By Justin Delaney

PART 1: CHOPSTICKS

PROLOGUE

HELLO JAPAN, IT’S ME AGAIN

TENNOJI SLAPPER

NEXT STOP, NAGATA

ED-MAN

NOVA = NO-VACATION

COLD BEER AND SPICY CABBAGE

CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD

SHAKE, RATTLE AND SUSHI ROLL

SHE’S NOT RIGHT FOR YOU

RIDING ON TRAINS WITH THE BIG FELLA

BIG RED AND CHINA BLUE (THEY’RE FRIENDS WITH ME AND THEY’RE FRIENDS WITH YOU).

ALL MIXED UP

T-T-T-TARUMI

A KISS ON THE LIPS IS BETTER THAN A SLAP IN THE FACE

HANA-BI

DRUMROLL PLEASE

THE TIES THAT BIND WILL FOREVER BURN

HEARBREAK IN HIROSHIMA

THE JAR

DRINKING BEERS AT WORLDS END

GOING NUTS!

HANGIN’ WITH THE YAKS

BLOOMIN’ PRODUCTIONS

A STAB IN THE DARK

PROLOGUE

The first thing I notice is the handle. Its black, sleek shape is hard to pick up in the dark, but I know instantly what it is. I sense no pain, despite my brain sending me a warning signal that something is definitely wrong. Dark figures hover around me shouting words I don’t understand. I can see my hands out in front of my face, fingers spread wide as if I am defending in a game of basketball. I scream out in desperation but it is quickly lost in the darkness of the night. Something tells me they wouldn’t comprehend anyway. The humid air of the late August night makes it hard for me to catch my breath. All those years of smoking have caught up with me. I can feel beads of sweat welling up underneath my black t-shirt. I stagger backwards until I feel the edge of a vehicle touch my calves. I turn and see Yasu’s familiar face and his bloodied hand stretched out in my direction. He grabs me by the scruff and pulls me through the open van door then screams at his wife to drive.

The sudden jolt of the moving van forces my face to smack heavily against the hard vinyl seat. The cool surface soothes my cheek momentarily. I grab at the neck hole of my t-shirt, trying to loosen the vice like grip it has around my throat. It’s like I’ve water in my lungs and I’m slowly drowning. As I shuffle in my seat searching for fresh air, I catch a glimpse of the black shape again. It shouldn’t be there. I don’t want to look at it, but it taunts me like a school yard bully. My eyes follow the handle down until it reaches the base of the blade. It glistens from the reflection of the passing street lamps. Only a small amount of the blade is visible, with the remainder inserted deeply into my left thigh. The knife protrudes grandly out of my leg invoking images of Excalibur in the stone.

I sense the van is picking up speed and I can dimly make out familiar landmarks whizzing by in a blur as we drive towards the city. Yasu’s wife and her unknown passenger are in the front, all crazy eyed and frantic, screaming at me in the back. Their voices come across muffled and inaudible. The fact they are speaking in Japanese probably doesn’t help matters either.

Even though I am numb all over, I can sense my body is sweating profusely. There is wetness around my crotch. I don’t know if it’s piss or something much worse? I glance out the window again to try and determine where the hell we are? The lights are flashing past so quickly I can’t get a sense of our surroundings anymore. Everything is happening at a break-neck speed. One minute Yasu and I were wandering down the giant descent from GM’s apartment towards our ride home, and the next thing I know I’m slumped in the back of a van driving to God knows where? Breathe. Think. Put the puzzle back together. What the HELL just happened?

As I lie there in the backseat of the van I try to remember the events that led up to this moment. Flashes of memory spring sporadically into my mind. Images of an argument, a chase, running, laughing, shock. I remember two girls, a guy and a knife. I can see Yasu lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Holy shit, Yasu. I turn and find my friend is now sprawled out on the seat next to me, blood pouring from multiple stab wounds to his side and ear. He looks like a homicide victim.

Blood oozes through Yasu’s fingers as he tries to plug up the various wounds around his body. The blood seems black in the darkness. It flows like oil from a can, staining the vinyl. It certainly looks different to what you see in the movies. I’ve seen every one of Scorsese’s gangster films and I can’t remember blood ever looking like this. I try to help by sliding over and putting some pressure on his hip. The blood on the seat makes it hard for me to sit still without slipping. That’s when he notices not all is well with me either.

“Dude, you’ve got a knife in your leg”, he says in his typical pseudo American gangster twang. He sticks a bloodied finger in the direction of my jeans. “Just hang in there, we’re gonna get you to a hospital. Whatever you do, don’t pull it out.”

Despite his own injuries I can see the concern in his eyes as he stares at the black handle. His wife Tommoko starts to panic. She twists her head to grab a glimpse at what is happening in the back, while trying to keep the van on the road. I lurch forward and put my bloodied hand on her shoulder to give some reassurance. It is then that I notice her baby bump sticking out between the two seat belt sashes. My mind races back to the start of the night.

