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seem happy. Though I look very different from them with my long hair, beard,
checked shirt and Levis, no one gives me a suspicious, or even a curious, look. As
we roll along, everything inside and outside the bus seems neat and tidy,
respectable and comfortable. Nothing seems confining. Everything is just right.
Before too long, we arrive in a town and after a few more stops the driver
waves to notify me that it’s my turn to get off. I do. This must be Mashiko I think,
and then, armed with Nakeno’s address and the directions of strangers who speak
no English, I’m on my way. A short walk takes me to an affluent-looking
neighbourhood. The houses here have no space between them. Some are two
storeyed, others are one. Each house is different from its neighbours, yet the varied
materials and shapes harmonize to create an appealing streetscape. The houses are
set back at varied short distances from the sidewalk and somehow in the few steps
it would take to reach a front door, an illusion is created of travelling a long way
through a mysterious forest or an enchanted garden. I knock on the front door of
what I hope is the correct house. After a moment it opens and Nakeno-san smiles
and bows. I bow in reply, then present the small gift Yoshimi has given me to take
for the occasion. I remove my boots (kutso o nugu) and step inside.
Nakeno-san speaks little English, but I feel we will get by for he speaks
some. It’s suppertime. He directs me into a room where a large low table (teburu)
has been set for the evening meal. Nakeno-san is wearing a dark rich-looking
kimono over his white under-kimono, an obi, and white socks. In a moment a
Japanese matron enters wearing a beautiful light yellow brocade kimono over her
white under-kimono, a luxurious obi, and white socks. This is Nakeno-san,
Nakeno-san’s wife. (Could be confusing, n’est pas?)She smiles and bows. I
smile and bow. “It’s very nice to meet you, Moree-san,” she says. “It’s a pleasure
to meet you too,” I reply. Then enters a girl whom I guess to be thirteen years old.
She is also wearing traditional kimono, obi, and white socks. “This is our
daughter,” says my host. She smiles, blushes and bows. I smile and bow. Each of
us takes our designated place at the table. We bow and lower ourselves onto our
legs. After only a few weeks in Japan, I am already finding this posture has begun
to feel quite natural, but it does require effort; it makes slouching impossible, along
with other slovenly habits of body and mind. Could it be that furniture itself
injures the spirit because it subtly cultivates sloth?
Our repast looks splendid! All the food is on the table, so no one needs to
rise to get anything. All four of us take the small steaming towel (taoru) at his or
her place and wash our faces and hands. Then we begin. Conversation is sparse, a
result of the fact that we don’t speak each other’s language and of politeness:it
by Morley Evans