A Japanese Man of Mystery

A Japanese Man of Mystery

Either I’m going crazy or I’m being talked to by a ghost. Don’t get me wrong I’m really not the kind of kid who spends his life hoping for his own Pokemon. I don’t even like Manga! But I swear to God , recently something weird has been occurring to me. I’ve been talked to by a Man of Mystery. He’s around 21 years old. Japanese. He’s pretty short – approximately 1.65 m. His hair is straight and greasy. He’s got the kinda of moustache you get when you’re twelve and haven’t learned to shave yet. Total of seven to eight hairs underneath his nose. He doesn’t smell very bad but somehow I get always reminded of fish-oil when he’s around. He always wears baggy jeans, white sneakers and plaid shirts. His movements are extremely slow and he takes a lot of time before he says something. His voice is uncommonly quiet; in fact, I always have to lean toward in order to understand what he’s saying. He tries to speak in English using random Japanese words when he absolutely cannot find an English equivalent.

Let me describe my first encounter with Kafka (that’s what I’m gonna call him till I learn his real name). I am taking a creepy stairway to get money out of JPost ATM and all of sudden, a random pale-faced kid shows up out of nowhere. He stands in my way and so I stop. We stare at each other for about thirty seconds, and then he says slowly (in English): “What country?” What country? What?!? I cannot really understand what he means and so I ask (in Japanese): “Do you mean what country I come from? Or what country this is? Or what country I like?” I agree my questions were sort of not very clever. But honestly, what would you say if someone stopped you and asked “What country?” Then Kafka looks at me with the most painful facial expression I’ve seen ever since I watched my little brother getting his first encyclopedia for Christmas (instead of an X-Man). Kafka seemed to try to communicate something which I did not understand. After thirty seconds of confused looks, Kafka points at himself and goes “I Japan.” And then he points at me…I was going to respond but then he just left. I just stood there flabbergasted trying to understand what had just happened. At the ATM, I couldn’t get my PIN right but fortunately I remembered it for the third time…

When I came back to the dining hall, I talked to Elly about it. She wasn’t paying much attention as I was mumbling one thing over another: “This weird Japanese kid….That Creepy stairway….What country…..What?!?....And then I’m like…and he’s like not there… and I’m like…” There was no way Elly could understand the storm of confusion that I was expressing. I thought I saw Kafka walking by and so I pointed at him. Then I realized, however, that it was some other Japanese boy in a plaid shirt…

Today, I met Kafka again. I was studying at library when all of sudden I saw his reflection on my computer screen. I turned around and there he was again. I got really excited and called him to come over. He disappeared for five minutes and so I went back to study. But then all of sudden, he was sitting on the chair next to me. I mumbled a few words of introduction asking a question after another but Kafka just sat there with a quiet expression. I asked him what year he was. He raised four fingers. ( I gathered he was fourth year) I told him that this meant he was graduating soon. He raised three fingers (implying that he’d graduate in March). I asked what he was studying; he stuttered – EC-O-NO-MICS. I asked him whether he was looking for a job after graduation; he smiled softly and said he was not. I asked where he wants to work, he said: “Cars.” I shouted: “Toyota!” He shook his head in negative. So on, so forth. I learned that he lived thirty minutes from Kameoka (surprisingly, the same village where my Zen Monastery is…). I learned that his mum was a nurse and his sister worksed at a restaurant. I also asked about his dad. But then he shook his head again. I was asking and asking and asking – perhaps to fill up the awkward moments of silence, since he seemed disinterested in whatever I had to say. All of sudden, Kafka interrupted my interrogation: “Dirty fingers. I must wash my fingers.” He stood up and left. Ten minutes afterwards he came back. He asked me: “How you go home. Rain. “ I figured that it was pouring outside. Before I managed to respond, Kafka said “Sorry I touched your paper with dirty fingers.” I got goose bumps all over my back. He disappeared once again. The more I think about the situation the more appropriate I find the word “disappear.” Indeed, he disappeared. I stayed at the library for the next twenty minutes but I couldn’t focus any more so I decided to leave. I kept thinking about my encounter with Kafka. I just couldn’t grasp him. What’s his deal? If he just wants to practice English why doesn’t he simply go to one of the I-chats, I’m sure that approaching someone in an English-only zone would be less painful than on a random staircase/library. He surely seems too shy to talk to strangers. Why did he pick me? What’s up with his dirty fingers? What paper did he touch?

I talked to Elly about Kafka and she said I should take a picture of him next time I see him. Allegedly, if he doesn’t show up on the picture then he’s a ghost. If he does then he’s real. But what if he doesn't? What if he really is a ghost? Japan’s weird enough to have ghosts. But how am I gonna deal with the fact that I’ve seen a ghost? Who’s gonna believe me? And even if someone believes me…why did I get a ghost that smells like fish-oil and has dirty fingers? For the past hour or so, I’ve been going through all of my papers. My notebooks, exercise books, work books, all of my folders and textbooks. What if he had left a message or something? Nothing. Besides pieces of melted chocolate I did not find anything extraordinary in my bag. So, I suppose that for a while I’ll have to satisfy my imagination and curiosity by constantly recalling my short encounters with Kafka. For a while, he’ll just keep being my smelly-fish-dirty-fingered Japanese Man of Mystery.