bike, or head out up the canal, and take my chances getting drenched.
Between 45 minutes on the spin bike and a good old fashioned 10 km arse hauling up the Horikawa, I'd tend to choose the canal every time - despite all of the whack-a-mole douchebags peppering my route. It's my one chance to get out of here for an hour, and get some sunshine and air. Sure, I can play music and what not if I stay in and use the bike...but I get cagey being stuck at home all the time. These days I feel like I'm under voluntary house arrest, or something...as if I should be wearing one of those electronic ankle bracelets that starts screeching if I get more than three metres away from our front door. It's not like I can't go out. Even the most severe 'lockdown' restrictions here essentially don't preclude you from doing anything but hitting a bar or restaurant for libations after 7 or 8pm. 'Requests' that people 'refrain' from certain 'high transmission risk' activities are just that. Toothless requests. So people basically do whatever they like...which leads us to the situation we've been in here for awhile now, with medical facilities overburdened, and people expiring at home, or in business hotels, waiting for hospital beds.
Let's just say that after the tragic events of last summer (the sudden passing of my brother-in-law) my enthusiasm for spreading myself around town, and 'doing what I like' has been somewhat undermined.
Besides...the spin bike is brutal. Forty-five minutes of that and I feel like I'm going to fucking stroke out. The heart-rate/pulse sensor on that thing is wonky as hell, too. Demon possessed. The harder I pump, the lower my heart-rate reads. Then it suddenly reverses, and goes through the roof...and continues to register a 'ghost' heart rate, even after I let go of the handle grip sensors. From the types of readings this thing gives, I should either be dead several times over - or in the best cardiovascular shape ever. Two thousand calories in 45 minutes? Impressive...but it seems highly doubtful. A sustained heart rate reading of 180? I'd surely be laid out on a gurney under a white sheet, if that were the case.
We bought the thing off of Amazon, and it came with a full year's warrantee (standard), so we sent the wonky heart-rate/pulse sensor (built into the foamy handle-grips) back after a couple of months. Getting it packed to ship was a bit of an effort, and required partially disassembling the bike itself. That's Mina's area. She has the patience for this sort of thing, and somewhat enjoys it. I absolutely don't. The vendor guy in Tokyo was nice enough though, and we got a replacement in just over a week.
Less than a month later it was back to doing it's satanic acrobatics, so we debated whether to even bother taking it apart and sending it back again. Mina didn't seem too enthused at the prospect. She checked the customer feedback comments on the vendor's Amazon listing page. It seems that quite a few people had noted the same issue.
"Nice bike for the price...but the pulse/heart rate sensor is a defective piece of shit", and so on.
As she didn't have much of an appetite for another partial tear down, we ultimately just gave up. Of late it's started making some weird intermittent clicking/knocking sound inside the spin wheel chassis for the first twenty minutes of my 'ride'. It's annoying and distracting...but doesn't seem to impair the machine's function. There are no manufacturer service centres for these things here in Nagoya...and naturally, the warrantee expired six months ago. I guess that leaves us little choice but to suck it up, and just keep using the thing until it disintegrates.
'Made in China'. Should we be surprised?
These days I'm the only one who bothers with it, anyways. Mina had all the best intentions, initially...but, as is won't to happen with these fitness machines, her enthusiasm for working out on it waned within a few months. I guess it's just hard for her to find the time. She said that she could manage it 'if' she wanted...but came to the conclusion that she really just doesn't enjoy doing it. For me, it's a handy substitute for when the weather is simply too nasty to go out and run the canal - rainy season, high summer and mid-winter, in particular. Otherwise, it makes for a nice kind of abstract sculpture (and occasional clothes hanger) in the middle of our living room.
While I don't really dig the sweat and struggle of all this physical activity either, it does help me keep my head on straight, release some stress, and counter that problematic 'fat gene' that I seem to be burdened with. The whole exercise regimen thing requires a bit of discipline, and a little more than two hours a go, from start to finish. There are plenty of days that I really don't feel like bothering, but I make myself get on with it. Sure, I'd rather do a dozen other things. Life is full of trade-offs.
Whether I've run the canal course, or almost stroked out on the spin bike, I usually feel pretty good when it's done.
Usually.
Over breakfast, the talking heads on Nagoya Television's morning news program were on about the unfolding preparations for Tokyo's postponed and increasingly ill-advised Summer Olympics/Paralympics. It appears that a more distinct schism has emerged between the parties pushing to go ahead with the event, 'no matter what' (the ruling coalition government, Tokyo Olympic Committee, and I.O.C.) and the panels of 'experts' and medical professionals tasked by the Japanese government to provide advice based on an ongoing analysis of the pandemic situation 'on the ground'. With public opinion clearly in favour of further postponing or outright cancelling the events in question, the 'experts' are now chiming in with rather bleak projections of what we can expect to see happen if they are permitted to take place, as scheduled. The besieged Suga government seems increasingly disinterested in these opinions, and have been repeating their tired pledge to ensure a 'safe', albeit 'scaled back' series of events.
