Miso udon noodle soup with shiitake mushrooms
Gomae (Japanese sesame spinach salad)
Ginger Miso Soba Noodle Bowls with Wakame
“Geez. I hope I can make all of these things. This one looks good … hmm, this one looks hard …”
I’m scrolling through Pinterest, lying on the floor, fully dressed for work, when my iPhone starts to buzz in my hands and play gentle, soothing koto music. The alarm title “time to move!” pops up on the screen. I sigh and somehow manage to roll over onto my side, then push myself up. It’s time to bundle into my big white puffy winter coat and leave my empty-ish apartment. Ever since my family left, Zozo’s apartment has never felt so devoid of life. They left with most of my clothes and knick-knacks, so I don’t have to worry too much about shipping six and a half years of stuff back to Canada. And after two weeks of being crammed in here, cooking, shouting, laughing, and fighting, I feel even more relaxed and ready to go back to work. No chance of falling down the rabbit hole of stress these next few months, that’s for sure.
The light dusting of snow on the ground means the possibility of ice, but I’m so used to walking from my family’s visit that I don’t mind crunching my way to work this Tuesday morning. Once again, I don’t see my temple friend today, which makes me a little sad. I haven’t seen him since I got sick. I only have eleven more chances to see him. After this, I have eleven more Tuesdays, and then I’m home. Unless I find somewhere to travel after my contract is up. Three more months of cold morning snow on palm trees. Three more months of “Mite, kowai” as I walk around town or go to work. Three more months of work, period. Things have been so busy at Zozo that I actually look forward to being out of a job for a while.
In the Zozo building, the downstairs lobby is decorated with giant kadomatsu and shimekazari decorations. I catch the elevator doors just as they close and find myself in a torrent of parents and children in winter gear.
“Belle-sensei, Belle-sensei!” The bustling mass of kids glomp me with their puffy limbs and chubby smiles. “Hello! How are you?! I’m fine, thank you!”
“Hi, everyone!” I try to high-five them one by one, and when that doesn’t work, I let them attack in one big cluster. “Hi, Soka; hi, Mimi; hi, Mami; hi, Sota; hi, Naoki; hi, Kotone; hi, Ai — It’s okay, Tomona, squeeze in! ‘High touch’! Sotaro, I almost didn’t see you there! What’s that, a present? For me? Aw, thanks, big guy! I missed you all so much! Akemashite omedetou!”
“Uwaaa! Sugoi! Mama, Papa, Belle-sensei nihongo shaberu yo!” The kids hurl themselves into their parents’ arms. “Sugoi, sugoi!”
“Oh!” the parents gasp and applaud. “You know akemashite omedetou! Nihongo jouzu desu ne! Happy New Year!”
“Thank you. That’s right! Have you considered taking one of our parents’ classes?”
“Ah, yes … class with Cybelle-sensei?”
“Well,” I pause. I hate this part. “It might be with me, but you may get another teacher. It’s really up to you!”
“Eh,” the parents look around at each other pensively. “Tabun.” Maybe.
“Okay, think about it! No pressure.”
We empty into another sea of children waiting for us in the lobby. Along with the exponential increase of students are the new hires: Yukako, Kana, Yukie, Ryoko, and Shigeyo have replaced Misaki, Yuki, Yuri, and Jun, joining Yoshino in the coolest team of teachers I’ve ever met. Seri-sensei, with her swollen baby bump, is surprisingly still here. My guess is it’s just for the week before her mat leave begins.
“Ohayou gozaimasu!” I bow to the teachers. “Akemashite omedetou!”
“Ooh,” Seri croons. “You know akemashite omedetou! Nihongo jouzu, Cybelle-sensei. Happy New Year!”
“Oh! You know ‘Happy New Year!’ Eigo jouzu!” I applaud back, which makes the other teachers laugh.
“How was your vacation?” Yukako asks me. “Did everything go well with your family?”
“About as well as expected,” I shrug. “Packing up most of my apartment was a breeze with seven extra pairs of hands and suitcases. They weren’t even sad to say goodbye; too busy fighting about where they were going to sit and just how much duty-free liquor they could sneak in their carry-on bags.”
“Did you go anywhere special?” Kana asks.
“Nowhere too far. The big cities were too far and too busy, so we just went to the deer park in Nara, and a bit of shopping in Osaka. Oh, and we went salsa dancing with Yoshino in Kobe!”
Yoshino nods enthusiastically. “Yup! I got to meet them! Her family is so adorable.”
Everyone oohs and aahs, saying they’re jealous that they didn’t get to meet them. It feels like a good time to produce the boxes of maple cookies my mom brought for them all. We all herd into the staff room so the teachers can put their cookies away and we can all get ready for our first classes. While we’re back here, Yukie reveals her souvenir cookies open on the counter — “I went to DisneySea with my boyfriend!” — which makes Ryoko remember the individually wrapped sweet potato crackers she bought for everyone from Kagoshima.
Yukie playfully smacks her forehead. “Ah! Cybelle-sensei, I forgot. Can you eat cookies?” She checks the ingredients. “Ah, no. Butter. I’m so sorry!”
“Oh, that’s okay!” I wave my hands. “I can eat them over the weekend. For now, I’ll just smell them!”
“Eh? Why, Cybelle, you don’t eat butter?” Ryoko asks. “Oh, that’s right, you’re vegetarian, right? I think the crackers might be okay …”
“Vegan,” I correct her. “But on weekends I cheat a little.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” says Kana. “That explains why you never have meat for lunch. Now it makes sense! How long have you been vegan?”
“Since October. I got really sick around the time we had that typhoon holiday from school.”
“Eh?! Really? That’s too bad. May I ask, what were you sick with? Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Mono.” When I get blank looks in return, I get my iPhone out and look it up on my Japanese dictionary app. “Let’s see … sennetsu? Wait, there’s another nice long word here … den-sen-sei-tan-kakukyuu-shou?” No one recognizes it.
“But you call it ‘mono’ in English,” says Shigeyo. “I see!”
“I still don’t know how I could’ve gotten it — none of the kids had it, that’s for sure — but ever since then I’ve restricted my diet. It made my symptoms clear up really fast.”