Tequila shots. Check.

Celebratory cigars. Double check.

Male bonding. In abundance.

Macho back slapping. Got the red marks to prove it.

And a hell of a lot more tequila.

Of course. We’d been out celebrating Yasu’s impending fatherhood. It was his last hurrah with the boys before entering a life of nappy changes and 3a.m. feeding. I start to freak out.

“Are you OK Tommoko? Is the baby alright? Don’t stress out, we’ll be fine.” Shit. Shit. Shit! No we won’t.

As I try to move closer to see her face, a sharp pain runs down my leg like a chainsaw on wood. I let out a blood curdling scream that ricochets around the van. Tommoko turns around quickly, jolting the steering wheel and sending the van full speed towards the side walk. Yasu yells in Japanese to straighten back up. The sudden redirection sends him flying off his seat and onto the floor. The poor bastard is sliding around in his own blood. Some of it splashes over into the front, landing on his wife’s dress. This only serves to alarm her even more.

“I’m alright, just everyone calm the fuck down for a minute!” screams Yasu, who is surprisingly still conscious.

Yasu’s wife can’t understand his English, but his point is made. She eases off on the accelerator and steadies the van. My heart is beating like a Japanese drum. I try to slow down my breathing as I help drag Yasu back off the floor. We both look like we’ve been fed through a wood chipper.

All I had to do was sit there and ride the journey out till I received medical help. But it’s funny what people do when they find themselves in unknown circumstances like this. Yasu’s words “whatever you do, don’t pull it out”, keep swirling around in my mind, prompting me to do exactly what I shouldn’t have. Like Arthur and his Excalibur, I rap my hands around the knife handle and pull the bastard straight out of my leg. What happens next is probably not unexpected.

Blood gushes from the open wound like beer from a shot gunned can. The projectile spray is so intense it shoots up hitting the ceiling of the van and down across the passenger side door. I can feel blood dripping onto my head from above, just like a scene from a dodgy 80’s horror film. I half expect to look across and see a man with a hook for a hand staring back at me. My whole body is feeling wobbly. Against my better judgment I glance down and see a gaping hole staring back up at me. This is serious.

Suddenly, as if someone has clicked the mute button off, all the sounds around me come pouring in. Yasu is screaming at his wife to give me something to wrap around my leg. The girl in the front passenger seat scampers over and ties a maternity jumper around the base of my thigh to slow down the bleeding. Who the hell is she anyway? The back seat is a mess. I can’t tell where my blood pool finishes and Yasu’s begins? I can feel the blood running down my leg and into my sock. Suddenly my phone rings. It’s my mate GM. I stick a bloodied finger on the green answer key without thinking.

“JD, you ok? I was on my balcony not long after you and Yasu left. I saw a couple of people running past and got a real bad feeling.”

I can feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head. The darkness is closing in on me.

“I’ve just been stabbed, mate.”

The words don’t even seem real to me. I mean, I’ve been in some scrapes before, but nothing like this! I let go of the black handle and drop the knife onto the floor and take one last deep breath.

“I’m gonna put you onto Yasu ‘cause I think I’m gonna…….”

The view outside our shuttle wing was grey and uninviting. I shivered instinctively and zipped my coat all the way up in readiness for when the doors opened at the north end of the terminal. Hardly a sound was muttered in the overcrowded people mover, filled mostly with passengers from my flight. For those who were here for the same purpose as me, a mixture of trepidation and exhaustion had momentarily dulled the fact that our long journey had nearly reached its conclusion.

“This is it Aussie Joe, your new home,” I whispered to my unwanted flight companion. “Well, that is if you can hack it.”

He looked at me with a fearful glance.

“W-what d-do you mean, hack it?” he stuttered in an exasperated tone.

“Well, I once heard a story of a girl from the UK who came over her to teach English. She didn’t last 24 hours before she was back on the plane and home to mummy and daddy with her tail between her legs. Couldn’t hack it.”

I knew I shouldn’t stir the poor bloke up, but it was all tongue in cheek. In the thirteen hours I had to listen to his crap from Brisbane to Osaka, it was fair to say I hadn’t warmed to the bloke. I tried everything from covering my face with a magazine, to pretending to be asleep. But that didn’t prevent him from telling me all the morally questionable things he was going to do in the year he was planning on staying in the country. Putting the wind up him seemed nothing if not justified.

Our transportation came to an abrupt halt, forcing several passengers to topple into one another. A huge gust of wind blew into the shuttle as the doors opened to familiar surroundings. I took a deep breath, smiled and coughed my lungs up.

