The Seamstress and the Baker

What started as a three-paragraph anecdote about life in Japan turned into a short story.  I don’t know.  Maybe I miss writing Elliot Oldcastle adventures.  (Actually in the end, it was a bit like "The Eye of Odin and the End of Reflection."  Which is very weird and stands as a warning of why you shouldn't mix Neil Gaiman with John Updike and Frank Viola.)


The Seamstress and the Baker

I don’t remember her name.  It’s just as well.  I’d have to change it anyway given the crimes she was accused of.  For now, we can dub her “S-san.”  She was a student at the local eikaiwa, or English conversation school in my town.  Actually, “student” doesn’t feel like the right word, since she was older, like most of the other adults there in their forties and fifties, housewives and businessmen. 

S-san worked in her own atelier shop, as a kind of seamstress (couturière?) who took up alterations and the like.  And it just so happened that her shop was right beneath the English school.  The word about her was that she had some kind of on-going grudge against the wife of the school administrator.  I don’t even remember what was the source of the conflict.  Some petty squabble probably that just grew out of proportion.  What I know of the administrator’s wife, whom we’ll call H-san, is that she was always very sweet and kind.  It was hard to imagine anyone getting upset with her.  At any rate, this was a small town and it was pretty inevitable that these two would naturally run into each other at various places. 

Well, this bitter feeling must have seethed and hardened in S-san for a while until it got to the point that she would scream at H-san and one time, as the story goes, she was driving down the street and nearly ran over H-san who was on the sidewalk.  Some kind of murderous rage apparently.  Somewhere around this time I believe she also quit taking classes at the school. 

Needless to say, this whole attempted voluntary manslaughter incident made things a bit awkward for us teachers.  I personally had never met her face-to-face.  I did on the other hand have a summer trip to India coming up and had a backpack that had a loose strap.  Being fairly new to Japan and having precious little linguistic ability, S-san was the only seamstress I had run into.  It’s likely other ladies I knew might have been able to sew the thick fabric back together.  Maybe I had already asked around and no one seemed inclined to help out (rather likely).  Maybe I was just in a rush and the convenient location of her shop was convincing enough. 

Stealing up my courage and braving the stench of brimstone, I looked casually through the glaze windows to see if she was inside.  There were plenty of dresses and spools of cloth and snippings and clippings on the floor, but nothing I could see of her.  At last, I knocked on the door and entered the lair of the she-demon.

The interior was but dimly lit.  Tables and work benches were strewn with drapery and measuring tape and long, sharp shears.  There was some sound at the back and what must have been Japanese for “I’ll be right with you.”  I sniffed the air and waited, hovering near the door and eyeing the shears.  If there was blood encrusted on the blade, I couldn’t see it.  I didn't have to.

Eventually she appeared, looking rather like an ordinary Japanese lady, no horns or fangs or anything.  At least not in the daylight.  I held up my backpack and gestured stupidly to the strap and how it was just barely holding together, dangling by a few strands.  My eyes inquired with a child-like touch, “You can do?  You help fix Daniel’s backpack?”  She squinted her understanding and looked it over, then indicated that she could have it done in an hour and a half.  It was a mercy she didn't smile.  She was clenching needles at the corner of her mouth, the way a carpenter holds spare nails.

Oh, thanks very much, I nodded.  Smiling, I backed toward the exit.

It was about five o’clock.  That left me with just about an hour and a half of time to kill.  Rather than stand around like a doof, I decided I might as well to meander up the street and explore around a bit.  The road wound its curious way up and around, taking me past the “31” ice cream parlor, the library, various apartments and housing units, and then before an odd wooden cavernous structure that seemed rather out of place.  I can’t really describe it adequately, except to say that that the beams were tall enough and the area deep enough to suggest some kind of entrance to a club or restaurant.  Nearby that I saw a bakery and went in.

Here I was met with a more typical encounter.  The store employees began chattering earnestly at me.  They seemed quite apologetic.  In return, I tilted my head.

Finally I was made to understand that the store hours were actually over and the shop was closed.  I apologized (not anywhere nearly as well as they did) and started to leave when they chattered away again with a renewed sense of urgency.

