The Post Two Years in the Making and the Most Un-Christian Christmas Ever

I am over two hours late to a dinner with my visa sponsor.  He wants to see my husband more than me, which means I'm once again relegated to playing the role of interpreter.  An invitation by this man to anything is never something I turn down so I speed down the highway in my rental car hoping the cops will not see me.  In my defense, I called to say I didn't know what time I would arrive and this great man, my sponsor says, "You're working.  Work.  I'm sure your husband and I will have plenty to talk about even without you here."  Two men talking about yours truly without said person's presence is always reason for serious contemplation.  I have a very odd feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I am right.  By the time I arrive and apologize for my tardiness my husband, my sponsor and his wife have all but finished with dinner.  I scarf down the leftovers alternating between giving thanks for the lack of police presence on this evening and sneaking glances at the three hoping someone will volunteer information about what's transpired in my absence.  My husband shares the news.

"We're going to Ise Shrine on Christmas," he says.  I look up.  The question I want to ask is "why" but I'm hoping someone will offer up the answer.  Soon would be nice.  Never one to disappoint, my sponsor says, "You need cleansing.  The spirits of the dead have attached themselves to you, and now they're on him" pointing to my husband, "and us," now to himself and his wife.  Of course.

I turn to my husband, knowing looks of 25 years together pass between us with a "Well, clearly this is not a request" stated without words.  "We're going to Ise on the 25th," I say, accepting the invitation I dare not turn down.  Christmas?  What Christmas?  I am being taken to Japan's holiest Shinto shrine on Christmas Day so I can be properly cleansed by a priest.

I must explain this whole spirits-attached-to-me thing.  Stop reading here if the idea or topic of ghosts seems stupid or silly to you.  I'm not asking you to believe.  I'm sharing experiences and observations.

Rewind back ten years or so.  My first encounter with a ghost was in a hotel room somewhere outside of Montreal.  Until this evening I had few strong opinions about ghosts.  Did they exist?  Possibly.  Probably.  Maybe.

I had ordered room service after a day of tedious interpreting.  The scallops, risotto and asparagus were wonderful.  (Why do we remember meals attached to a strong memory?)  I smelled the ghost before I felt him--a very strong whiff of cologne--not entirely unpleasant but only obvious in short bursts and in certain parts of the room.  I didn't think anything of it except it got in the way of my meal, the scent mixing with the scallops leading to a sweet chemical flavor I didn't like.  I moved the tray to the bed, the scent went away and the flavors returned.  Success.  It was much later when I associated the scent with the wearer.  I could smell him where he was in the room.  The nearer he was the stronger the cologne odor.

Not thinking any more of this scent I climbed into bed.  That's when he came back.  The air didn't move, the curtains didn't rustle but the smell of cologne was very powerful.  Then the bed moved.  It's as if someone sat down next to me, the mattress sinking with the weight.  I open my eyes.  Nothing.  I'm certain, though.  Someone is sitting on the edge of the bed.  The cologne is strong.  What does one say to a ghost?  I'm not scared.  Is that a good thing?  While I'm thinking this he gets up, the mattress rising along with him, and next I feel the bed sink at the foot.  He must have sat down again.  Somewhere in all this I fall asleep.

Fast forward to post-disaster Tohoku.  The topic of ghosts is discussed behind closed doors as if openly talking about the spirits caught between worlds will conjure them up into our living rooms.  I became suspicious about the possibility of an additional person in our presence over two years ago while staying at Hiro's office that doubled as my apartment at night.  There were simply too many unexplained noises coming from the next room for me to be completely comfortable.  I began gently broaching the subject, first about ghosts in general, and second keeping the topic generic and not place-specific.  Half of those with whom I spoke had seen or heard a not-quite departed soul.

One night as I battled insomnia tossing and turning I heard a crash in the next room followed by the shuffling of feet.  That was it.  Tonight I made it official:  Hiro's office had a ghost.  All this speculation and ignoring the obvious had to go.