“Yep,” I wheezed as I bent over to catch my breath. “Nothing like good old fashioned Osaka air to make you appreciate how good we’ve got it back home.”

I shuffled out with the rest of the passengers and made a b-line to a vacant spot on the platform to regain my composure. As I glanced around the recognisable scenery of the gigantic Kansai International Airport (KIX), I realised not a lot had changed since the last time I was here. Swarms of passengers flowed through the gates in all directions like water out of a shower head. Before even getting through customs, previous experience told me there would be no over the top welcome parties waiting with ridiculous signs. No overtly emotional reconciliations. Hardly even a hug. Just people going about their business, trying their best to stay out of each-others path in the politest way possible.

KIX was a well-oiled machine, forever churning, never stopping. It made the unpleasant nature of airport protocol slightly more bearable. Even the customs officer smiled and complemented me on my flimsy use of Japanese as he handed back my passport. Customs officers are never friendly. You usually only have to look at them sideways before they’re reaching for the rubber glove. Not here. Not in the place they called ‘the land of the rising sun.’

“Time to wet the whistle, Aussie Joe,” I said, slapping him on the back in an unnecessarily aggressive manner. “Thirteen hours on a plane is thirsty work. Let’s go get a beer.”

Aussie Joe hesitated, unable to look me in the eyes. His scrawny features seemed all tensed up like he was about to walk into the principal’s office. I think my joke may have backfired slightly.

“JD, I know I asked you a million questions on the plane,” he said in a somewhat sheepish manner, “but are there any other pieces of advice you can tell me about this place? I’m shitting myself right about now.”

I stopped and looked at him. He was like a child who’d lost his mother in a department store. But I could empathize with his position. I had been there. I had been him.

Wrapping my arm around his shoulders, I gave him a friendly shake.

“Listen mate, the best advice I can give you would be to enter this experience with an open mind,” I said, trying to give him some words of wisdom. “Don’t heighten your expectations to unachievable level, simply because that way you’ll never be disappointed.”

He nodded to indicate his understanding. I continued, going through an imaginary list in my head.

“Have a crack at learning the language, even if it’s the basic stuff. Try food that doesn’t always look like food. You may surprise yourself. See as much as you can because I can assure you that there is nothing like this back home. And the number one rule above everything else is…” I paused for dramatic effect, staring my transfixed audience of one straight in the eyes. “Always use a western style toilet if choice allows. Never, ever use a Japanese squat.”

Aussie Joe laughed, lightening his mood a little.

“What’s wrong with the Japanese style?” he asked, not totally sure where I was going with this?

“Mate, you’ll find out at the most inopportune moment I’m sure. Everyone does. They look like someone has pulled a urinal off the wall and planted it horizontally on the ground. You almost need instructions to use them. It’s like jumping into a pool for the first time. You go in dry, but you bloody well don’t come out that way. Come on, let’s grab those beers and find our welcoming party.”

It had become something of a mini custom for me to buy a large can of Asahi beer each time I came back to Japan. As this was my third trip, I saw no reason to break with tradition that day. With two cans in hand, one for me and the other for Aussie Joe, I headed out to the designated meeting area that had been detailed on our travel itinerary. Having been in this position before, I led the way confidently out the automatic doors of the front foyer and in the direction of the Osaka bus terminal.

It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon on the 24th of February and our itinerary stated that a representative from our new employer Nova would be waiting for us outside the bus terminal at that exact time. No-one was there. As a previous employee of the company, this didn’t surprise me. The 10 other Aussies from my flight milled around in small groups, whispering nervously and trying to shield themselves from the icy wind whipping through the open air bus terminal. They’d all got the calling to teach English in Japan for reasons known only to them. I remembered feeling exactly the same way as them the first time I set foot on Japanese soil. But this time was different. I was as cool as a cucumber. No culture shock. No pre-job nerves. No Aussie Joe type freak-outs. I just had the supreme confidence that I’d made the right choice to come back. Word had got out that I’d worked for Nova before, presumably from Aussie Joe. Understandably a few questions were thrown my way. Being something of a smart-arse and having obviously not learned my lesson from before, I decided to play a few mind games.

“What’s it like to live in Japan? I’ve heard it’s kinda strange,” asked a short, red-headed girl with eyes that seemed far too close together.

“You’re right, it is strange. Especially when you find yourself bathing with people you don’t know on a nightly basis. I found that particularly difficult to get used to.” I shook my head in disgust for added effect. The girl turned pale. Her bottom lip started to quiver in fear.

“What? We have to bath with others?”

I had to use every ounce of strength to stop myself from grinning.

“Yeah, Nova is too cheap to install individual showers in their employee apartments. So instead, they have one big bathhouse in the apartment block with open showers.”

A murmur broke out across the group as more people joined in the conversation.