I was given a warm loaf of bread for the road, just because.  Well, maybe they noticed the starving look in my eye and gave it in the way one says to a stray, ‘We’re sorry our shop closed too soon.’  That is, ‘Please enjoy our tasty bread, and don’t forget to look at the store hours printed on my glass doors next time.’ 

The sky outside had started to cloud over with dusk, the evening light pinched an amber-red.  Scraggy black shapes, caricatures of crows, dotted the power lines, cawing like broken instruments.  Walking back to the atelier, I wondered at the experience at the bakery.  What fine folks.  I couldn’t imagine such hospitality in the States.  I arrived at S-san’s workshop, tried to see if she was inside or finishing with her scrying stone.

Inside, she greeted me and showed the tight stitching on my backpack.  She seemed like someone used to quietness, which was understandable, since I couldn’t speak any Japanese.  I politely managed to keep from asking her about nearly driving over the administrator’s wife and instead asked how much I owed her.  Instead, she merely waved me off.  Don’t worry about it, she insisted. 

I insisted I had to pay her something.  I had no prior relationship with her to merit it and didn’t want to take advantageous of her.  She was unmoved.

Finally, I pulled out the freshly-baked loaf of bread and placed it before her.  “Sumimasen - arigatou gozaimasu,” I bowed, and left the shop feeling like every foreigner there at one point or another, at once acutely aware of their foreignness and the confusing and at times macabre nature of their hosts, and yet also strangely welcomed as a hapless wayfarer in from the cold.


P.S. Oh, wait, I guess I did take a picture of the cavernous entrance to that restaurant(?) after all.

Overcoming Obstacles to Learning English

I love the granny bicycles with their front-wheel basket in Japan.  I made fun as most Westerns might at first, but after about two minutes of seeing how convenient it was, I changed my tune.  Mine cost about 60 bucks at a used bike shop and soon I dubbed her “The Gray Ghost.”

However, I’m not a big fan of the curbs over there.  They’re not quite as high as the ones in America, but just enough that you can’t comfortably steer your bike from street to sidewalk without a good perpendicular angle.  Otherwise, as your tire grazes it, you find your bike wobbling drunkenly until, if you’re not careful, all of a sudden your body is flying through empty air, skidding to a stop across the cement.

Ohhhh, that sign!

Perhaps you’ve already guessed it.  Yes, I had the cross fortune to experience this firsthand.  When I could disentangle myself from the bloody wreckage, I looked up to see a Japanese man with his son coming down the sidewalk.  Then, to my astonishment, never flinching or breaking stride, he walked right on past me staring straight ahead, stoic and indifferent and nary even a gesture of concern.

Another time I was on my way to work and had just came down the stairs of my apartment to find my poor Grey Ghost with a flat tire.  At this point, I’d have to run in order to get to work on time.  Just then, a fellow passing by stopped and asked me with hand gestures if I needed a bike pump.  Since I didn’t know what kind of puncture the tire might have, I indicated my gratitude, but said that it was okay and I would just do without.  The Good Samaritan smiled and waved me good luck.  Some time later at the neighborhood convenience store I ran into him again, or rather he stopped me, and, not speaking much English, he inquired mime-like about the condition of my bike.  I was genuinely touched.

I use these two stories to illustrate a simple truth: language isn’t essential for friendship.  What mattered was simply expressing a friendly attitude. 

The point being, why travel 5,000 miles to a new country only to stay in your own home or with people of your own nationality?  Or to put it another way, what good would it be to master English, but still have few or no American friends?

Yet, there’s to be expected the customary refrain: “We Japanese are shy.”

But in reality, that’s merely a description, not a justification.  Was the man in the first account shy do you think?  Was he perhaps intimidated by my mangled form on the pavement?  Was it due to my being a Westerner, or simply because I was a stranger to him and thus had no claim to his sense of neighborliness?

"If can just... make it to the... Lawson!"

(For the record, I understand that there are actually specific cultural factors at play here involving un-repayable giri, face-saving, and the like; my comments are addressed to what I see as the trans-cultural ethics that come across.  For a look at similar situation in China, see this article.  And I know these things happen in America too.)