I mention this to Hiro the next morning asking mostly what I'm supposed to do around a ghost.  "Is there anything I can do or say that will help him move onto the next world?"  What am I?  The Ghost Whisperer?  Why would a ghost listen to me?  Then again, maybe no one's told him it's okay to leave this earth.  Is that possible?  I think all this to myself when I look up and see Hiro pale.  "I'm not good with these," he waves his hand in the air, "spirit-things," he says.  "Gives me the creeps."  Great.

Over the next two years I became accustomed to the visitor in the next room as much as one can be comfortable with such a presence.  I wasn't scared of him (I decided it was a he after I heard him sneeze one night) but rather was hoping he'd leave me alone.  Mentioning this to my visa sponsor was clearly what led to the "you-must-go-get-cleansed" comment, an entirely new kind of Christmas present.

So, for Christmas this year, we did something entirely un-Christian.  David and I, along with five other people made our own pilgrimage to Japan's holiest, most sacred and blessed spot.  I don't mess around with religions.  I find beauty in these traditions and while I may not agree with the specific message of each, chose to this year, allow myself to be cleansed by a High Priest.

We'll see whether the cleansed me affects the man in the next room at Hiro's place.  Maybe I'll now some how be immune to him?  Immune?  Is that the right word?

Writing about ghosts isn't funny and I don't mean to make light of or poke fun in any way, and that's precisely why I've not written about them until now.  The combination of my un-Christian Christmas trip and the reasons for it do, however, make for an interesting story.

'Til next time, The End.

How Urban Legends Begin

Insomnia is my latest night-time companion, and one I'm not particularly fond of.  In Ofunato, Insomnia (I feel I need to refer to him/her as a person) is more of a problem, as there's no noise at night.  This is a problem for me.  Tokyo nights are filled with traffic noises, sirens, and the occasional loud quarrel.  In Ofunato, there's no noise.  That means I hear everything.

How can I hear everything if there's no noise?  Glad you asked.  The noise I like to fall asleep to is the Tokyo-type noise.  Cars honking?  A lullaby.  Sirens?  The chorus of a song.  Ofunato?  With no traffic, I hear all the night noises.

Take, for example, the sounds of nature.  They're either frogs or crickets.  That I don't know the difference in the sounds they make is a bit of a joke around here.  Whatever they are, I hear them.  Crows fly at night.  Did you know that?  This makes them all the more mystical and magical, but still, I could do without their "music."

Then there are the noises in the apartment.  This places creeks.  I've been told in no uncertain terms, what I'm hearing are a). ghosts, or b). the natural shrinking of the wood expanded during the day.  The consensus among those I talk to is split right down the middle:  fifty-fifty.

I bring this up to say ghost-sightings are a common occurence around here.  Here again is another fifty-fifty phenomenon.  Some people want to see them, others are terrified.

Rumors, urban legends, stories abound in Ofunato.

Ghosts lined up outside, standing in cue at an opening of a major supermarket.  Ghosts walk the streets at night.  Ghosts are seen hanging onto steering wheels, bags, boxes, rakes, and bicycles.  Ghosts wander around looking for their homes.  Ghosts sitting on the sidewalks, crying.

Pretty much everyone around here believes in ghosts, and understands why they're here.
"After the earthquake, they didn't think a tsunami would come so they stayed home drinking tea.  Then BAM!  The wave hit, and just like that, they died.  But, the thing is," and here my friend points her chopsticks at me, accentuating the point, "They don't know they're dead.  That's why they're wandering around."
I'm not quite sure how to respond to this.  It's not that I don't believe in ghosts.  But, I haven't seen any here.  I'm not particularly scared of them, but I could probably do without an encounter.
"Do they only come out at night?" I ask.
"No.  They're all around.  At all times, day and night."
"Do ghosts live somewhere?  I mean, is there a place they come and go from?"
"Oh yeah.  When they're done for the day or night, whatever, they go back into the ocean."
Interesting.  This is simply amazing.

"You know," another friend, one who works out of my apartment tells me, "People died around here.  My relatives just up there," and here she goes by the window and points up the hill.  "Four people died just around their home.  It would make sense there are ghosts nearby, don't you think?"
"Yeah, but why here, then?  Surely no one died here, right?"  Here, I seriously hope the answer is "No."
"They see your light on.  Because you never sleep!" And, now we're back to my friend, Insomnia.  Laughing, my friend is done talking about ghosts, evidently finding my "little problem" as she so tactfully puts it, more of an appropriate topic for the rest of the afternoon.

