Come Quick! there’s A Gaijin!

It was a futile gesture I knew but as I'd been delivered here, far past the driver’s intended destination, I felt it was, if not a requirement, then a necessity. I stood waving at the car as it disappeared into the encroaching darkness, it's headlights a pair of red lanterns growing smaller and closer together against a backdrop of tall pines.

                  Too late I remembered the gifts I carried in my backpack for just such an occasion. As some kind of consolation I kept waving till the car was comfortably out of sight, a custom, I knew, here in the land of the rising sun.

                  Satisfied I’d done my perceived duty and conscious of the hour I shrugged my backpack over one shoulder, satchel over the other, and made a bee-line through the rough timber gates. With my boots crunching on the gravel path I followed the signs to the campground reception, my concerns tumbling unchecked; would the office still be open? - will there be a vacant tent site for me? - had I arrived too late and unannounced? what if.... but thankfully the lights were on, the counter attended. I was glad too of the company of other late arrivals.

                  I approached the desk, ‘Good evening. I wonder if there might not be a site for me?… No, I haven’t made a reservation… Yes, I have a tent… That’s right, just for one night.’ I felt comfortable in the vernacular and at ease with the required degree of politeness and deference. A conundrum though for my travel-weary brain was the entry form.

                  Written Japanese was a minefield for me at the best of times but now my mind was on vacation. Weeks before I had boarded the ferry and escaped north to Hokkaido, sailing away from the rigors of teaching and study, of structure, pattern and cold recall. To apply my brain now to the mish-mash and miasma of obscure ‘kanji’ characters, the different Japanese syllabaries and the many borrowed foreign words of, it must be said, oblique application, was a test. Resisting the urge to capitulate however and use English, even here where it would be accepted, I persisted.

                  My name?... easy, just a few strokes of the pen. Address?... now that would take some doing. I turned to those waiting behind me, apologizing for the time I was taking. ‘No, please, continue.' came the reply, 'It’s hard for us to remember the kanji too. Sometimes.’

                  Turning back to the task at hand I was surprised to see a little face at my elbow, a boy of early elementary school age staring up at me with wide-eyed astonishment. I realized on seeing this look of awe that here, far from the cities where non-Japanese are common, this little kid may never have been so close to a foreigner. His goggle-eyed face hovered just beneath my arm. I finished filling out the sheet, looked down at him and smiled.

                  With no hint of acknowledgement, he carefully lifted one hand and, with just the tips of his fingers, held tentatively onto my forearm. Then, as if testing the ripeness of an avocado, gave my arm a firm but gentle squeeze, suddenly pulled his hand away, darted round the corner of the building and disappeared out of sight. The other adults in the line behind me had seen it all play out and, in mutual understanding, we smiled together as one.

                  Minutes later, having presented the manager with my paperwork and paid the fee I was directed to the camping area. Rounding the corner of the kiosk however I came across a site that stopped me in my tracks. Across my path stood a mini regiment of three children soldiers, lined up and standing to attention. It was the little wide-eyed avocado-tester and, on either side of him, what I presumed were his sisters. I could imagine the boy running to the family campsite shouting to them, ‘Come quick! There’s a gaijin!’ his mother castigating him for the rude expression. ‘No, Ichiro, don't say that, it’s bad. Say gaijin-san. Gaijin-san is more respectful.’ I’d heard it many times.

                  Before I could give a greeting though, the little boy volunteered his own.

                  ‘Ha-ro~!’ he announced brashly, proud that the little English he knew had found an outlet. Oblivious too, that the foreigner before him may not be an English-speaker at all.

                  ‘Hello, how are you?’ I replied. No answer, just his beaming face showing how pleased he was with himself for being the first to speak - and in the language of the foreigner!

                  ‘Ha-ro~!’ parroted the younger girl, standing straight and true next to her enterprising brother.

                  ‘Hello.’ I said to her. ‘How are you?’ Again, silence, but still the beaming face and the soldier’s stance, hands by her side.

                  But now it was the oldest sibling’s turn, and it was clear her greeting was always going to be different. Superior and sophisticated, demonstrating her advanced schooling and knowledge of worldly expressions. And she sang it out with all the gusto and bravado of a town crier.

                  ‘Ha-rooo ~~~ BABY!!!’

                  That started a mini-carnival of jubilation right there among the high hills of Hokkaido. It melted my composure, of course, and set me to laughing like a lunatic. The kids too, all jumping, dancing, squealing and congratulating each other.

                  Then suddenly, probably sensing the approaching need to use more English, the little boy again took the initiative and, shouting, "Bye-bye!" scampered away again, along the path and off to the family campground.

                  The two sisters followed fast on his heels, squeals of glee at their daring and courage echoing off the dark trees, around the craggy mountainsides and into the annals of eternal international camaraderie.

© Owen Smith 2023