“It wasn’t serious, I hope.”
“To be honest, I don’t remember much of what happened back then. But yeah, I did have to go to the hospital.”
Yoshino pats my shoulder. “I still remember it. She came to work in her costume and everything, held on until the end of the day, then passed out. Oh, I was so worried!”
“Ah, I turned out all right. I had an extra-helpful friend that day.” I give her a reassuring smile. “And my outfit cheered up some hospital kids, so it wasn’t a total disaster.”
“Ehhh.” Everyone nods and goes quiet.
“How about all of you?” I ask, changing the subject. “Did you all have a good vacation?”
Yoshino replies first: “It was all right. I cleaned a lot. Went to Ikuta Shrine. Slept in. Clocked an obaachan for a grab bag at the Earth, Music, and Ecology New Year’s shopping sale. The usual.”
Think New Year’s shopping sale. Think rush hour at Shibuya Station.
I’m glad my back is turned as I return my iPhone to my purse on the shelf. I think my heart just skipped a beat. Where have I heard that phrase before?
“I just rested all day,” says Ryoko. “Too tired.”
“Me, too,” Kana says. “I was so burned out. So many kids!” She shudders. “I’m already looking forward to the next holiday.”
“February twelfth,” Yoshino examines a calendar on the wall. “It falls on a Monday, of course.”
“Boo. Isn’t there something before that?”
“You’re thinking of Setsubun. That doesn’t count. Especially since it’s going to involve spring cleaning this whole school on a freaking Saturday.”
“So, it’ll be the exact opposite of a holiday.” Kana pretends to melt. “Ah mou, shindoooi!”
We all laugh, but I find myself rubbing my chest. Maybe I too am looking forward to another holiday. Or maybe I’m weirded out by the mental image of Yoshino laying the smackdown on a grandma half her size. Either way, I psych myself up in time for the sounds of another wave of clients stepping off the elevator. No time to dwell. School has officially begun.
The teachers all gather their boxes from under the counter and head off to their respective lessons. While I arrange my work on the counter, I notice Yoshino is the last teacher to collect her things. “Can’t believe it’ll only be three months until we’re done here,” I say to her.
Yoshino pouts. “I know. What is this school going to do without our awesomeness?”
“I doubt they’ll even notice.”
“Oh, they will. When it’s too late.” Yoshino temples her fingers and steps out into the reception desk just as Manager barks her name. On the other side of the door I can hear them talking about arranging makeup classes from October’s “emergency holiday.” The holiday our school is still reeling from, despite all the new students we managed to enrol.
I sit down and take stock of the staff room. I feel … I don’t know. Different. Like everything changed so suddenly, and I didn’t even notice until now. Yuki and Yuri were sorely missed when they were transferred to the Osaka branch. Jun got married and moved to Yokohama. Misaki quit in the blink of an eye. Yoshino and I are the only teachers who will finish off a complete school year. Seri will be gone soon, now that kids are starting to ask hilarious questions: “What happened to your tummy? Are you sick? A BABY?! But Mama says you’re not married! Who’s your husband? Why doesn’t he make you wear rings? How did a baby get in your tummy?” Scandalous stuff on top of all the abrupt departures.
Manager slides the staff room door open and steps in, rubbing his neck in a nervous gesture. “Ah, Cybelle?”
“That’s my name.”
“Cybelle, ohayou. You have class with Baby Two babies today, yes? Maybe, mama and papa will ask about emergency holiday. They arrange makeup with Yoshino today, so maybe, when they come, they maybe ask you to bring them to Yoshino.”
“Sure, I can do that. Oh, that reminds me, I ran into Hiroki’s parents during the holiday. They asked if I’ll still be his teacher in April.”
Manager hisses through his teeth. “Ah … okay. Maybe, if they ask, please tell them we are still deciding. Maybe, you should not say Cybelle will go back to Canada in April, or maybe they will not return to Zozo in April.”
A web of lies; Manager’s solution to everything. “Okay, but what should I tell them? I’m not comfortable with lying to them.” At the time I said I wasn’t sure, so it wasn’t an outright fib. Thankfully having my legion of a family around me convinced baby Hiroki’s parents to keep the conversation short.
“Hmmm … ja, maybe … hmmm. Let me see.”
“You know what? Don’t worry about it, I’ll just send them to you.” No need for this painful conversation to get any longer. “I’ll be here prepping if you need me.”
“Ah, okay. Thank you for your understanding, Cybelle. You are still so hard-working, even though you will leave. Zozo appreciates this. Otsukaresama desu.”
Uh-huh. “Otsukaresama.” Once Manager exits the staff room, I stick some old lesson plans into a few textbooks, then retrieve my iPhone and pocket Wi-Fi to finish my vegan Pinterest board. For kicks, I also take a few snapshots of my cats on Neko Atsume. I don’t have anything to do except take my walk to Tully’s at 12:40 and pick up a Snowman soy latte for my Moms’ class. Gosh, do I love being over-prepared.
Around noon, Yoshino pops into the staff room and asks if I’ll get something for lunch with her. I have my cabbage salad, but I could go for some sushi. We bundle up and head to the supermarket under Daiei.
“So how are things on the admin front?” I ask her.
“Ugh,” Yoshino shakes her head. “A big clusterfuck, as usual. We’re still recovering from that typhoon day — still. I don’t know how we’re going to make up everyone’s lessons by April. Why did it have to happen on a Saturday, of all days? No one knows what happened. We don’t have any notes, and Manager doesn’t remember what he told parents except that the school was closed. But I guess making everyone come in the midst of a typhoon would have been worse. Better safe than sorry, right?”
“So glad I don’t have to deal with any of that.” I’m especially grateful that I can finish my last three months without doing any work — I can use lesson plans from past years — which means more time to relax and catch up with people via Facebook on my new phone.
“Oh yeah, did Manager tell you about your makeup lesson at one? You’ll have five students to play with today!”
“He did, for once! I’m looking forward to it. My own little army of one-year-olds. But the parents still want to know what happened back in October. I also have to convince them to recontract, somehow.”