“Is it true you don’t have to speak Japanese to survive?” butted in a lanky blond girl wearing an embarrassing ‘I Heart Brisbane’ t-shirt.

“Who told you that? I would’ve thought it was essential.”

It wasn’t at all, but telling her that would’ve been less entertaining.

“Is teaching English hard?” she continued, undeterred by my revelation.

“Are you kidding me? Why do you think I’m back? It’s a notch above sleeping in terms of actual brain stimulation. Any other burning questions?”

“What does the word ‘gai-jin’ mean? I’ve read it a few times in my guide book,” piped in some unknown voice from the back of the group.

“Well, gaijin is the Japanese word for foreigner. I guess its loose translation is ‘not from here’ which doesn’t sound all that welcoming. But get used to it because you’ll hear it a lot.”

“Is it true Japanese girls are attracted to western blokes?” I turned to see Aussie Joe looking at me like a dog staring at a bone. I’m pretty sure that was the first question I answered on the plane trip over. Five minutes ago he looked like Bambi after his mother was shot. Enter a few of the local talent looking his way as they exited the airport, and instantly life was sweet!

Suddenly I heard someone clearing their throat in a loud and uncouth manner, cutting short my interrogation.

“Ok people, gather round please. We have a lot to do and very little time.”

The voice sounded very British. Walking towards me was a funny looking man wearing a very loud shirt. Despite the crisp weather, he was perspiring quite noticeably, having seemingly rushed to get here. He had a very frustrated look on his face, like someone who had drawn the short straw to go all the way out to an airport and babysit a bunch of new recruits. It could just be coincidental but it strikes me that the higher you climbed up the Nova corporate ladder, the weirder you looked. In my previous experience with the Nova big-wigs, they usually had a few traits in common: Breath that could wilt small plants; an ability to perspire profusely regardless of the time of year; the fashion sense of someone who got dressed in the dark; and a tale of woe concerning a failed Japanese marriage. This may seem like a very general statement, but believe me, it wasn’t such a stretch.

From appearance alone, the Englishman calling out was ticking a lot of those boxes. He sported a Hawaiian shirt despite it being 2003, and a comb-over that wrapped around his head like a coiled snake.

“First things first, I’m looking for a Mr. Justin Delaney,” he said when the last of the group arrived in front of him.

“Yep that’s me”, I said, trying to blind my eyes from the horror that was his shirt.

“Right then, here’s the information you need to find your way to your temporary accommodation. Your bags will be forwarded on to your permanent apartment in Kobe in a few days. The rest of you, follow me.”

What, no grand greeting? Not even a “how’s the trip?”

He handed me a piece of paper with two addresses on it and two keys. One for an address in an area of Osaka that I’d never heard of, and the other to a place called Nagata, Kobe, which I also hadn’t heard of!

“Hang on a minute, what do you mean ‘temporary accommodation’?” I gasped. “I wasn’t told about this. I assumed I was heading straight to Kobe, but it says here my place won’t be available for three days. What the hell am I supposed to do until then?”

The Englishman wiped his brow with a decidedly ratty red handkerchief and stared at me as if my plight was no concern of his.

“There was some mix up with the dates. Apparently the old tenants haven’t moved out yet. Just hang tight for a few days and it will all work out. Your luggage will be waiting for you in Nagata,” he reiterated again.

I started to get pissed off. I’d like to think I’m a pretty laidback sort of guy, but I didn’t think it was too much to ask that I received the same treatment as all the other new recruits. I’d paid the same amount of money to get there. All I wanted to do was to be escorted to my new abode and settle in. Now Hawaii Five-0 was saying it was not to be. This was not the seamless reentry back into Japanese life I had envisioned.

“Here you go” he said, as he passed me a ticket. “Get on the bus and go to Nakatsu. Once there, follow the directions written on your page. Head office informs me that you’ve previously lived in Osaka before, so I assumed you’d be able to find the place yourself. Good luck.”

With that bit of worthless encouragement, he hurriedly ushered the remaining group onto a bus headed for Nova foreign personal in the central area of Namba.

“I’ve already seen loads of hot girls, JD, and we haven’t even left the airport! I think I’m gonna like it here” Aussie Joe exclaimed, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he walked past.

“Don’t worry about the girls, just steer clear of those Japanese style toilets” I yelled after him.

I resisted the temptation of giving the bus the middle finger and managed a limp wave goodbye as the new Nova recruits took off towards Osaka. Suddenly, I was left standing by myself at Kansai International Airport, bus ticket in hand, still trying to figure out where I was going and what I was going to do by myself for the next three days? I had nothing more than a change of underwear, a clean t-shirt and a toothbrush in my travel bag. Suddenly I didn’t feel as cool as a cucumber anymore.