One of their promises was to reduce the number of non-competing participants from abroad allowed to enter Japan to work in supporting roles for their national teams and delegations. While the foreign athletes and trainers will all be housed in the Olympic Village/ghetto (where they'll supposedly be tested daily, and have their every movement strictly monitored), it's come to light that tens of thousands of other, more ancillary personnel (diplomats and members of international media organizations) will be put up in 'nice hotels' around the capitol, and be afforded a much greater degree of freedom.
IOC representatives will neither be expected to quarantine, or be confined to a limited area. They can spread themselves around where and as they like. The general public is, by-and-large, unimpressed.
As mentioned, a few weeks ago, in a bid to assuage growing public concern at the height of the country's 4th wave of mass infections, the Suga administration announced plans to sharply reduce the number of said 'ancillary personal' allowed to enter, to supposedly counter the recognized threat of critical spread, and the danger that an entirely new class of viral mutations may well develop into what could amount to an unprecedented threat to the mainstream vaccines everyone has been relying on to provide a bulwark against further proliferations of the disease.
On this morning's news, oddly shoe-horned between 'lesser' items - and with no fanfare - it was 'quietly' announced that in response to the large number of protests currently being lodged by the foreign offices of 'a number' of participating countries, the Japanese government will now be forced to back track on their publicized pledge to reduce the number of ancillary 'participants' coming in, and instead, be forced to incrementally increase the previous cap on the number of people allowed to enter as part of said international 'delegations'.
In simpler terms, they'll now be obliged to let even more people in than before they'd put forward the idea of scaling the numbers back. Funny how that works. At the top of the assorted foreign diplomat's lists of concerns were issues of 'security' (though I suspect that the prospect of free summer trips to 'exotic Japan' ultimately had more to do with these new demands than concerns that their delegates would be kidnapped or caught up in some kind of terrorist attack).
They purportedly feel that the need to be able to field more muscular security details to 'protect' their visiting delegates is consummately more important than any token attempt to work towards even minimal risk reduction for the people of the host nation. The Japanese government of course complied, as they have been won't to do in every case that the IOC or foreign bodies have levied demands associated with the holding of these Games.
The International Olympic Committee and its attaches essentially want to come in and have complete run of the country for six weeks - as if we were being subject to a 'mini-occupation', under the auspices of Herr Reich Führer Bach and his henchmen. They don't give a single shit about the mess they'll leave behind over here.
I looked at Mina across the table, slicing through a half grapefruit with her favourite paring knife.
"Great. So they just casually mentioned that the government's whole idea to reduce the number of non-competing participants was shot down, and now they're going to have to let countless thousands more in..."
She shot me a look. She's been sending me translated items from the Japanese press on a daily basis. I know she's been making an attempt to follow the story, too. Being a nurse, and considering the tragic familial events of the past year, she has a definite opinion on all of the Japanese government's irresponsible shenanigans.
"They don't care. They just do whatever the IOC wants. The IOC controls the Japanese government."
"Truth. Suga is a coward. It's all about money...and (IOC President) Thomas Bach's personal bid to be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. The Japanese government is more afraid of getting stuck with the bill, than the very real possibility that things over here could go totally south for the resident population...not to mention the risk that rogue variants will emerge and spread from here, via international participants, to the rest of the world."
She popped the quarter grapefruit into her mouth, tossing the peel into a plastic bag at the end of the table. While Mina seems a bit less visibly outraged by all of this than I do, it doesn't mean she supports it. She simply doesn't see the point in getting excited.
"The government and IOC will do whatever they want. They don't care about anyone."
"Here's what really worries me...on a very local level. Let's say that all of projections they're making about the 5th wave of infections picking up in late July and cresting between Obon and mid-September are accurate.... "
"And..."
"...and all of this happens during or after these 'Games', after the government has ignored the concerns of the majority; even their own 'experts' - and simply let all of these non-competing 'participants' in here to run around willy-nilly, expecting them to behave responsibly, and exercise restraint.
A lot of these 'delegates' and media personnel couldn't care less about the Japanese authorities and their toothless 'requests' to avoid mixing and using public facilities. They will exploit the opportunities available to them, then go ahead and spread themselves around like entitled fucking arseholes on a salaried vacation. After all - what do they fucking care - especially if they've already been vaccinated themselves? They can do whatever they like here, and then simply leave when their mission has been fulfilled. With hospitals forced to turn local patients away, vaccination sessions put on hold, the medical system in free-fall...and local people getting sick and dying...what's likely to finally happen?
It's a safe bet that a lot of Japanese will start to blame the scourge on irresponsible foreigners, instead of their own government's negligence. I worry that the knock-on effect of this could trigger more obvious incidents of racism against visible minorities, and even violence. Those of us that live here will be at risk of becoming very visible targets. It's not like it's never happened in this country before."
Mina nodded hesitantly. She knew what I was talking about.
"Like the people attacking Asians in the United States, because they blame the Chinese for COVID."