A Japanese friend told me of a black American English teacher in Japan who on the first day of class entered the classroom only to see all the students with cries of kowaii (scary) stampede out the window, Japanese teacher included.  What are we to conclude from these scenarios?  That “Japanese are shy”?

By the way, I wouldn’t recommend this as your approach to language study. (笑)

90% of language learning is attitude (according to the Scientific Study of Getting Better at Language Stuff Journal, vol. ixx).  Time and time again, being open and excited about another culture and people is the fuel that I see in those students who shine above the rest.  I’m aware of other factors that play into this dynamic, such as Nihonjinron (theories on the uniqueness of Japanese), the fossilized policies of Monbusho (the Ministry of Education), grammar-based teaching, and lack of phonics instruction.  For our purposes here though, I want to zero in on what I believe is most within the power of individual Japanese to change for themselves: having a broad-minded attitude.

Once in Shikoku I asked the fellow behind the gift shop counter if they had any of such-and-such.  His response was a series of apologies as he literally stuttered and shook with trepidation at the idea of having to talk to a foreigner with his less than adequate English.  I thought he might very well have a nervous breakdown on the spot.  Thinking back, I wish I could have done more to try to convey to the poor guy that it wasn't a big deal and that he didn't need to feel so pressured about his language skills.

Clearly, these reactions stem from something that goes beyond normal shyness or typical island mentality.  We’re dealing with a deeply-entrenched mindset due to culturally-regimented blinders, a mindset that consigns anything new or different to the category of kowaii (scary) or muzukashii (difficult) – linguistic reflections of a culture that traditionally shuns outside influence and unfamiliar paradigms.

But where did such inhibitions of anxiety come from?  Start delving into concepts like uchi (inside) versus soto (outside) and gonin-gumi (five-family group system) and you’re nearer the mark.  Established by Tokugawa, who shut in the country with authoritarian rule for the next two hundred and sixty some years, gonin-gumi was where a lawbreaker or any nonconformist like, say, a Christian found unreported in one family meant the executions of all five families.  Not exactly the kind of customs that engender a lot of have-your-say town hall meetings or open-hearted block parties.  This systematic grip of suspicion and distrust among individuals and brutal measures for conformity with what the boss says persists today in various subtle forms in everything from societal institutions to everyday interactions.

Don’t believe me?  Just think about what happens when you have a group of Japanese co-workers in an everyday situation requiring the use of English and one of them is actually competent in the language.  In a flourish of false-humility and indulgent modesty, our fluent fellow will try his hardest to appear like he doesn’t really know much English and that English isn’t that important anyway.  Why?  In a word: fear.  Fear of ostracism or jealousy from the group and their fixation on status.

It’s almost as if for one member to stand out as being competent in English would reflect poorly on the other members, and be at disharmony with their shared values.  Thus, someone who is exceptionally good at something in his group risks costing him some of his identity of belonging within the group, and conversely might make his colleagues or neighbors look like idiots.  (Which is indeed quite selfless and admirable in trying to maintain harmony, but often can be taken to extremes.)

Okay, yeah, I know, it’s not very nice to talk about such things in polite company.  Besides, why bring all that into an article on learning English? 

You should know that the last thing I want to do is to bring up negative aspects of Japan or to be critical with certain issues just for the heck of it.  I’m acutely aware of how uncouth it is.  (And we're not broaching some of the horror stories of physical, verbal, and psychological abuse that occur in classrooms due to authoritarian measures, often resulting in deaths.)  Bear in mind the old adage, “Better are the wounds of a friend than the kisses of an enemy."

Remember, these historical concepts we’re discussing are part and parcel of the issue; they have everything to do with language acquisition.  I mention them because of their particular relevance to the shaping influences on the mind of Japanese people as they grow into a society that expects them to exhibit the same ideology. 