“I see. It’s tough, I know. I don’t want to lie to my parents, either. Most of them would understand, I think, but we’re not allowed to bring it up first … sucks, huh?”
“Understatement.”
We walk down the escalator past displays of winter jackets and fukubukuro bags to the supermarket level. The sushi guy remembers me quite well.
“Ah, konnichiwa, gaikokujin-sama! Akemashite omedetou!”
“Akemashite omedetou.” I smile at him.
“Vegetarian futomaki, ne?”
“Ee, sou desu ne.” The colourful display catches my eye. “Soshite, natto maki to inari zushi, onegaishimasu.”
“Ohhh, natto maki, ne! Do you like natto?!”
I shrug and nod at the same time. We have a nice little chat about how healthy natto is before he takes Yoshino’s order.
“Do you really like natto, Cybelle?” Yoshino asks as she walks with me to Tully’s. “Because even I’ve never been a big fan of it.”
“It’s okay; not the greatest meal in the world, but my New Year’s resolution was to eat more kinds of food. I’ve been eating the same things for the past two months. I’m surprised my body hasn’t rejected anything out of boredom yet.”
“Well, don’t go telling too many people, or you’re going to break hearts when you tell them you’re leaving.”
I can’t help laughing. “How did you know that was my second resolution? ‘Don’t make any new friends.’”
We’re still giggling in the Tully’s lineup as I buy my “Moms’ class coffee” — we all bring hot drinks so we can chat like we’re in a café together. It was Fumiko’s idea when she asked Manager and Bucho if we could hang out outside of Zozo in a casual setting (naturally, they said no). My latte won’t stay piping hot after my lesson of army-babies, so I use that as an excuse to get a winter tumbler for it.
“Happy New Year!” I greet each of my mom students as they arrive, fresh-faced and ready to take on English conversation again. We talk about our holidays: it turns out they all went somewhere. Fumiko went to Disneyland with her family, Mami spent the holidays with her parents in Kumamoto, and Miyoko went to Todaiji in Nara. Everyone breaks out boxes of goodies they bought to share in class today. Great timing, because I could use the sugar-based “second breakfast,” but the box of maple cookies my family left for each of them gets the biggest reaction.
“Oh! Speaking of your mother …” Miyoko tests out a new phrase to all of our admiration. “I wanted to give you these to share with your mother and your sisters. But maybe, they are already back in Canada, so … I guess … only, for Cybelle-sensei!”
“Aw, Miyoko-san! Thank you.” I find myself holding a small box of tea with a cartoon deer on it, and a larger box with deer squeezing their eyes as globular brown balls fall from their tails.
“This is Yamato-cha — green tea, very famous,” Miyoko explains. “And this is … um …” Fumiko and Mami are doubling over, laughing. “No, no, NOT deer unchi! It’s choco dango.” They nod and make sympathetic “ahhh” sounds, but they still wipe away tears of laughter.
“I knew, when I saw them, I said, ‘Ah, Cybelle-sensei, will like,’” she adds. The moms all resume laughing.
“I have trained you well, my young Padawans,” I cheer.
“Oh! Star Wars! I remember!” says Mami. We laugh some more.
“Did you have fun with your family?” Fumiko asks. “Did they like Zozo?”
“Yeah, we had a good time … eventually,” I say. “We didn’t really travel anywhere far. We stayed in town for Christmas, but then my sisters got bored of Nishibe, so I took them to Osaka. It was nice to spend time with them again.”
“If you will go home in spring, you must be very excited,” Mami says. “May I ask, when you go, what will you miss in Japan?”
Eating.
Huh. That was a weird thought.
“The food, mostly,” I say, which makes everyone nod and laugh. “And, of course, I would miss all of you!” We all have an “aww” moment there. “But don’t worry, you still have me as your teacher for at least a few more months.” It’s not a complete lie. All of them seem to be expecting me to say whether or not I’ll leave, but I’ve been good about keeping it secret for the past few months. “Oh! I can tell you what I won’t miss.”
“Manager?” Miyoko offers. We burst out laughing.
“The insects.” We are still laughing but the subject turns serious as I recount when my cousin came over back in November and I noticed a dead creature that had fallen out of my closet, which meant there were probably more nesting in there somewhere. We had to go to the supermarket to buy the dreaded white powder I’d hoped I’d never have to buy. “I’ve always been lucky with not having too many bugs, so I guess it’s to be expected that I would find one big one before —” Oops, I can’t tell them I’m leaving. “Before the school year ended,” I say hurriedly.
“Ah! So … your cousin … saw a big insect … was it mukade?”
“We weren’t sure. It was really long and had lots of legs … but it was kind of a pinkish-white colour?”
“Oh! So dangerous!” Fumiko exclaims. “Did you kill it?”
“I think it was sleeping,” I admit. “Because it didn’t move until we got a big piece of paper and tried to push it into a Starbucks bag so we could run outside and throw it in the rain gutter — you know, the ame doi? And then, as we were pushing it in, even though it was slathered in mukade powder it started twitching, like it was starting to wake up, and it was like ‘Huh? Wha? What’s going on …?’” I half-close my eyes and flop around, imitating the insect. My students shriek with laughter. I conveniently leave out the part where my cousin threw the bug, the bag, and the paper off the balcony and slammed the window shut. We were relieved to see that the bag and paper had landed neatly in the rain gutter, and not on someone walking by. “So, yeah! Long story short, I will not miss the insects here.”
I feel that there’s something else I’ll miss … but I can’t remember what. I had this talk with my family before they left, and it was made very clear (mostly by Mom) that I’ve done everything: I ticked off clubbing, capsule hotels, Mount Fuji, watching a sumo match, and participating in tea ceremony years ago. In the past couple of weeks, I squeezed in Mario Kart racing, fugu, and feeding the Nara deer with my family. So, what else is there? What am I missing?
What else will I miss?
“Ah, that’s right, Cybelle-sensei! I had a dream. I remember, I write …” Fumiko flips through her notebook excitedly. “Wait, no, maybe I didn’t write. Never mind.”
“You had dream?” Miyoko asks. She looks just as excited, too. “A dream, about Fuji-san?”