"Exactly like that."
We'd been watching these incidents on the news for the last year or so, and they've soured both of us on traveling stateside - even when the situation permits. Some of these goons are knocking out women, and old people. More curious, according to security camera footage, a lot of the attackers appear to be African American. What the actual fuck? If anyone should know better - shouldn't these people?
If someone were to attack Mina, I'd lose my shit.
"You know the story about the killing of Koreans after the big earthquake in Tokyo in 1923, right?"
"No."
This wasn't surprising. Mina's not big on history at all. A lot of Japanese have been somewhat encouraged to simply turn a blind eye, particularly when it comes to the plethora of rather troubling matters relating to Japan's 'difficult' and ultimately ill-fated Imperial Colonial period (which extended from the late 19th century straight through to the country's defeat and surrender on August 15th, 1945).
"Well, to make a long story short, a lot of Koreans were killed by Japanese in Tokyo after the earthquake. There are different stories as to why. One that I'd heard a long time ago was that there had been a rumour spread that in the chaos after the disaster, Korean residents had poisoned a well, causing some local Japanese to get sick and die. This resulted in a wave of anti-Korean hate, and a lot of them ultimately being killed".
"Really? I had no idea. You know a lot about history"
For better or worse.
The truth of it is actually much bleaker. The Kanto Massacre of September, 1923 resulted in the violent deaths of an estimated 6000 Korean residents of Tokyo. The shocking details are available here.
"So, anyways. Human nature. Everyone knows that racism is rampant over here...just beneath the veneer of all the 'omotenashi' (Japanese traditional hospitality) and lip-service politeness are some very troubling attitudes. I worry about history repeating itself. It wouldn't take much to tip the scales. I don't want to be out running, or doing my business...and suddenly get attacked and blamed for COVID, or someone's family members or friends dying"
Mina knew exactly what I was talking about. A look of concern coloured her expression.
"I worry about you, you know."
"I know."
While it's nice to know that she cares, her worry seems to make me worry just a little bit more, too.
As per our morning ritual, I cleared the table, then adjourned to check out what had transpired in the tawdry online world of Facebook in my nearly ten hours offline, while Mina did the dishes and got herself sorted for work.
June 2nd here means June 1st back across the dateline, where most of my connections and news stories originate. Every second page seemed to be done up in rainbow flags. What was I missing here?
Ah.... okay.
'Pride Month'. It seems that June is now all about Gay...erm...'LGBTQ' Pride. We have to be super careful with this stuff these days. One careless mistake and suddenly the whole 'woke' world are baying for us to be 'cancelled' or some such nonsense. I don't get the current climate of puritanism. It seems that in their quest for social justice, a lot of people back home are becoming hyper vigilant, socially intolerant neo-Taliban types. Instead of winning people over to their various causes, they seem to be creating more division and resentment.
While there were mentions of this Pride Month business on the BBC and CNN, there wasn't anything of the sort in any of the Japanese news media...even though (by all indications) it seems to be growing into an internationally recognized thing.
Odds are that there will be 15 or 20 people out marching around in Tokyo carrying a rainbow banner, being photographed, filmed and shadowed by two dozen cops done up in riot gear. None of it will be deemed newsworthy.
Looks like the SJW's really have their work cut out for them over here.
A rattle of keys coming down the hall, and I was up from my desk, and seeing Mina off at the door. I held her bags as she steadied herself and slipped her shoes on.
"No rain today?"
I fixed her bag over her shoulder and pecked her on the cheek as she slid her mask on.
"Maybe not. I don't know. If it doesn't look like rain, I'll head out to run around 10:30..."
Our previous discussion still read fresh on her face. She now seemed concerned about me getting set upon by local gaijin hating vigilantes down by the canal-side. I reassured her.
"The Olympics haven't even started yet. Let's worry about that in a couple of months. I'm sure today will be fine. Drive carefully... and have a good, and safe day!"
I gave her a quick squeeze and she flashed me a look over her mask as she walked out the door and turned the corner.
"Be careful!"
"Don't worry!"
I latched the door, and took up my seat at the computer table in the corner of my 'classroom'. I tried to dismiss her concern.
The ponderous bank of low altitude dark clouds that had seemed so threatening earlier in the morning finally amounted to nothing. It was bright enough at around 10:30 that I decided to skip my tentatively planned 45 minutes of self flagellation on the spin bike, and head out up the Horikawa instead. There didn't look like much of a risk that it would start pissing down anytime soon, so I didn't bother bringing in the laundry. I did a quick stretch, and got a move on.
Not many people in the park across the road, and virtually no other runners - which suited me just fine. While it wasn't much more than 24 or 25C, the humidity must have been pretty close to 75%, and by the time I hit my halfway mark up in Atsuta Jingu Park (by the ancient Danpusan burial mound) my eyes were stinging from the sheets of sweat running off my forehead. The air was thick, wet and still. To stop moving would mean becoming a quick meal for the park's hungry mosquito population, so I resisted the urge to make a restroom pit stop, and pressed on.
