The Scolding

Alpha Male, my favorite Japanese man in Japan has a head shaped like a cube.  If his head were a cardboard box, a bowling ball would fit inside.  His body fits his head--large shoulders that go straight down to his legs with no waist to speak of.  He swaggers when he walks and people step aside as if he's a gangster, ready to beat up that one person that gets in his way.  His absolute disdain for those who break the law make it all the more ironic he's seen as "one of them."

When my phone rings and I see on caller ID that it's him, I pick up, ready for a nice chat.  Good company always, I'm honest with him.  No one who sees him walking their way would ever guess this man is gentle and kind.  The visual doesn't fit the man except when he gets angry.  His usual quiet and unassuming character will disappear if he sees the need to exert his strength.  Truly, he would beat the crap out of a gang of hoodlums harassing a homeless man.  Here, his stature as a hulkish Japanese man, an unusual sight indeed, would serve him well.  The teenage boys would cry, run away, regretting the day they chose the path of deliquency.

"Hey," his gruff voice greets me in the usual way.  "You doing okay?"
"Uh huh."
"You head home soon, don't you?"
"Yup.  Tomorrow."
"You should rest when you're home."
"I plan to.  I'm going to take it easy."
"Good.  Glad to hear that."
"How are you?"  I ask because it's polite and because I want to know.
"Nope.  Not today."
"Huh?"  Does he mean, "Nope.  Today I'm not okay" or does he mean "we're not talking about me today."  I get my answer immediately.
"We're not talking about me today."
"Okaaay."  So, we're not talking about his work, or anything related to him today.  That leaves me and everything else.
"You got a minute to talk?"
"Sure.  What's going on?  You sound upset."
"I'm not upset."  He pauses a few seconds here and I suddenly feel dread.
"What?"
He takes a deep breath.  "I saw you the other day."
"Where?"  He names a part of Tokyo I sometimes travel through.  I am amazed all over again at how small of a town this metropolis is at times.  I've run into too many people I know at the oddest of places for it to be a one-off coincidence.
"What was I doing?"
"Walking."  For some reason, I'm disappointed.  Which is ridiculous, of course.  Most of what I do in Tokyo is walk from place to place.
"Okay.  So, you saw me.  Why didn't you stop and say hello?"  I don't mean it as an accusation and for a split second I wonder if he'll take it that way.
"I had people in my car."
"Oh."  That makes sense, I suppose.  And then he says it.
"You've lost weight."

There it is.  I know what's coming.  This is not a compliment, a "you looked good" comment that people throw at others to flatter.
"You're not eating, are you."
"I am."
He's silent.  When he finally speaks, it's slow.  "Three meals a day?"
No. 
"Yes," I lie.  Who eats three meals a day anymore?
"You don't.  I know you don't.  Your face, it was almost gaunt.  I could see your cheekbones."
No way.  I look at myself in the mirror everyday.  I don't not look gaunt and my cheekbones do not protrude out of my face.
"I may have lost a bit of weight but it's not that bad."
"You're eating three meals a day.  You can really say that."  He's challenging me and I hold in a sigh.  I wanted a nice chat tonight.  Instead I'm getting a scolding.
"Mostly."
"Look," he starts, and I decide to cut him off.
"Okay.  I don't eat three meals a day.  But, I'm not skipping meals so I lose weight or anything like that.  Really.  I'm fine."
He doesn't say anything for almost ten seconds, a long time on a cell phone and I wonder if I've lost him.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
"Hello?"
"Yeah.  Just wondering if you're done."  Ouch.
"I'm done."
"Well, I'm not.  You need to hear this because you won't take this from anyone else here.  Let me talk.  Don't cut me off."  Yikes.  "Got it?"
"Yes."
"Look," he starts again.  "You going home this time has to be a real vacation.  You need to rest.  And, eat.  I'm not saying come back looking like me.  I'm saying eat the food you like, get caught up on sleep, and spend a week doing nothing.  No e-mails, no phone calls, no work.  Rest.  Get a massage or something."  He finishes but I'm not sure he's completely done or just taking a breath.  I stay silent.
"Are you listening?"
"Uh huh."
"You're stressed, aren't you."
I feel myself get defensive.  "Not more than usual."
"You're stressed."  I cringe because I would not take this from anyone else.
"A bit, maybe.  Normal stress."
"Which you don't think is a big deal."

I ponder this a moment.  Life in Tokyo is wonderful and tiring.  Life in Tohoku is totally and completely intense.  Gratifying and worth it, but disaster relief isn't supposed to be all butterflies and unicorns.  What's he getting at?  Of course there's stress in my life.  I go back and forth between Tokyo and Tohoku, already a long enough trek on its own, and when I'm up north I'm surrounded by varying degrees of pain.  Yes, I'm stressed.  But, not so much that it would show on my face.  Right?

Thinking back to the time he surprised me by picking me up at the airport, I realize this is his way of showing concern.  All this flies through my brain and I realize I'm out of words.  Afraid anything I say will sound snippy I wonder if I should just promise to take better care of myself and hang up.  I have to pack yet before my flight.  That's a good excuse, right?  I decide to try this tactic.

But, evidently all this strategizing and wondering came through loud and clear to him on the other end of the phone.
"Here's what we're going to do."
I don't say anything.
"You listening?"
"Yes."
"You want to say, 'I'm fine,' and 'I'll take better care of myself' and all that.  That's your defense mechanism.  You won't, through.  Rather, you don't.  So, here's what we're doing.  I'm taking you out for food once a week when you get back and you're going to eat.  A lot.  I don't like skinny women.  I'll bet your husband doesn't like them either.  We're doing this.  That's it.  We're doing this.  You'll say you don't have the time but we're doing this.  We're both busy, but until I'm really sure you're okay, this is how it's going to be.  Tell your husband."

Am I that transparent?  How did he know I was going to use those exact phrases?  I'm focused on that part and not on the mandatory weekly dinners that he's announced will take place forever and ever.

All of a sudden I'm tired.  I don't want to be scolded tonight.  I don't want to talk about this.  I just want to go home.  I speak into the phone and call him by name.
"Can we talk about this when I get back?  Please?"
He must not have expected that, as his next words are not as rough.  "Are you upset?"
Yes.
"No."  Why do I keep lying to him?
"I know I should take better care of myself.  I just don't want to talk about it tonight."  I decide to skip the "I have to pack" part and hope he believes we will pick this up in a month.
"I'm tired," I say.  "You're right about that.  Help me figure out a better system when I'm back."  Pause.  "Okay?"
"Yeah."

And so it went.  I know he cares.  I know he's echoing what my husband would say if he were here and saw how I ate.  (Or didn't.)  Alpha Male is an important presence in my life here in Japan, but I wasn't in the mood for this tonight.  Perhaps I could avoid these scoldings if I would just take better care of myself?  Nah.  Nothing is that simple.