“No, not Fuji-san. Something else. But, no Fuji-san.” Fumiko draws a single invisible tear down her face.
I burst out laughing. “Aw, me, neither! I didn’t dream about Mount Fuji — again! And I really concentrated this year, too! I think I had a dream where I was surrounded by babies … probably because I was at a capsule hotel with my family and they were acting like babies. But I woke up with this wicked craving for eggplant, so we went to Café Absinthe for baba ganoush.”
“Eggplant?” Fumiko tilts her head. They all look it up on their electronic dictionaries. “Ah! Nasu! Oh, you are very lucky!”
“Really?”
“Yes! First lucky dream is Mount Fuji, then taka — ah, hawk? And then, eggplant is third lucky dream.”
Mami nods. “Yes, and you said you had dream about babies? If baby has no hair, is also lucky. ‘No hair’ in Japanese is ke ga nai, but also ‘no injury,’ so it’s good luck, too.”
“Cool,” I say. “So, what happens if you dream about a bald hawk eating eggplant on Mount Fuji?”
They laugh. “Maybe you will win lottery!” says Miyoko.
“We’ve talked about dreams together before today, haven’t we?”
“Yes! First lesson … we talked about ‘having a dream,’” Fumiko says. “And maybe about babies?”
Miyoko nods. “Sou, sou, sou. I remember Cybelle dreaming about babies.”
“Really?” I ask. I don’t, but I decide not to correct her. Anything that keeps them talking these days is great.
“Yes. You should tell your family. Your mother will be very happy to hear you want a baby, I think.” Miyoko gives me a hard but playful slap on the back of my hand.
“Yeah, right! I’m not telling her that! She’s already lining up guys to set me up with.” This leads to a long discussion about what the term “set-up” means, which leads into a conversation about matchmaking in Japan. We don’t even bother with the boring textbook today. At ten to three the students next door burst from their room, cueing the moms to collect their things and thank me for another fun lesson. I escort them to the door, but Miyoko lingers behind, rustling something from her handbag.
“Ah, Cybelle-sensei, I forgot another present! I did osouji and found a book for Cybelle-sensei. Maybe, you will like? It’s yokai book. In Japanese, but you can study!”
“A yokai book?” I take it from her. It’s a small, thick book with sketches of monsters on a black background. “妖怪絵” is written on it in thick white characters. It looks brand new. I flip through a few pages. It’s an art book, which happens to be my kind of book. “Wow. Ooh, look at this one. It’s like a school for demons!”
“Yes!” Miyoko leans in, describing the page. “This is Shoki, and he is teaching yokai about Rashomon.”
“Like the movie?” I peer at the picture. “No, maybe not. What does ‘Rashomon’ mean, anyway?”
“Hmm … it’s difficult.”
“What about this one? It looks like it’s teaching English.”
“Yes, this is kappa.”
“Ah, kappa I’ve heard of before. And what does this say? ‘Shirigo-tama’?” Saying the word makes Miyoko burst into giggles and turn away. I squint at the word, then it slowly dawns on me as I piece together what I know of body part vocabulary. “Oh, wait. I think I know.”
“Yes, we do not say this word!”
Enough said. “Thank you! I love it. And it’ll teach me to read Japanese. Yay, learning!”
Out in the lobby, I wave farewell to the moms again as they gather around Lieko for a rundown of her lesson with their kids. As per my third New Year’s resolution — stop taking crap from people — I pass her without a glance. It’s funny, but I never thought Lieko could be more passive-aggressive toward me until I got mono. For the past two months she’s been weirder and ruder around me than ever. She doesn’t even sit in on my teacher interviews anymore. It’s like she’ll catch it if she gets too close. We have our lessons with mutual students, so there’s the odd time when she escorts them to my room; otherwise, we have no real contact with each other. She never sat next to me at lunchtime breaks or responded when I tried to make conversation, anyway, so I guess it’s not much of a difference — and yet it feels like there is a big difference between pre-Halloween and now. Yoshino chalked it up to jealousy at my family visits and the support I got from the Zozo staff. Strange things to be jealous of, I said, but at the time I didn’t want to argue with the only Zozo friend I had. I was mostly curious about her reasons for ostracizing me that she didn’t have before. It’s not like I had hope for burying any hatchets before I go.
Between lessons, Lieko and I trade places talking to parents. She waits for me to approach the Zone VI students’ parents and translates my comments without being asked. I let her come over and translate to my newest kinder student’s parents that “Tomohide really does his best in English” when I say he really needs to be told in Japanese not to self-stimulate on the floor. We bow to everyone as they leave with their respective kids and students, and Lieko and I go our separate ways. That’s it. No fuss, no cuss. What are the odds of this lasting another three months?
At any rate, I didn’t expect the first day back from New Year’s vacation to go so quickly and so well. Aside from Tomohide’s antics, Riko and Reiji behave quite well, and even Kennichi is a little more upbeat than normal. Maybe it was because I was willing to share the respective omiyage mochi and cookies my students gave me. Either way, I’m in quite a cheerful mood when it’s time to collect the garbage from all the classrooms.
I walk in on Yoshino in Room Five, wiping down the whiteboards. “Hey, Cyb, we still on for salsa tomorrow night?”
“Sho’ nuff. Why?”
“Well, I was thinking, we should invite the other teachers. I think they’ll like it. It’ll be a much more fun way to get to know them than that awful welcome party we had.”
Ah, yes, the izakaya dinner before Christmas, where I barely ate because everything Manager and Lieko ordered had some form of animal protein in it. It was unfortunate we couldn’t just go back to Pepe, which last I checked had closed down. “That’s not a bad idea.” I stroke my chin. “But what if they don’t like dancing? Won’t they be bored?”
“Hmm, good point. How about we skip the lesson and just go for eight p.m.? Or, we can go the usual time and chat before the dance party starts. Then we can eat and hang out, and if they don’t want to dance, they can go home!”
“Sounds good to Cybelle. Um, I have to ask … are we talking about all the other teachers?”
Yoshino’s eyes search the ceiling, then she nods, slowly. “Ah … yeah …” She says after a moment.