Ten minutes later, I was coming up on the final bridge toward the end of the southwestern stretch of the Horikawa Promenade. It's a 500 metre long straightaway, bookended by two short traffic bridges to the north and south, flanked by the canal to left, and a two metre high metal barrier fence to the right, opposite which is some kind of factory, or industrial concern. The paving stone walkway seems to be wide enough to accommodate four people walking abreast (in other words, a Roman Legion on the move), and is punctuated on the fenced side by a mini war memorial about a quarter of the way in from the north bridge, and a small alcove with some covered seating and a few trees and shrubs towards the ramp incline to the south bridge. Past this point, the canal widens and branches out in two directions...to the immediate east, and the site of the Edo period (1603-1867) Shichiri Ferry port, at Miya...and straight on south, toward Nagoya Port.
A couple of weeks ago, just a bit past the mini war memorial and on my way to the south bridge, a crow swooped down and struck me in the back of the head. It didn't hit me particularly hard...no talons or beak action. It startled the shit out of me. After our 'collision', it perched itself on the metal barrier fence, a couple of metres away. I stopped and gestured angrily, like an old man yelling at some kids to get off his lawn,
"Hey! What the fuck was that about?"
It cocked its head and looked away. Did I actually expect an answer?
It pissed me off. I respect the crows. They're smart. They remember everything...and everyone.
"Asshole bird."
I guess there's one in every crowd. According to my consequent research, It was most likely defending a nearby nest, or had mistaken me for someone that had threatened it (or a member of its crew) in the past.
According to the Hindus, being struck by a crow is a bad omen. I wasn't about to seek out a Hindu temple and go through some elaborate cleansing ritual, though.
Still... it bothered me enough that I doubled back to see if it would come after me again. It didn't. As near as I could tell, it had taken up a new perch on some overhead high tension wires a little further on from the site of our incident. It looked down at me, and looked away. Ever since then, I've been a little more vigilant on this particular stretch, and glad to head up the ramp and across the south bridge without any further 'avian' incidents.
Anyways, I was just short of the ramp to the south bridge, when this idiot comes flying down the ramp past me on one of those stupid little folding bikes. Young native guy, early twenties, slight build, wearing a black cap, white shirt and knee length shorts, with a kind light bluish shoulder bag. Not the most masculine thing; but Japanese guys have a weird sense when it comes to bags and accessories.
One thing I hate more than almost anything is being stared at.
When I was a toddler back in Hollywood with my Mum, much to her embarrassment and chagrin, I'd raise a stink if I thought someone was staring at me. At the age of two, I was talking, had a good vocabulary, and was fully capable of expressing myself.
I'd cut loose with something like, "Don't you dare look at me lady!", and everyone's eyes would bug out. I'm still the same.
So this maskless 'kid' on the folding bike turns his head, gawks, and gives me the most cringey hairy-eyeball look ever as he flies past. Of course, it gets my goat, and I glare right back.
Something didn't seem right with this guy. I couldn't put my finger on it. Sixth sense.
"Rude little fucker..."
Honestly. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Gawking and staring is the absolute height of ignorance. I ply my way up the ramp and turn left to cross the bridge, remembering to stay away from the railing, and the large splatter shot of puke that'd been there for the last couple of days. My eyes are dry and sore from the sweat. As I pass the crest of the bridge and start heading down to the east bank, I peripherally notice that this creepy kid has turned around, and is heading back up the ramp toward the bridge.
He'd better not have any ideas about following me.
I hit the base of the bridge, hung a left, and ran past the front of the Lion's Mansion apartment building on the corner, then up a narrow paving stone pathway into the east canal side park, site of the old Edo period (1603-1867) Miya Fish Market. Typically I run right to the canal side, and along a railing by the water to the foot of the north bridge, then hook across, and run north, back along the Shirotori Park side promenade, the way I came.
Typically.
Sure enough, no sooner was I out of the shade of the park front trees, and angling toward the canal side, than the creepy kid on the folding bike emerges from the path, right behind me. My hunch was bang on. He was following me.
I stopped and spun around. He eyed me up, and kept approaching. This was going to stop right now.
"LEAVE ME ALONE"
Straight, direct, and in a distinct tone that meant I was serious. The kind of voice one would use to scold a dog for dragging its ass around the carpet. A bit of stern, strategic English will often throw a lot the most annoying natives right off their game.
No dice. He kept coming. No sign of any mask on his chin or around his neck either. Great. While I'm a stickler for masking up in public, I wasn't masked either. I don't mask up on my hour runs. It's not a social foray, and I don't plan on getting anywhere near anyone. Note to self: maybe I really should tuck a mask into my pouch for these kind of random contingencies.
He stopped about a metre short of where I was standing. I hate breaking the rhythm and momentum of a run, especially at the 60% mark. I was pissed off. I wanted this exchange finished, and to be on my way.
I absolutely didn't want him shooting his mouth off anywhere near me, either.