Taking a step back, let’s consider the universal norms we have to go by.  One of the first lessons Creator God showed to the people of Israel as a model community was on how to live as a stranger in a strange land and to subsequently be able to emphasize with foreigners once they had a homeland of their own.  “When a foreigner resides among you in your land,” God taught the Israelites, “do not mistreat them.  The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born.  Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God” (Leviticus 19:33-34; also Hebrews 13:2). 

"Hey thanks, fella.  If you could just drop me off at the nearest Lawson… Whoa, is that C.C. Lemon?!"

Of course, Israel wasn’t very good at this concept and continued to be pretty racist and ethnocentric for about two thousand years, (even after Jesus taught the Parable of the Good Samaritan) until the events leading up to the Council of Jerusalem around A.D. 50.  All the same, this ethic, within the greater Judeo-Christian narrative, has been a part of the consciousness of Western culture for thousands of years.  In modern times, fragmenting movements such as urbanization certainly have to be taken into consideration.  For example, we talk about Southern hospitality in America, and especially in Texas (which means “friend”), as if it were a universal value, but believe it or not even some Southerners can be somewhat cold sometimes (though I suspect these are mostly out-of-towners and carpet-baggers). 

Nevertheless, whether you’re Oriental or Occidental, having the courage to greet or reach out to a stranger, instead of walking to the other side of the street to avoid him, involves running against the grain of all kinds of cultural inhibitions.  Once you can muster the effort to take a long, hard, critical look at the presuppositions of the cultural worldview you’ve been swimming in and once the sources of these unquestioned restrictions have been exposed, then you can begin to ‘put yourself in others’ shoes’ to perceive people from their point-of-view.  Slowly but surely one’s mindset and attitude begins to change.

And once we’ve done that, it’s no jump at all to be able to sympathize and even empathize with others, to demonstrate hospitality, or even just to cross the street to see if we can’t be of help to that person looking askance as a street map.  The more freedom we’ve experienced in befriending others, the more outflow of love we’ll have to share.  To wrest a couple verses out of context, “Be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind” and “perfect love casts out all fear.”  Certainly, it was perfect love that filled those valiant Japanese men, women, and children who would rather choose torture and crucifixion over conforming to the prejudices of the day.

As one Japanese friend commented recently, Japanese are allergic even to the idea of Christianity simply because they perceive it as foreign or un-Japanese.  But once they actually read the Bible or meet Christians, as he did for the past few years, that stigma begins to drop off.  I believe it’s the same with making cross-cultural friends.

One of the saving graces of my own experience teaching at an English school in Japan came by way of a handful of some of the sweetest and most generous obaachan (older ladies) one could hope for.  They were very much my second family, with the kind of rapport I could never quite build with my other, younger students, and I will always be most lovingly in their debt because of it.

Some basic suggestions then for you, my English-learning friend, in developing an open-minded attitude towards friendship:

–Read up on American culture and find out why they do what they do and say what they say.  While you’re at it, read up on your own culture and history and how Confucianism, Buddhism, etc. have affected society, family structures, and worldview.  I’ve known a few Westerners in Japan who never bothered to do a little reading to find out the reasons behind why the culture is the way it is and therefore they were easily offended by things they were ignorant of.  This will help you develop patience and to cut people some slack.  It was Confucius, by the way, who said, "Gentlemen are in harmony without conforming; petty men echo each other without being in harmony."

–Realize also that according to American communication styles, they feel the need for continual feedback; they don’t feel comfortable with the periods of silence usually typical of Japanese conversations.

–They often prefer sarcasm in their humor.  Practice it enough and see if you can’t get the hang of it.  I’m sure I was quite generous in inserting sarcasm in this article.

–Many of them appreciate hugs; learn how to return one properly (hint: keep your hands well above the waistline).

–Along those lines, they dislike formality among friends – it connotes distance.  Try to limit your thank-yous and apologies to a minimum.  They’re not to be treated like customers or business associates, but as casual, even intimate friends.

–Finally, if someone happens to take a nosedive over his handlebars and eat gravel in front of your path, go ahead and offer him a perfunctory ‘Are-you-okay?’ – if you do, I’m sure it'll just make his day and the two of you will probably become fast friends in no time.

"I should've smashed my face into the concrete years ago!"