“It’s okay. It won’t be fair for all the girls to go and we don’t at least invite her. I don’t mind. It’s not like I have to dance with her, right?”
Yoshino laughs. “You know what? That would be something to see. Let’s do it. Let’s invite Lieko along! She’s going to be the fish out of water for once, not you, right?”
“Please. I don’t concern myself with her anymore. Three more months and she’ll have some obnoxious foreigner to deal with while I move on with my life. That’s what I’m hoping for, anyway.”
“That’s the spirit, girl!” Yoshino reaches out for a fist bump. “Besides, I’ve always been curious to see how she’d fare in a real ‘English’ setting. You know she’s always correcting me and the others about our grammar and shit?” She whispers in a quiet voice. “It’s annoying as hell, I don’t know how everyone deals with her. Especially you. Patience of a saint.”
Manager sticks his head into the room, apologizing in Japanese for interrupting us. “Ne, Cybelle-sensei. I must ask, how is your apartment? Maybe, it is intact? After family visit? Nothing is broken, yes?”
“Yes, Manager. The apartment is perfectly fine.”
“Eh? Really? Really? Wow! Your family must be very careful people. This is good news. You know, because maybe landlord get scared of gaijin breaking the walls and so on. But in your case, this is good news. Thank you for your understanding, Cybelle.”
“Uh-huh.” That’s right, Manager, me and my gaijin family didn’t destroy everything in sight. The sheer rudeness factor of this guy doesn’t faze me anymore.
“And, Cybelle, I must also thank you for your careful attitude regarding our clients. Cybelle is such a good teacher. If only we could find a man like Cybelle to replace Cybelle.”
“Yes. If only.”
My sarcasm goes over his head. “Ah, yes! Speaking of which, here is a letter from Head Office about vacating apartment, paying bills, cutting off internet and phone, and so on. Please read it carefully. Oh yes, and Ayuna will come on Thursday for makeup lesson from October emergency holiday,” Manager adds. “She will join Kyoko and Yumi’s class. Oh, and Friday, maybe … Hitomu, too.”
I say the name a couple of times. “Hitomu … Hitomu … oh. OH. Yeah, I forgot all about him. Whatever happened to that kid?”
“Ah, Hitomu … yes …” Manager draws the word out in a long, unsatisfied hiss. “His mother, ah, she wants him to try English school … again. Maybe, his crying, it will stop?”
“Oh. So, he’s gotten better?”
Manager makes a face. “Hmm … maybe, no.”
Wonderful.
“Ah, yes! And, Cybelle and Yoshino-sensei will prepare for interview with Okamura-sensei tomorrow at twelve. Sorry, no lunchtime. Again.”
“Another interview?” Yoshino pipes in. “We already have four new teachers!”
“Yes, but Bucho wants one more, and this one … he is … maybe, his English, not so good, but, he is …” Manager trails off again. I’m not surprised; we all know where he’s going with this.
“Ah, mou …” It’s the closest Yoshino comes to complaining. “Hey, whatever happened to that one cute guy? Why didn’t we hire him?”
“Eh? Dare?”
“You know … Cybelle knows …” she winks at me.
“Which guy? Kuwajima-san?”
“The guy with the glasses? No! You know, the cute one!”
“He was kinda cute. He looked like a teddy bear.”
“No, that was Nakanishi-san.” Yoshino looks like she’s going to throttle me. “You know, the cute one. He was all over you!”
“… that wasn’t Kuwajima-san?”
“Cybelle! No! Ugh, I can’t believe you don’t remember him! I was sure he was going to work here and you two would totally hook up. How can you not remember?! Kinda tall, longish hair, big ears? Ring any bells?”
“Yoshino, I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast.”
She hunches over and mockingly drags herself out of the room, past Manager. I follow her. I’m the wrong person to ask about these things. All our male candidates’ names blur together in my mind these days. The guy with the pit stains? No. The guy I saw reading ero manga in front of the station? Definitely not. It can’t be the dude who pretended to have a heart attack and laughed at me when I rode by on the street (I still relish the look on his face when I followed him all the way up to the school, and the horror when Manager told him I was going to be the one interviewing him). I guess the guy with the lisp last week was somewhat attractive … “Okamoto-san?” I offer.
It’s obviously not the answer Yoshino was looking for. “Meh, I guess he was okay-looking,” she finally says. “But that’s not the guy I’m thinking of. Shoot, what was his name? The second I remember I’m going to call you screaming it. Have your phone handy at all times.”
“Will do. And if you don’t remember by tonight, you can let me know at salsa tomorrow.”
“Sounds good!” Yoshino winks at me. “If I’m sober enough to pronounce it by then!”
The next day goes by in an equally efficient blur. At the end of the night we all get our sturdiest heels ready for Salsa Wednesdays at Bar Iznt. The best discovery I made since I moved here, six and a half years too late to enjoy it. We hop on the train and take it west to Sannomiya station. Bar Iznt is already fully packed by the time our beginner dance lesson begins. First, our Brazilian instructor Sebastián reviews the basic salsa step so that our new co-workers can catch up. Then we dive right into open holds and cross holds for the rest of the hour. As we move from the dance floor, a man asks Yukie to dance and she accepts, waving goodbye at us before he twirls her away. Kana and Shigeyo partner up. Yukako hangs back to ask Sebastián more about the basic step while Yoshino, Yukie, Ryoko, and I head off for drinks.
“I wonder where Lieko went?” Ryoko asks us.
We all shrug. Lieko was mysteriously absent for the duration of the lesson. Whatever. If she decided to ditch, she saved herself a thousand yen and spared me an hour of her side-eye; of course, I can’t say that out loud. My resolution depends on it. “The bar?” I suggest.
“Ooh, that’s right! We can use our drink tickets now! What will you have, Cybelle-sensei?”
“I’m okay for now.” I accompany them to the bar, anyway. One bartender, a young man named Marcy, waves us over. “Hey, you’re back! And you brought friends. Welcome! But where are your sisters?”
“They went home.”
“Zannen!” Marcy throws up his hands. “And they left you here?”
“For now. I’ll join them in the spring.”