He looked up from under the brim of his new looking black cloth cap. College sophomore age. 21 or 22. Maybe. Clear, unblemished skin. Probably never needed to shave. Well groomed, clean, new looking clothes. A small, fake Porsche emblem badge on the upper down tube of his immaculate looking little folding bike. This was a boy from a well to do family. Someone who'd been doted on, and rarely denied anything. He spoke in a medium register voice...soft, and apparently confident in his few years of expensive eikaiwa (English conversation school) English.
"Solly. Solly. Why angly? Why? I want to talking to you!"
Jesus Christ. I just wanted to be on my way. Who fucking does this to a complete stranger...and a foreigner to boot?
There are certain people over here that will try to corner random gaijin into free English practice sessions. They don't care what you're doing or where you're going. It's all about them getting what they want. This was the main reason that I quit going to the gym over here years ago. In an attempt to discourage 'the friendlies', I started wearing headphones while I was using the training machines, but it wouldn't deter the worst offenders, the bulk of whom were annoying retired guys, hanging around the sports club to kill time. Teaching English is my job. In my off time, I'm off. That means no freebies. I hate being put in a position where I have to be an abrupt asshole, so I finally just gave up. In lieu of rejoing a gym, years later I decided to take up running. I really dig the peace and quiet. No harassment. No cloying jerks asking,
"Where are you from?"
But, alas...here we were.
Again.
Rule number one. Don't feed the 'friendlies' or the 'Lonesome Charlies'. No 'free conversations'. Be abrupt. Be rude. Shut them down, and move on.
"I'M BUSY. LEAVE ME ALONE."
I turned and started on my way. To my surprise, he followed, coming right up beside me. I ran faster. He kept up.
"Solly! I want-oh speaking-u Engrish-u to you! Preas-u! I hav-u money!"
I turned and kept moving, trying to keep as much distance between the two of us as possible. This kid was persistent, and had a lot of gaul. I couldn't believe he was actually pursuing me...at speed.
As it was overcast, the canal side park and walking paths were empty. There was no else around. I raised my voice.
"LISTEN... I DON'T CARE. STAY AWAY FROM ME! FUCK OFF!"
That should do the trick. I turned and kept running. Now the adrenaline was starting to pump.
It didn't do the trick. He was right behind me, in hot pursuit. He apparently wasn't getting the message.
"FUCK YOU! GET AWAY FROM ME!"
I wasn't going to catch a dose of COVID from this little prick. I was starting feel the impulse to turn the tables and punch him in the fucking face. Can't give in to that. That never ends well for the gaijin.
Keep moving.
The same monotone register of voice, repeating,
" I want-oh plactis-u Engrish-u togeza! I hav-u money!"
Then his vocal register suddenly changed...
"I want-oh pay money FOR YOU, I want-oh to SUCK YOUR DICK!
PREASU!
I WANT-OH TO SUCK YOUR DICK!!"
He suddenly sounded desperate. Excited. He was pleading. I felt ill.
He must have repeated that three or four times, like he thought that the more he said it, the more appealing it would sound to me. What the actual fuck? I was at a loss. Nothing prepares you for something like this.
At that point, it was as if everything suddenly went to quarter speed, just like you see in the movies, when sound and vision kind of slow down and warp out. It was kind of like that sudden rush of bubbles and aural distortion that envelops you as you hit the water after jumping off a 10 metre diving platform.
In what felt like freeze-frame slow motion, I kept moving up through to the end of the park, finally stopping under the cover of a few large trees near the street corner at the foot of the north bridge. He was right behind me, like a fucking predator. I felt like puking. This was a busy intersection. A dozen things rushed through my mind all at once. Why didn't I have a fucking smartphone? Damn! I would have recorded that outrageous shit, and told the sick little fuck that I'd put it all over social media...or that I'd take it to the KOBAN (police box). I'm sure Mommy and Daddy would be impressed.
He needed to stop following me immediately. This had to stop.
I wanted to smack him so badly I could taste it. Punch him in the face. Take his phone, his wallet and his bike, and chuck them all in the canal. Can't do it. I've been in Japan for long enough to know that the J-cops always side with the natives, who never fail to lie their asses off about whatever rotten shit they've been up to. This little fuck would turn the tables on me so fast my head would spin. He'd tell the J-cops that I'd harassed and attacked HIM. I'd end up in jail, then most likely be deported.
I started shouting.
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME YOU SICK FUCK! GO!! NOW!! FUCK OFF!!"
He was unfazed, riding his little folding bike around, now circling me... like a shark.
"GO NOW!!"
He kept circling. It was a game to him.
"DO YOU WANT KEISATSU (the police)?!? I'LL GET THE POLICE YOU LITTLE FUCK!"
He gave me a placid, almost bored look, and simply said,
"No."
"THEN GO!! NOW!!"
What else could I do? I was running out of ideas
He stopped circling, and angled himself toward me. He wasn't going anywhere.