“Konichiwa, wa doco desu ka?” A smartly dressed man wearing a pristine blue uniform and a pair of white gloves greeted me near the bus.

“Ummmm, Nakatsu .” My Japanese was woeful at best. I had a memory like a sieve for other languages. No matter how much I poured in, it always managed to escape. Hell, I was lucky to pass Year 7 French. What I’d said to the ‘I heart Brisbane’ girl earlier was complete and utter bullshit. It wasn’t necessary to learn Japanese to survive. But I was hoping my attitude and efforts in commitment to study would change that this time round.

“Ok, ok, ok ok”, he said jovially, pointing to my seat on the bus. “This bus ok!”

I’m glad he knew where I was going because I certainly didn’t.

As we made our way along the humungous freeways connecting the airport to the city, I reminisced about the first time I took this trip. Three years had passed since the first time I arrived in Osaka on a holiday working visa. It’d been night time and the city was awash with neon lights that filled the dark sky like fireworks. I remembered feeling so alive. My eyes were transfixed on the colours flashing past as the train picked up pace. It was a million miles from the seaside town I grew up in Australia. This time however, the grey dullness of the afternoon did nothing to re-inspire such feelings of grandeur. I’d forgotten what an ugly city Osaka could be in the cold light of day. Lifeless buildings littered the landscape as far at the eye could see. There was nothing to distinguish one area from another. It was like one giant symmetrical image.

After about 45 minutes the bus stopped and the man with the white gloves who greeted me onto the bus indicated to me that this was my station. I glanced out the window and noticed that this street looked exactly the same at the five previous streets we had just driven down. I stared at my now crinkled piece of paper and wondered how I was going to find my temporary accommodation without using Japanese? My bladder was also at bursting point and I wished I hadn’t been so eager to drink 500mls of beer before jumping on a bus to an unknown destination.

I headed west and to my relief soon caught sight of some of the landmarks from my map. I quickly realised that using convenience stores as reference points was a complete waste of time, considering how many there were in my current street alone. Before I knew it, I was completely lost. Not one to lose my head in a crisis, I decided to prioritise my problems. The fact my bladder was now feeling as big as a watermelon, a toilet took precedent over gaining my bearings. Every ‘convenience’ store I entered inconveniently had neither a toilet nor someone who could help me with directions. Just when I thought all was lost, a strange looking guy walked up and tapped me on the shoulder. I could imagine that it must have been odd to see a white guy crouched over like he was laying an egg on the footpath, looking hopelessly at a piece of paper.

“Hello,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

“Hello,” I replied.

“Hello,” he said again, smiling like an idiot.

“Ummmm, hello.” Please don’t be a psycho.

“Where you from?” The man was now standing uncomfortably close to me. I could feel his breath on my face. I started to become a little uneasy. He was dressed in the typical salary man fashion. Colourless suit. Brief case. Oversized glasses. Harmless enough I supposed. Then again, no one really knew where I was. It was five days before I had to front up to Initiation Day for my new job. Plenty of time to dispose of my body before anyone would notice.

“Australia,” I said, clutching at my ever expanding bladder.

“Oh, berry good! I rike Australia berry much.” I took that as a positive sign. “Where you go now?”

“Well I’m kind of lost. I want to get to this place here.” I showed him my map and address.

“Ok, no probrem. Forrow me.” And with that he took off down the street. I didn’t really have a plan B at that stage, so I staggered off after him, hoping that where ever he was taking me, it had a toilet. No more than a few minutes later he had me at the front door of my home away from home away from home.

My new friend shook my hand and wished me all the best in Japan. He then turned around and vanished as quickly as he’d appeared, like a modern day ninja. Would I ever do that for a stranger in Australia? Probably not. Too many unknown factors involved. Japan was different. It was safe.

After dashing to the toilet and celebrating like I’d won the lottery, I caught sight of my disheveled appearance in the petite mirror as I washed my hands. My dark blond hair looked like it’d been brushed with a brick and I instantly regretted not getting it cut before I left Australia. My usual pale features seemed more gaunt and withered than usual and it suddenly hit me how exhausted I was. As my temporary digs were as spacious as a prison cell, it didn’t take me long to look around before giving in to my body’s demand for rest. I dragged out my futon and blankets from the cupboard and parked myself in front of the TV, nearly forgetting that there was nothing on the box that I could understand. Frustrated and sleepy, I curled up at the late old time of 6pm, hungry and alone. I drifted off to sleep with my family prominent in my mind.