“You’re LEAVING? Oh my Gott!”
We only have another moment to chat about my not re-contracting and future plans back in Canada before the wave of newcomers floods the bar. As much as I love Marcy, I give him the vaguest answers I can think of — to be honest with myself, I have no idea what I’ll do come springtime, aside from sticking around long enough to enjoy the hanami. I order my usual giant plate of nachos with some mozzarella and cheese sauce on the side for everyone to share back at our usual table in the corner. We pull up a few chairs so us Zozo girls can all sit together. We kanpai with our drinks (and my water) and pounce on the nachos.
“Excited about seeing Hitomu again?” Yoshino asks me.
“Makes no difference to me. Zozo gets their money, I get my money …”
“Who is this famous Hitomu I keep hearing about?” Ryoko asks us. “Lieko mentioned something about him being in one of my lessons, too.”
“The too-long-didn’t-read version,” Yoshino says after a swig of her Corona, “is that Hitomu has problems. He’s terrified of strangers; it’s like an anxiety thing, but to the extreme. And he’s only, what, three years old? Anyway, it’s pretty scary to witness. But we haven’t seen him since Halloween, so …”
“That’s awful,” Ryoko shakes her head. “Do you think he might be … you know … gyakutai sarete iru no? Eh, being abused?”
It’s my turn to shake my head. “I don’t think so. I mean, the kid obviously has a problem, but the way he scrambles to his mother, I don’t think he’d behave like that if she were abusing him. It’s like he’s genuinely afraid of something at our school. But instead of trying to help him we’re trying to get as much money out of him as possible. I get it, that’s the business, but it doesn’t make it right.”
Ryoko nods. “I don’t like it, either, but that’s eikaiwa for you.”
They all nod in agreement, turning the topic to child abuse in general. I busy myself with the cheese-less nachos to avoid donating my two cents. I’m leaving in three months; the last thing I want to do is to say anything against my new co-workers’ work culture or get political. The truth is that, despite all appearances, something about Hitomu is just … haunting. It goes beyond the whole child abuse aspect.
Shigeyo, Kana, and Yukako join us, drinks in hand, pointing over at the bar to Manager. I had no idea he was coming, but oh well. When he comes over, we kanpai again and the subject changes to whether or not they’d like to come back for more salsa lessons. Manager is the only one who refuses to dance or talk about dancing. He seems content to sit and stare down his beer until someone brings up Zozo. Then he lights up.
“Ne, Cybelle,” he leans over to me, now. “I am so sorry, you have Hitomu tomorrow. Mama says he is better, so maybe he will behave.”
“I hope so. Thanks.”
“Thank you. You have been so hard-working for … roku nen … six years, yes? Sugee na!” His Kansai-ben means he’s beginning to relax. “Oh, did I not tell you? Soon, you cannot call me ‘Kinomoto-Manager’ anymore. Soon, our school will have … new manager.” His face turns crestfallen. “I should have told Cybelle sooner.”
“Aw, that’s too bad. When will this happen?”
“This spring. April. So, maybe, after Cybelle leaves.”
So, it won’t matter, anyway. Meh. “So, what should I call you instead of Manager, Kinomoto-san?”
“Ah, please! We are not at Zozo, Cybelle. You can use my shita no namae.”
“Yeah, what is your first name, anyway?”
“Hyuu to moushimasu.”
“Hugh?!” I throw my head back and laugh. Manager doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, he laughs with me.
Halfway through our conversation Marcy comes along with a giant jug of red, sinister-looking liquid that has blueberries and orange slices and something that looks like lotus root floating in it. He says something into Yoshino’s ear, gesturing over his shoulder back toward the bar, where an attractive salaryman raises his glass in our direction. Yoshino giggles. “It’s sangria!” she yells over the crowd. Marcy goes and returns with several wine glasses. We kanpai again. I have about two glasses full before the jug is empty. Marcy is already at our table with a replacement. By this time, the bar is in full swing and everyone is dashing back and forth between the tables, the dance floor, and the long line at the bar. Yoshino stands up and starts dancing right at our table. She grabs me by the hand, pulls me up and twirls me around, humming along to the music. Laughing, I pretend to dip her before taking the lead.
“Nooo!” Yoshino flails away. “I’m too drunk to remember anything!”
“Liar!” I yell back. “It’s the basic step. You know this!” We hit the dance floor to shimmy and undulate together instead, pretending to know the rest of the words we’re singing while our new co-workers stand off to the sidelines, exchanging awkward giggles. Maybe at our dancing, maybe sharing their own private jokes. I don’t care.
“You know what we should do?” Yoshino yells against my ear. “We should make every moment of these last few months count — you especially! You should be living it up! Who cares if you make new friends or not? If they’re smart, they’ll want to stay in touch with you! And this whole vegan trip — don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure you’re not afraid of anything?”
“Afraid of what?” I shout back.
“I don’t know! Of getting sick again, maybe?! I know that was a scary time for you but think about it — when is the next time you’re going to be back here, Cyb?! If I were you, I’d be eating my way through this country! Stop depriving yourself, girl!”
I laugh. “Okay, okay, I’ll think about it!”
The song ends, but not before a tall older gentleman sweeps Yoshino into the core of the dance crowd. A new swarm of sweating bodies flank us on all sides, some of their faces familiar. Same dancers we see every week after the lesson’s over.
A young woman shorter than me comes over. “Sugoi! You are good! Good dancer! Can you speak Japanese? Where are you from?”
“Canada.”
“Oh! Do you know Shakey’s? In Osaka? Have you been to Shakey’s?”
“Never. I want to, though. I hear they have s’mores and good bubble tea.”
“Yes! S’mores is delicious!”
“I wouldn’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever tried one.”
“Ehhh? But you’re from Canada!”
I shrug. “Where are you from?”
“Busan!”
“Oh, cool! Would you like to dance?”