No one else was around. There were no passersby to witness anything one way or another. I could end it...but I knew that if I did anything to him, it would absolutely be caught on someone's drive cam or security camera. I'd be easy for the J-cops to find. I've had the misfortune of having to deal with the Aichi Prefectural Police several times. The scary thing is that this little shit seemed to know exactly what was up...and that in this particular situation, he held all the aces. He sensed that I wouldn't do anything...and that I didn't have a phone. He was sizing me up, in a creepy, predatory way. He knew exactly what he could get away with. It almost seemed like he'd done this before.
I turned and started west across the bridge, at this point buoyed by adrenaline. My main concern now was that he was actually going to tail me all the way back to my apartment complex. From there, he could stalk or harass me (or Mina) as he liked. If he found out where my apartment was, we'd be fucked. I was starting freak out.
Jesus.
I kept running, and couldn't tell if he was still behind me or not. I got to the west side of the bridge, took a left, then another left and ran down a narrow alleyway back to the promenade, and then north under the bridge, and back toward Shirotori Park. Sure enough, I could hear the clicking sound of bicycle wheels moving behind me, and a peripheral glance back confirmed that he was about two meters to my rear, and holding pace. The faster I ran, the less good it did.
He wasn't going anywhere. I could stop, grab him off the bike, and finish it...but no. I'd be fucked.
He rode up beside me, and kept pace. I gave him the finger.
"FUCK YOU! I'LL GET KEISATSU!"
"No."
I was reaching the end of my rope. I stopped and he stopped. I ran, and he followed. It was a game to him.
I stopped again, near the entrance to the Shirotori Park Japanese Gardens. There were a few people here and there...it wasn't deserted like the stretch of park up the east side of the canal was. He stopped. Now that he had a scattered audience, it seemed that he wanted to go on the offensive. Perhaps his money wasn't getting him what he wanted? He suddenly pointed at me, like he was some kind of elevated, moral authority figure.
"You said-oh to me FUCK YOU!! Why FUCK YOU?!?"
He was going to try to turn the tables. Gaslight me in front of the passersby. Make it into a street performance. I can see the headlines on the local news sheet right now,
"Young indignant Japanese boy from a good family stands up to foul mouthed, rude gaijin".
Nice. I stretched out my arm and shot him the finger.
"WHY?!? Because FUCK YOU, YOU SICK FUCKING ASSHOLE!! FUCK OFF!! GO AWAY!! I'LL GET THE FUCKING KEISATSU ON YOU!!"
He started waving his finger and raising his voice. People passing by were starting to turn their heads. This was absolutely becoming street theatre.
"Why you say me FUCK YOU!?! It's bad-do word for me!!
I HAVE AMERICAN PARTNER!!
YOU!! LEAVE JAPAN!! NOW!!"
Wonderful. A fucking racist. This really was day of firsts. I'd never been publicly targeted by a racist over here, either.
What the actual fuck? Up the canal, less than ten minutes ago, this sick little fuck was offering to pay me so he could "suck my dick" (I wonder if he picked that up in the eikaiwa?). He was begging. Suddenly he has an 'American partner'; but just happens to be out stalking and soliciting random gaijin joggers to fellate for money up the Horikawa Promenade before noon on a Wednesday...and has now taken it upon himself to make a racist spectacle in front of the Shirotori Park Garden entrance, pointing at me like I'm a criminal and shouting,
"YOU!! LEAVE JAPAN!! NOW!!"
He kept shouting it over and over again. The little fucker was unraveling. As I said...people were starting to take notice, and look at me...as if I had done something awful to this fucking kid. My head was starting to spin.
I couldn't get the fuck outta Dodge fast enough.
As he was yelling at me in fucked up English like a jilted racist asshole from his shitty little fake Porsche folding bike, I simply left. I resumed my run north up the canal side promenade, toward the next bridge ramp, at the crest of which I'd hang a right and cross back to the east bank, then make my way home. If he was still tailing me at that point, there was a Koban (police box) about half a kilometre past the east end of the bridge, and if it was un-manned (as it almost always is), I'd aim for Atsuta Police Station...almost another half kilometre southeast...a little out of my way; but in the general direction of my place. I had no idea what I'd say. I was starting to really panic.
I'm sure that the spectacle of a spooked six foot tall, 82kg sweat dripping gaijin complaining about being solicited for oral sex, then pursued up the Horikawa Promenade by a 22 year old gay racist Japanese college boy would have them all in stitches.
(It's worth mentioning at this point that I despise the J-cops with an absolute passion. If I was being driven to their doorstep to seek help, things had to be pretty desperate)
There was no way that I wanted this fucking creep trailing me back to our danchii, though. Then it would never end.
A quick glance back, and he had come to a stop off to the left of the public restrooms, just slightly ahead of me in the park. His head was down, and he seemed to be texting. Maybe he was consulting with his "American Partner"? Fucking hell. What was I in for now? This whole thing was working me out. I kept wondering if I should have just thrown caution to the wind, punched him in the face, and chucked all of his shit over the railing and into the drink at the Fish Market Park.