Three things reminded me of where I was after waking dazed and confused from an epic 14 hour sleep. 1: You couldn’t swing a cat in the apartment I found myself in; 2: The fridge was filled with bottles of chilled green tea and several unappealing onagri rice triangles; 3: A borderline pornographic game show was on television at the non-child friendly time of 9.30 am. Basically the entire show revolved around the flashing of girl’s knickers. The premise involved a long line of women waiting to be flipped over by two men standing on stage in front of a large mat. Each girl, dressed inappropriately in short skirts and long socks, stepped forward and got flipped over onto the mat by the two gentlemen with the greatest job in television. As gravity took over, the girl’s skirt would fly up exposing their underwear. That was it. That was the entire show. There was no mistaking that I was in Japan.

After a quick shower, I chucked on the same clothes as the day before, making a mental note to buy a few essential items just in case there’s some cock-up with my luggage. As I’m dealing with Nova, this was highly likely. I pulled my brown and gold Hawthorn footy socks all the way up to my knees and pushed open the door. The cold morning air rushed in and did a great job of waking me up. Despite sleeping for so many hours, my body still felt lethargic from the long flight. With no idea where I was, I took off towards the main road with only one task in mind; find a phone box. In a society dominated by mobile phones, it didn’t come as such a surprise that it took 20 minutes of walking around the neighbourhood freezing my pants off before I finally found what I was looking for. Reaching into my coat pocket, I retrieved a crumpled piece of paper with only one phone number scribbled on it.

If my mate doesn’t pick up his phone, I don’t know what I’ll do?

“Hello, Jase, is that you? It’s JD.” I wait nervously for a moment for his reply.

“Yeah JD, how are ya bro? Where are you ringing from?”

It was bloody good to hear his voice again.

“I’m ringing from Osaka mate.”

“Welcome back to the madness.” Jase’s thick Kiwi accent resonated down the line, drowning out the sound of the busy street outside my phone box. “Sorry I couldn’t be there to meet you mate, but as you know from my email, I’d already planned a trip to Hokkaido doing some snowboarding. You settling back in ok?”

“Yeah, no worries mate, apart from the fact Nova has stuck me in a shithole temporary apartment in the middle of nowhere,” I fumed.

Jase’s familiar giggle instantly cheered me up.

“What did you expect JD? It’s Nova. Anyway, I wasn’t sure what your plan was, so I left the key to my apartment in the letterbox just in case. Hopefully you remember how to get there.”

“Yeah, I should be fine.”

“Good. Make yourself at home, bro,” Jase continued. “I left the key to my bike on the bench. If you use it just make sure it’s always locked up. Can’t trust anyone in Tennoji. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“You’re a life saver Jase,” I said heaving a sigh of relief knowing I was getting out of my current situation. “Hey, before you go, is Tin’s Hall still open? I think I’ll need a beer later on.”

~

I first met Jase though my good mate from university, Hollywood, on the roof of the apartment building they shared together. It was a steamy August night in the year 2000. Just as Australia was bracing itself for the global onslaught which came with hosting the Sydney Olympics, I was experiencing what it’s like to visit a foreign country for the first time. It was my first night in Osaka and my head was already spinning. I had finally taken the advice of Hollywood, who for months had been telling me to “Get your arse over here JD. You won’t regret it. Apply for a job with Nova and make sure they send you to Osaka. It’s the land of milk and honey.” Before I knew it, I was standing in central Namba, shaking hands with Hollywood himself and setting off back to his place for a couple of beers on his roof to check out what he described as “the best place to view the city for the first time.” On the walk back he gave me the low down on his two housemates -Jase and fellow Aussie, Pauly- and many of the wild adventures they’d experienced together. Within 3 months, Hollywood –a keen surfer- had been lured back to Australia in time for the summer and I’d taken over his room in the Sakuwagara apartment.

From early on, Jase was like an older brother to me in Japan. We didn’t always agree on everything, but I always knew he was there if I ever needed help. On a returning holiday to Osaka two and a half years after originally leaving, he’d rolled out the welcome mat and allowed me to stay with him in Tennoji for as long as I pleased.

A short, stocky man, Jase was unassumingly strong, with a barrel chest and keg like legs. His blond closely cropped hair was beginning to recede and he often sported a beard or goatee, especially in the winter months. He had an extremely cheeky laugh, which usually presented itself before he was about to tell an inappropriate story.

Much like myself, Jase had temporarily left his life in Osaka, only to be lured back to the familiarity of Tennoji and the classrooms of Nova. As much as I hated to admit it, our return was foretold by a notorious returnee we called Old Man Steve. He once told me, “Japan is like a great big gas station. You stay for as long as it takes to fill your tank, then get the fuck out and drive as far and wide as you can. When the tank becomes dry, head back to the gas station.”

That bloke had been coming and going from the ‘gas station’ for over 20 years. It made me nauseous to imagine myself still teaching conversational English well into my 40s. It’d be like an old guy at an all-age disco; creepy and inappropriate.