We dance for one song, then Sebastián comes along and extends his hand to me. After a couple of songs, everyone manages themselves into a big circle where we follow Sebastián’s gyrating moves. A couple of girls take the centre of the ring, too. One drops into a perfect split. We in the circle all hold hands, swinging our arms back and forth, making the circle bigger and smaller. Every now and then someone shouts at me, asking me where I’m from, how long I’m staying here, can I speak insert-language-here, and I can’t respond fast enough before opening my eyes and realizing they’re gone. It’s okay; tonight, I’m not here to make friends. Hell, I can’t make friends. We’ll only end up breaking each other’s hearts when it’s time for me to leave. Regardless, I smile back at people who may or may not be trying to strike up conversations, dance circles around everyone, around speakers and tables laden with food. I don’t stop dancing between swigs of sangria, snatches of conversation with the Zozo crew, and handfuls of nachos. I am fluid. This is my weekly stress reliever. It’s a secret I wish I had discovered years ago, long before last fall, long before Zozo, maybe even before I toyed with the idea of teaching overseas. All this time I just needed to fucking relax. Keep moving. Keep pushing forward. Never stand still. Never stop long enough to think about where I’ll flow next. No way in hell am I going back to two months ago. Waking up in my bathtub, nightmares for days … Nope. Not letting that happen again.
“You’re good!” I feel stubble against my neck. “And I like your hair!” The same salaryman who bought us sangria makes a gesture with his hands, like he’s rubbing shampoo into his fauxhawk. “Your hair! Cute!”
“Thanks!” I smile. “I like your hair, too! Very hip!”
He falls in step in with me, trying to keep in time with the beat without getting too close to me. He isn’t half bad, and it looks like he’s trying not to be a creep. It’s too dark to see his face, but from what I can tell from the fuchsia strobe lighting, he’s a bit older than I am. Still, I’ll feel better keeping this conversation short and banal so I don’t run out of breath. “Your English is really good!” I tell him.
“Aw, I don’t know about that!”
“Wow. See? That right there proves it’s good! Your accent, too! You’ve studied or lived abroad, haven’t you?”
The young man nodded. “America!”
“California?”
“Yeah! How’d you guess?”
“I have a student who grew up in Los Angeles; she sounds exactly like you!” So much for the short conversation plan; now I want to know more about this guy.
“You have a really good ear!” The man stops bobbing back and forth, placing a hand on the small of my back as he leans in close. “Wanna get a drink?” He offers his arm. We pass by Yoshino on the way to the bar. She pauses in her grinding between two dudes to tap me on the shoulder and press her hand to her mouth, opening in an exaggerated mock gasp.
The salaryman leans up against the bar, murmurs something to Marcy as he holds up two fingers. While Marcy serves us our drinks, it hits me that I have no idea what I’m going to talk to this guy about that isn’t the usual line of questioning. When the salaryman asks, “How long will you stay in Japan?” I breathe a huge sigh of relief. We can keep this interaction short and sweet.
“I’m actually going back home in three months!” I take a proud sip of my drink. It’s a Fuzzy Navel. My first in months, come to think of it. It’s good, but it tastes … funny … almost like real peach juice. I guess after all that lotus-y sangria anything is bound to taste strange.
“What?! Aw, come on! Seriously? Why?! You got a boyfriend waiting for you back home? Nothing good enough to keep you here?”
For the first time in ages, my answer is all tied up in my tongue. “It’s just … time for me to go.”
The man leans forward, eyes glinting with the neon blue of the overhead lights. “What would it take to change your mind?”
I swallow half my drink to avoid coughing it back up in shock. What a question. “I’ve already signed the resignation form, dude.”
“No. I mean, what if you found a reason to stay? I mean, a really good reason. Would you change your mind?”
“Ha! It would have to be a freaking good reason.”
He smiles, pleased. Apparently, it was the answer he wanted to hear. “If I tell you something, promise you won’t be mad?”
“No.”
The man’s smile widens, like a Cheshire cat. He leans over, pressing his stubbled cheek against mine. “I have a confession to make: your sister sent me to come and get you. She’s waiting for you. Outside.”
“My WHAT?!”
“Ah, ah, you promised — oh wait, you didn’t promise. Well, she’s still outside. Waiting for you. She said you’d be mad.” He offers his arm again. “Come on.”
At any other point during the week, I would probably stop and think for a moment. If it were daytime, or if I were going full throttle at work, I’d be way more clear-headed than I am now. I wouldn’t be under the influence of sangria, peach Schnapps, loud dance music, that foggy dry ice that makes me cough, or my own adrenalin, and I’d be sharp enough to ask questions: “Are you sure this chick is my sister? Which sister? Maybe you have me confused with another woman of colour. Are you a murderer? Are you sure? Hey, insert-co-worker’s-name, can you come with me and this rando to make sure I’m not about to get murdered?” and a list of other things to make sure I’m not being led to a black van full of government ninjas who kidnap foreigners. That I’m not about to end up in another situation that makes me (and everyone else I know) question my sanity.
But nope, I don’t ask any of those things. Instead, I follow him to the elevator and punch the button for the ground floor.
“I cannot believe this is happening again,” I mutter. “Everyone swore Bully was doing great — especially her! She’s been saying for years that she’d never do something this stupid again. Well, I don’t know about stupid … she has this whole taste-for-adventure thing and it got her a husband, so I guess I shouldn’t talk. How the hell did she find me all the way out here in Kobe? It’s not like she’s psychic. This is so weird. Please tell me I’m dreaming.”
The salaryman doesn’t say anything.
“Okay … that doesn’t help. How about this: if you’re not going to murder me, say and do absolutely nothing.”
No reply.
“Well, at least we’ve cleared that up.” Strangely, I don’t feel the least bit worried. If he tries anything, I’ll just use the power of peach liqueur to punch him and make a run for it.
Outside Bar Iznt the street is completely empty. I look down at the ground and see wet pavement. Bars and restaurants down the way are still open, fluorescent lights glaring, storefront music playing. The sound of enka mingles with Shakira’s “Loca” playing upstairs. I look up and down the street for signs of life, let alone someone who looks like me. Not a single person in either direction for miles. It must have just rained. That would explain why there are fewer people than normal, but for Sannomiya to be completely barren is still odd.
“Okay …” I begin. “Is this the part where you kill me?”