Jail, though. No way.
I poured it on, and ran like I do when I notice the first drops of rain coming down, and want to try to make it back home before it pours.
I was about 20 metres from the ramp up to the bridge when I heard the click-clicking of those bike wheels again. He was back. He'd get no more vocal responses out of me. I'd said my bit. I'd have to just focus on the road, and chart a course to the Koban across the bridge.
He pulled up almost beside me, and was back to his creepy, soft, monotone pitched voice.
"Excuse me. Excuse me. Solly. Solly. Preas-u. I want-oh plactis-u Engrish-u conbasation..."
Jesus fucking Christ. This kid was out of his mind. I wanted to kick him off of his fucking bike right there. He pulled ahead then swerved and started circling me like a shark again. I moved to the curb side of the path to pre-empt any more of this shit, then launched up the ramp to the foot of the bridge, and hooked right. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him following, about 5 metres back.
Over the crest of the bridge I took advantage of the incline and let gravity give me a little assist. No more looking back.
Next I knew, I was at the main intersection, by the Nishi Takakura Subway Station entrance, across from Komeida Coffee, and the Renaissance Sports Club - site of the very first COVID cluster in Nagoya, back in February, 2020.
Seemed like a lifetime ago.
I made a dash for it, just as the walk signal was changing. If he was still trailing me, that would slow him down for a good 90 seconds, and give me time to position myself close to the Koban. Hopefully that would dampen the little psychopath's enthusiasm.
From across the street, I could see that the police box was unmanned. As usual. While there was no sign of that little homosexual racist on the folding bike, I didn't want to hang about to see if he was on his way. I crested the hill, past the Elementary school, ran down to the next intersection, and jumped the walk signal just as it was changing again. I wouldn't bother with Atsuta Police Station - I'd had more than enough drama for the day.
I pressed on, and dashed up and across the rickety old Showa-era steel girder pedestrian railway bridge....crossed the JR, Kintetsu and Meitetsu Line tracks, and was down the home stretch, past the old Meiji-era red brick barracks, and through Jingu Higashi Park North. No sign of the little fuckwad.
After I got back, it took a few minutes for the ordeal I'd just been through to sink in. In the nearly 30 years I've been in Japan, this was a first. In my time here, I've heard way too many tales from female friends of being harassed and followed by sexual deviants. A lot of these accounts involve the perpetrators cornering their victims, then flashing, or masturbating in front of them. Sometimes the victims are groped, or threatened...and in extreme cases, stalked to their apartment doors, and terrorized. This has happened to both gaijin and Japanese women that I've known. Most terrifying is the fact that - in every case - witnesses and passersby invariably failed to intervene on the behalf of the victims while the abuse was in progress. No one would render any assistance. No one would acknowledge what was going on. The victims became invisible, despite the crowds of people around them. Almost like objects of shame. As if they were somehow considered to have invited the terror and abuse on themselves.
There is obviously a very real problem in this society. It's well recognized. There are also a lot of men that can only reasonably be described as serial abusers and sex criminals. The law tends to go easy on them, though. Second chances are a matter of course for these offenders. 'Boys will be boys', and so on. In all my years over here, it never occurred to me that I could become a victim of this type of thing, though. I'm a male...and almost 55 years old, for fucksake.
I changed and had a shower.
As it all sank in, I felt totally compromised. More than a bit emasculated, as well. It's not a nice feeling. While this guy was young - a kid for all intents and purposes - his nerve, and deliberate guile were pretty disturbing. I could see him becoming someone a lot more concerning in coming years. He was predatory. Like a shark. He knew the area, and exactly what he was doing...and what he could get away with. When it became evident that I didn't have a smartphone on me, and wasn't going to beat his ass, he played everything exactly the way he wanted. He was toying with me, and enjoying himself doing it. Stalking and circling me on his bike as if to mock my helplessness. My inability to compromise myself by striking out at him may have frustrated him to some degree...hence his racist, "YOU!! LEAVE JAPAN!! NOW!!" performance at the Shirotori Park Garden gates. His vexation was palpable. He was pathetic.
This might have been uproariously funny in any other situation.
Unfortunately his pathos was overshadowed something distinctly more malevolent.
The boy needed a serious beating. That's only thing people like that understand.
I was reminded of how utterly vulnerable we foreigners are in this country - and how little recourse we have if things suddenly go south, and the natives decide they want to make our lives miserable.
