Day 4: Part VI

Sean took a bath first and I read while waiting for my turn. I was beginning to make steady progress on it, but was starting to doubt I'd make any significate progress before the deadline. At some point, Sean knocked at my door and I closed it.

When I sat in the recycled bathwater, that a few minutes before had embraced Sean’s body with the same warmth and serenity that it did my own, I tried not to think about his haikus. I distracted myself with the memories from that day, but always a line or two of his would impress itself upon the image. Birds soared past the watchtower. A sunrise with the morning mountains. Children playing on the baseball field. His sorrowful smile. It had elicited in me the desire to hug him like I would my parents after a business trip and, at the same time, the need to give him space like I would my brother after he stormed home from a bad date with his high school girlfriend. He said people didn’t bother him anymore, but doesn’t that mean they were before? Were they the playing children?   Sean didn’t text about his life in Japan, not that I ever prompted him or shared much of my own, but occasionally I would relate anecdotes if I found them funny. 

I knew he was lying about the mandarines, or rather, that he was lying by denying the lack of any personal connection. It was clear to me that whatever had caused our squabble the other day had not been resolved as I had thought, though how that related to mud and laughter was still unclear. It felt like Sean had accepted the impossibility of my understanding with the same resignation he had with the projection of his academic career.

He seems so lonely. I sunk deeper into the water until it touched my nose. Even though he’s with me.

When I was done, I joined Sean in the living room. He was watching TV, sitting on a floor cushion beside the table. He started explaining the concept of a variety show which I enjoyed because much of it seemed to be reactions to other things and didn't require much knowledge of Japanese. His grandmother opened the sliding door and brought out a tray of sashimi, miso soup, and a variety of deep-fried vegetables. She knelt down to place the tray on the table. I thought she was going to join us like any guest would when having dinner at a friend’s house, but once everything was set, she stood up, bowed, and left.

“Hey, Sean,” I began to say as he reached for his chopsticks. “Why isn’t she joining us? Did she already eat?” To be honest, it would have been fun to have sat next to her and worked through a muddle conversation. Then again, it’s not like she’d want to do the same with me.

“I think she wants to give us privacy,” Sean said as he reached for some bright pink sashimi. “Doesn’t want to bother us.”

“I feel bad,” I said, grabbing some chopsticks and reaching for the same. “Kicking her out of her own living room.”

“Nah,” he took a bite and chewed it down. I held my slice in front of my face, reluctant to take a bite. It felt like stealing. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. She likes to host. She’s happy we’re here.” With his reassurance, I dug in.

I know many people who would not dare eat fish raw and, I suppose, I am blessed to be counted among those not cursed with such afflictions. "Wow, this is so good," I said, reaching not for another dark pink tuna that was as refreshing as a glass of ice-cold water but for a slice of one that an almost transparent white. It had a similar flavor, though with more airiness to tuna, and it's texture was firmer and more pleasant to bite into.  “Which one’s this?” I asked, reaching for another.

“Squid.”

“Really?” I said, chewing another slice. “Like, calamari?” Sean nodded, yet this was nothing like calamari. I loved both, but how could they be so different when they’re from the same fish?

Once we finished the sashimi, and the television program shifted from the Japanese comedians watching a German game show to a show that followed a girl as she wandered through the streets of Tokyo, we shifted over to the miso soup and fried vegetables, mostly zucchini and tofu. Although enjoyable, as anything deep fried would be, I wasn’t the biggest fan of tofu, and, considering my stomach was already quite satisfied, I set my chopsticks down and ideally watched the show, sometimes sipping on the salty and hearty soup.

The woman was taking a picture of a street sign. “So, what, she just walks around Tokyo and gets a TV show?” I said, nonchalantly to Sean who had eaten some tofu I had taken a bite out of before giving up. “Sounds kind of dumb. People watch that?”

“It’s relaxing,” Sean said, shifting himself towards the TV. “Plus, you get ideas of places to visit. Like, look,” he said. It had cut from her taking a picture, to an aerial shot of her district, to her walking up in front of a shop. “She’s visiting a chocolate shop,” Sean spoke, pausing to make sure he didn’t miss any of the Japanese while translating. “The owner studied in Belgium. It’s been around for, wow, thirty years.” Another pause then he laughed. “Apparently there’s a waiting list for Valentine's Day. Now, she’s saying that they originally were going to film it earlier in the month, but it was too close to White Day.” He laughed again, then stopped and looked at me. “Oh, I'm sorry, but I forgot to tell you this, Alex. I never gave my grandma your chocolates.”

“What? You didn’t eat them, did you?”

“Of course not,” He said, in good humor. “They’re in my room.”

“Why’d you take them if you weren’t going to? Now she thinks I’m super duper rude!”

“I thought that it’d be more convenient for you if I gave them to her but, as I was looking for her, I realized that, you know, you brought them. It’s important you give them to her. I’m sorry,” he said, setting his chopsticks down and leaning back supported by his arms. “I was trying to help, but really I was being selfish, because…”

“Because of yesterday.”

He nodded. “I didn’t want to translate for you or, really, be around you. It’s not like I was mad or anything! I think I was more upset with myself. I’d worked myself up, about nothing really, and none of it turned out to be true.

“About what?” I asked, and he bowed his head away. “About me.”

He gave a slow nod, that shifted into a shake. “I had thought that, well, I guess it’s like, usually I’m nothing more than a fly on the wall. People only notice me if I’m bugging them.” It felt like I had heard him say that before, but he gave a quick smile that flashed away like it was drawn for only a single frame as he realized the accidental pun.

“Sean, I-”

“But with you it’s different.”

“Well, duh.”

He smiled, then stood up. “Come on, let’s give them to her now.” He turned off the TV and I followed him down the hall to his room. It was the same size though so filled with boxes that the actual floor space was half the amount of the other room. We didn’t enter. The chocolates were right by the door, on top of one of the boxes.

As we walked to her room, I realized I had no idea how to address her. I couldn’t use anta because I felt that’d be too impersonal and had already failed to use it once that day. “Wait, Sean. I have no idea what to call your grandma.”

“You can just say obaa-chan like I do.”

“I’m not going to call your grandma, grandma.”

“Well, it’s not really the same thing, but, you can just call her by her last name. It’s a bit formal, but it’s fine.”

“So like, Ogawa-san. It’s san for adults, right?”

“Yep,” he said, then knocked on her door. We heard her call out and he slid it open. She was lying under a kotatsu watching TV. He began talking to her while I hid the chocolates behind my back. She stood up and walked over to us. I didn’t realize how short she was. I had only ever seen her from a distance or sitting down.

“Nani?” She said, and I blushed when I realized I had understood.

“Ogawa-san.” I bowed what felt like ninety degrees, though was more likely closer to forty-five, and stuck out the chocolates before her. “Douzo,” I said. “Chocolates…desu.”

“Ehh?” She said, “Arigatou gozaimasu.” She bowed in thanks and I set my back straight. Her smile was spread wide across her face as though the box shone too bright with kindness. All worries of my imposing had been put to rest.