The man drops my arm abruptly. In the blink of an eye he’s several feet away, up the street, heading toward a brightly lit building with pictures of pale-skinned women all over its marquee. He’s talking to someone crouching down on the ground. I catch a glimpse of black hair and pale skin before the man blocks my view. That is definitely not my sister. He’s babbling in Japanese; there’s an urgency in his voice. I catch a few words … something about how he’s been looking everywhere for whoever he’s talking to, and if they can go to a hotel now.
“Um, hey, buddy? You said …”
I trail off. He’s talking to a young girl. She wears a dark blue blazer, a black-and-white plaid skirt that exposes her shockingly pale thighs and knees bent over a pair of blood-red Converse sneakers. Her hair is so long it almost touches the filthy pavement she squats down on. Her long fingers jab expertly on a heavily laden keitai, even as she rises. She snaps the phone shut and turns to face me, oblivious to the man ranting so fast I can barely understand half of it. My heart feels like it’s been submerged in ice water.
“Hisa-bisa, baku-sama,” the girl says. Her voice is quite deep. “Do you know what that means?”
This is getting weird. I shake my head. Hisa-bisa, of course, I understand, but baku? I wonder if it means the same as “baka” and start to feel offended.
“‘Hisa-bisa’?!” the salaryman barks in Japanese. “What the hell you talking about?! We just saw each other ten minutes ago!” He staggers on his feet as if copious amounts of alcohol in his veins have resumed their course. His entire tone and rhythm of speech has changed so much it’s like he was possessed by the ghost of a sober, smooth-talking American who has now relinquished his body. “Okay, if you don’t want to go to a hotel, let me try to sneak you in again! The bouncer’s gone, and everyone’s so wasted they won’t even notice. Shit, why the hell’d you have to show up in your uniform, anyway?!” He ruffles his hair angrily, and sighs when the girl doesn’t respond. She’s still staring at me. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m just so horny. Why don’t we go to a nice warm hotel, instead of hanging out around here?”
The girl freezes him with a “talk-to-the-hand” kind of gesture. “I apologize for this one. As I was saying. ‘Hisa-bisa.’ Do you know what that means?”
I gulp. I know I should be running back upstairs to the safety of the English bar and my co-workers, but I don’t. “‘Long time, no see.’”
“Of course you do. I apologize; I do not mean to belittle you. It has just been such a long time. I have been wondering what happened to you. I had worried that maybe you had left. Then I happened to see you here, a fortnight ago. You were with your family. I take it they left. Are you leaving soon, too?”
I’m so confused. Who is this girl? A former student, or something? I don’t know her, and yet I feel compelled to tell her the truth. Like there’s no point in lying to her. Something about her demeanour tells me that if I lie, she will know. “Yes,” I say finally.
“That is nice,” the girl replies without smiling. “They will be happy to have you back, I am sure. But what about him?”
“‘Him’? Who? Him?” I point to the frustrated salaryman who is now on his phone shouting about the nearest ‘hotel.’ “I’ve never seen this dude in my life.”
The girl steps closer and closer as she speaks. “I beg your pardon. I have been wondering what happened to you. So, I sent you some help. Did you like it? The humans certainly enjoyed the libations. Anyhow. I wanted to let you know something; while you are still here. He has not forgotten about you, you know. He says your name in his sleep. So, if you plan on leaving, I believe he would appreciate your help, first. It has been months. I do not think anyone else is coming for him. Of course, it is your choice. I just thought you would like to know, one ‘minority’ to another.” The salaryman appears to be returning to her with good news. “Oh, one more thing. About that little boy. The one the yamauba is always looking for; rumour is he has been asking about you, too. That woman who left earlier will not help, but you can, just as you can help the dream walker. Please consider it. His grandmother does not know the first place to look. But I am sure you do.”
“Who?” I find my voice. “Yamauba? Who’s that?”
“Sorry; the oni baba. She is coming.” Without looking, she extends an arm behind her, toward the salaryman. He grabs it without hesitation and pulls her away. Then she turns on her heels and the two of them take off.
Something bounces against my shoulder. One of the Iznt bouncers is taking some velvet ropes away. “Oh! Sumimasen.” He bows as he excuses himself. “Daijoubu? You going back inside?”
“No — I mean, I’m fine, but —” I swing around. Another employee has materialized, rolling up a carpet. Slowly, like shadows, people are reappearing. In the distance, I see them — the salaryman and the girl, already miles away. “I’ll be right back!”
“Hai, hai,” says the bouncer, but I’m already running. Like fog fading from invisible glasses, more and more people seem to solidify around me, blocking my path. I’m grateful for all that sangria I had. It spurs me onward as I force my way through this thickening crowd. My feet pound a new chant in my mind: I’m not losing it. I’m not losing it. Or maybe they’re saying, “Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it.”
But I have a feeling that I already have.
I run up the narrow street choked with neon signs and super-bright LED displays of pale half-naked girls until it opens up to a wide avenue with green hedges in the centre and Dutch-style buildings on the other side. The traffic light up ahead changes yellow. I’m too late. The wall of pedestrians politely waiting for the light to complete its change blocks my path. I jump up and down fruitlessly, trying to keep the couple in view. People back away from me in fear. I see someone with a long shock of hair weaving through the mob, blending in, disappearing. I’m not imagining things. I’m not losing it. “Wait! H—” Shit, what is her name? It’s on the tip of my tongue.
“Cybelle!”
I jump again, startled. It isn’t the girl who’s calling me. I whirl around and see Yukie coming up from behind me. “Are you okay? Yoshino said she saw you leaving, but your purse is still at the bar. Why were you running? Is everything okay?”
I could bear hug this woman. “Yukie, thank God you’re here. Look across the street — do you see that girl, with the super-long hair?!”
“Uh, yes, I think so …” She squints. “In the green coat?”
“No,” I sigh, dejected. “No. It’s okay. She’s gone.”
“Who’s gone? Someone you know?”
“I …” I don’t know what else to think. The crowd flows around us as the crosswalk turns green. “Never mind. It’s okay. Let’s go see how my nachos are doing.”
Yukie smiles. “Okay! But just so you know, we ate them all!”