Six or seven years ago, I found myself in the wholly unenviable position of suddenly receiving a series of cryptic phone calls in the middle of the night. These calls and concurrent messages - recorded in a mix of slurred Japanese and broken English - ultimately manifested as thinly veiled death threats. It seemed that an associate of some former native 'friends' had decided that the terms of a business transaction that he had willfully engaged in with another former 'friend' some 8 years prior (an American I had introduced him to via my social network) no longer sat well with him. As the nature of said transaction precluded my ability to report these incidents to the police, I tried to resolve 'the problem' through said mutual Japanese acquaintances, but soon found that any meaningful assistance was going to be hard to secure. In short, no one wanted to get involved. I was told to 'wait it out'. That this individual would 'tire of harassing' me after awhile, and 'move on to someone else'. In the meantime Mina and I would have to put up with our phone ringing off the hook at 4 am, and rambling, semi-incoherent; but quite terrifying threats being left on our answering machine queue. Upon investigation, it seemed that the party in question was custodian of a criminal record a mile long, had been in and out of prison multiple times, and had a colourful history of violent behaviour and mental illness.
Lovely. This went on for months, on and off, until I got ahold of his phone number, took a calculated risk, called him, and told him to stop it. My nervy gamble on employing some reverse psychology and using a surly 'big-boy' voice fortunately paid off.
I never heard from him again. The whole experience was quite terrifying. It's horrible to feel helpless.
As rule, unless a foreigner has drugs, and is easy pickings for a bust/deportation, the J-police aren't interested. In no case is it ever recommended that we use any physical means against a native...even in matters of self-defense. It never, ever ends well for the gaijin. We are default guilty in every case. If attacked, the two options are to run...or duck and cover. Hope to hell they don't have a knife and shank you. We are neutered. This is our reality over here.
At no point did I raise a fist or physically, verbally threaten my assailant. Telling someone to "fuck off" doesn't constitute a threat. Neither did I employ any racial or sexual orientation based epithets. I didn't call him a 'fucking Jap', or a 'fag'. I was very conscious of how any of that type of language could impact me if the J-cops did happen to become involved.
After my shower, I grabbed a bottle of tea and sat down at the computer. First off was a Messenger notice from Mina...
"Hi Shaun kun
Nakagawa sent 2 June at 12:32Did you go to jogging today?
Nakagawa sent 2 June at 12:32Did somebody do bad to you?
Nakagawa sent 2 June at 12:32I worry about you"
How did she know? Strange. I filled her in on the events of the morning. That evening she decided that it would be a prudent idea to call the cops and report the incident - just in case it happened again, and things went decidedly more sideways. They wondered why I didn't have a phone. They told her that a picture of the guy that had harassed me would be best. No kidding. They finally had nothing useful to add, other than that these types of incidents seemed to happen more commonly to women; while they did receive the 'odd' report like this, it was not a usual thing. Basically, they had nothing to go on, and no basis to pursue the case. While the boy had solicited me for sex in a public place, he hadn't shown me any money, nor exposed himself or laid a finger on me. Simply following and pestering someone isn't enough. He knew what he could get away with.
They recommended that I change up my running course, and stick to 'busier areas', and that if it did happen again, I get in touch with them as soon as possible. Like go into Komeida Coffee and have them call 119 (emergency) on my behalf.
What would I say in my broken Japanese?
"Help! Coffee shop people! I'm being harassed by a young rogue homosexual racist who wants to pay me to suck my dick! Call 119!"
They'd be rolling in the aisles.
Talk about feeling totally emasculated. I'd want to just curl up and die.
Back online to check my mail and messages one last time before calling it a day, the first thing on my screen when I clicked through to Facebook was another rainbow Pride Month banner. That's all there had been online today. All the western media outlets seemed to be on the rainbow banner bandwagon. What a load of virtue signaling bullshit.
I couldn't help but wonder if any of this Pride business had played a role in the events of this morning? If the gay racist folding bike boy had felt emboldened by any of it...and somehow thought he'd like to celebrate the day by going out on the prowl, and trying his luck on the promenade? With the gay bars and nightclubs all shuttered due to the pandemic, predatory individuals like him are forced to find different avenues to satisfy their urges. Why on earth would he think that any of what he did was alright, though? Worst of all, he didn't get that 'NO means NO'. There is no wiggle room in 'NO'. That kind of moral detachment and insensitivity seems to cry out 'textbook sociopath with a case of borderline narcissistic personality disorder'. In other words, a really nasty piece of work.
He's lucky that he didn't get the absolute shit kicked out of him. The next time he pulls that on someone, he just might.
I'm all for equality for minorities. Empowering the disenfranchised. I've lived half of my life as a minority. I face discrimination and racism on a daily basis. It is my reality. I don't hate anyone on the basis of their race, gender or orientation. While I do resent being constantly force fed their bullshit agenda, I can't hate the LBGTQ community for the actions of one disrespectful asshole. I believe that everyone deserves to live on a level playing field. I've known some lovely homosexuals over the years. In my experience, they have been kind, smart, sensitive, generous... and funnier than shit.
That doesn't mean that they're all wonderful people. There are shit heels aplenty in every group,
So, you'll all have to excuse me if I don't feel like getting my groove on under a rainbow Pride banner, or cheering for a bunch of elite athletes because they've got a certain flag on their outfit.
I prefer celebrating individuals...not groups massing under flags or banners.
No, thanks. Hard pass.
TO BE CONTINUED....
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