This was the second time back at the gas station for both Jase and I, and like all good things, the price of petrol had gone up. There was a time when Aussies and Kiwis could double the yen they made in Japan when exchanging it to dollars. Now we were lucky to make any profit at all.

~

Jase’s apartment was located in the ward of Tennoji in the southeast of Osaka. He’d emailed me directions just in case I’d forgotten, but after my previous days balls up, I wasn’t feeling too confident with a map. After initially getting on the wrong train I finally found my bearings and headed in the right direction. It’s bloody hard work trying to navigate your way round using the underground train system.

For me, Tennoji was one of the more interesting areas of Osaka. It had real character and grit not seen in other more built up sections of the city. It was part shopping wonderland; part entertainment district; part seedy underbelly. Just what the doctor ordered!

The thing that slapped you in the face like a cold fish when you exited the station was the amount of homeless people littered underneath the surrounding overpasses and shop fronts. Predominantly men nearing the retirement age, they lined the sidewalks like bodies in a morgue. The humble box and a sheet of blue canvas became their accommodation. Looking at them as I made my way through the station made me feel like a total wanker for complaining about my clean, dry temporary apartment.

Unlike in some countries where they chase you for blocks, the average destitute person won’t beg for money here. Despite their predicament there’s still a sense of honor to maintain; a quiet dignity about them, which stayed true to the Japanese spirit.

Unfortunately, not all the homeless men carried themselves in such a way. On my last visit to Tennoji, my friend Danny and I watched in horror as a large brutish homeless man beat the living suitcase out of another half his size. The bashing took place in the middle of Tennoji station surrounded by thousands of commuters. Both Danny and I had been told never to get involved in conflicts that don’t concern you due to the difficult nature of explaining your involvement to the police. But as the smaller man lay on the ground getting repeatedly kicked in the face, I felt compelled to step in and stop the bloodbath. I couldn’t believe how people could walk past as if nothing was happening. Before I got myself into trouble a young woman stepped up and grabbed the larger man by the arm in defense of the other. She screamed at him to stop until the station security arrived. Danny and I were in awe of the woman’s bravery and saddened that the lack of action from any other commuters. Unfortunately that pretty much summed up what was wrong with today’s Japan. It was always someone else’s problem.

On this day, all seemed relatively quiet in the station, thank goodness. I quickly walked the 15 minutes from the station to Jase’s. The key was exactly where he said it would be which was the first thing that had actually gone to plan since I’d arrived in the country. His apartment was much the same size as the one I’d just left, but with one major difference; it felt homely. The kitchenette and washing machine were the first things to welcome you as you walked through the door. Left of that, the apartment opened up into a wider space which housed a small blue couch, TV and stereo and a small table with two chairs. Jase’s bedding was neatly rolled up and placed in the corner next to the couch. A huge map of the world spread itself across one of the windowless walls displaying all the cities and countries Jase had visited in his extensive travels through the use of thumb tacks. A variety of photos and random Japanese merchandise littered other areas of the walls and windows, giving the place a personal touch. With no welcome party there to greet me, I rolled out the futon in the hope of grabbing a kip before taking off to my favourite bar in the whole of Osaka: The famous Tin’s Hall!

~

Tucked away in a little street not far from the station, Tin’s was the scene of many great memories for me. After locating Jase’s bike key and feeling renewed after my nap, it was time to go back and see if anything had changed.

“JD, is that you? Hisashiburi man. Long time no see,” called a familiar voice from behind the bar. Stepping further inside, I could see an average sized Japanese male wearing a baggy woolen beanie, Quicksilver t-shirt and jeans, smiling in my direction. Aside from his hair, wistfully escaping from under his hat and down his neck being decidedly longer, he, along with the bar looked as I remembered.

“G’day Nori. Hisashiburi. Long time no see mate. Jeez you’re good with faces.”

The fact that Nori, the manager of Tin’s still instantly recognised me after such a long time went some of the way to describing why I loved the place so much. The bar itself had a surf theme. Bamboo sticks ran down the walls like a giant hut and a TV flickered in the background playing classic old surf movies from the 70’s. Tin’s was frequented mostly by gaijin due to the two large Nova schools situated in the area. But it also had a nice blend of locals also which reminded you that you were still actually in Japan. I first came across the place when Jase, Hollywood and Pauly took me there in my first week of living in Osaka. Since then it was always my first port of call in Tennoji.

“So where have you been man? I haven’t seen you in here for fucking ages.” Nori had done a bit of travelling in his time and spoke English in his own free spirited way. When I say free spirited I mean he liked to swear a lot! “Nothings fucking changed round here man. Business is ok, but I missed you man. Drink some beer and get drunk.”

“It’s good to be back Nori. I’ll have a beer and one of your famous burgers.”

“No probrem man. So you back in Osaka for good? You visited a couple of summers ago if my memory is correct? I forget so much shit recently man.”

“I am back to live mate, but not in Osaka. Nova the bastards have posted me in Kobe. I put Tennoji down as my first working preference but they needed teachers in other places. If things don’t work out there I’ll try and transfer at a later stage.”

“What the fuck man! That sucks. Kobe is a cool city though.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there a few times. It is cool. And it’s only an hour on the train from the center of Kobe to here, so it’s not too bad. They could’ve sent me to live in the hills in the middle of Japan somewhere, so I shouldn’t complain too much.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger man.”

I shook Nori’s hand and secured a seat in the back corner of the bar and smiled to myself. This was the first time I had felt at ease in days. Gaijin English teachers started flowing in through the door, ties loosened, shirts dislodged. Some of them looked vaguely familiar but I was happy enough with my beer as company.

A couple of beers into my stay I noticed two Japanese girls sitting on a nearby table looking my way. They weren’t hard to spot due to the rather unique fashion they were wearing. The first girl had a gothic/rock thing going on (known as visual kei). She had jet black hair, powdered white face with black lipstick and eyeliner. She wore a black Ramones t-shirt with rips through it and tight back mini skirt and fishnet stockings. To top off the ensemble, she sported a knee high pair of Doc Martin boots. It was if she’d been ripped straight out of a Marilyn Manson film clip. But that was nothing compared to her friend. She had a look that was known in Japan as ‘Gothic-Lolita’, a sub-culture commonly found (along with the visual kei style) around Harajuku and Shinjuku in Tokyo. She was dressed up like a porcelain doll; complete with a white lace Victorian-style dress, petticoat, ribbon and knee high socks. If that wasn’t strange enough, sitting on top of her red curly hair was a white bonnet. Despite being surrounded by gaijin in boring work attire, the girls didn’t seem at all uncomfortable.

After looking my way and whispering to each other for quite some time, the rocker girl approached my table.

“Where you from?” she inquired, using surprisingly good English.

“Australia.” I responded.

“You don’t look like other gaijin here.”

“That’s because I’ve just arrived. Don’t worry, I’ll look just like them soon enough.”

“Can we join you?” she asked, already gesturing over to her porcelain friend.

“Sure, I guess,” I answered, shrugging my shoulders. It couldn’t hurt to have a bit of company, regardless of their freaky appearance.

The two girls dragged their chairs over to my table and sat down. For quite some time they chatted amongst themselves in Japanese as if I was invisible, until rocker girl inquired about my age.

“24,” I said.

“No, you not 24. You younger,” said rocker girl.

“Um, I’m pretty sure I know how old I am.”

It actually wasn’t that uncommon for me to been mistaken as younger than my actual age. This annoyed me at times, especially if I was referred to as a boy, not a man. People said I should take it as a compliment and that I would reap the benefits in the future. I guess I’d eventually find out.

“Do you have girlfriend?” asked the rocker girl, continuing on with her interrogation.

“No,” I answered truthfully. “Like I said, I only just arrived.”

“Do you like Japanese girls?” she pried.

“Um, yeah, sure. I like all types of girls.”

“I think you have many Japanese girlfriends,” she declared. “I think you’re playboy.”

Playboy was a term often used by Japanese girls to describe men who were playing the field. I always found it was used a little too randomly and without much merit.

“And I think you like my friend,” she concluded.

The porcelain doll sat motionless staring me straight in the eyes. I started to get creeped out.

“Look,” I protested. “You both seem very nice, but I’m just here to have a beer and that’s it. I’m not sure where you got any other ideas from?”

Suddenly I felt something rubbing up against my leg. I inconspicuously lent back to grab a glimpse under the table. Sure enough a large white shoe was massaging the back of my calf. I looked up and found the porcelain doll smiling at me like the bride of Frankenstein. Rocker girl stopped talking mid-sentence and shot me an icy glance. She pulled back her chair and saw my leg entangled with her friends.

Faster than a Japanese bullet train, rocker girl lent in my direction and slapped me clean across the face. WHACK! The slap resonated around the room.

“Fuck you playboy,” she shrieked, grabbing her friend by the arm and pulling her back to their original table.

I sat there in shock trying to work out what I said or did to receive such a dramatic response. My left cheek felt as if it’d been seared on a hotplate.

“Did you just get slapped?” I turned to see Nori nearby collecting glasses. I nodded, still unable to speak.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you. Those girls are crazy! They’re always doing weird stuff to freak out the gaijin. Last week they poured a beer on some guys head. I really should ban them now I come to think of it.”

“Well thanks for the bloody warning,” I murmured.

After polishing off a much deserved free beer from Nori, well away from the slappers, I cycled back to Jase’s mulling over the events of the evening. So far Japan had thrown up some curve balls and was living up to my new motto of ‘expect the unexpected’.