Ghosts or no ghosts, the noises in Ofunato at night will surely keep me up for a few months longer.  Until I see one for myself, I will just assume the ghosts don't speak English, and as such, will leave me alone.

The Long Black Coat

"We knew it was you when you were at the other end of the block."  One of the socialite women I'm taking up north says to me as I hand her husband my bag that has created permanent creases in my hand.
"Oh?"  I say, but wonder to myself how many foreign women there were on the sidewalk along side me.  None.  Right?  Of course they knew it was me. 
"How did you know it was me?"  I'm supposed to ask this so I do.
"Your coat.  It's too long."  And, just like that, I'm totally confused.
"No, no, no," her friend cuts in.  "It's not too long.  It's just very long.  None of us in Tokyo dress like that."  Okay.
"Look at me," the president says, holding my bag.  "I'm dressed in Uniqlo, top to bottom."
"You don't count," his wife scolds.  "We're talking about women's clothes," and laughs.
"Don't get me wrong," she says, turning to me.  "You look nice.  Very east coast America.  Very New York.  Very Boston.  Right?" She asks some of the other women around us.
"Right."
"Yes."
"Most definitely."
I'm still confused.
"You don't wear long black coats?"
"Oh no."
"No, no, no."
"No."
The answers are consistent.  My confusion is still with me.  They evidently now pick up on it.

"But, it's good," I'm reassured.  I decide to believe them. 

Or so I thought.  One of my classic "I-spoke-too-soon" moments came later that afternoon when we were all visiting a day care center.  The women gathered over 700 books to donate throughout Ofunato.  They drove up to deliver these in person, and to get to know some of the locals.  I was their tour guide.

Seven women (all older than me) are standing in front of the auditorium filled with children, telling the kids why they brought books.  It's been awhile since they had kids this age, and their speeches are a bit on the dry side.  The kids have long since stopped listening.  I'm standing over to the side because this isn't about me.  I just brought them here.  They're the ones bringing books.  I'm looking at the kids and wondering about the little boy with very little hair, wondering if he's sick when one of the women says, "Amya-san.  You speak, too."

I walk up to the middle of the stage, take the mic, step forward a few steps and say, "Hello," in my calmest, most reassuring voice.  They kids grin, squirm, squeal, and some say "hello" back.  I switch to Japanese, then back to English, then back to Japanese, telling them my name, and that the ladies behind me also brought them "yummy food."  And then it happens.  One lone voice of heart-breaking sobbing.  I look down and in front of me is a girl, absolutely terrified, running over to her teacher.  The teacher takes her, and puts her on her lap.  Everyone laughs.  I'm mortified.
"Oh, no!  I'm so sorry!"  And then, "I'm not really scary," and the kids (except the crying one) all laugh.

This is a first.  I'm stunned.  I made a girl cry?  Because I'm standing in front of the auditorium?  And spoke English?  Wow.  This has really, truly never happened before.

We're getting ready to leave and Kazu-san, one of my favorite men in town who has done all the leg work to get the women here, grins up at me.
"Oh stop," I say.
"You made her cry."  More grinning.
"Ha ha."
"It's your coat," and there again, just like that, I'm confused.
"What's wrong with my coat?"  Now I'm defensive.
"Nothing's wrong with your coat.  It's just really long and really black."
"So?"
"People here don't wear things like that."
I'm just about to mumble "Evidently no one in Tokyo does either" but decide not to.

Had this been the end of it, I wouldn't have bothered writing this.  At the next day care center where we're dropping off more books, I'm suddenly swarmed by kids coming back from a field trip. 
"Hello!" I say this time with more cheerfulness, determined not to make anyone cry.
"What's your name?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Have you been to Disneyland?"
I don't know whom to answer first.  I high five, pat heads, smile.  And then I hear it.  Some kid off to the side calls out, "You look like a witch."

Truly, this will be the last time I wear this coat in Japan.  Lest we assume it ends there, another kid chimes in, "You look like the ghosts I've seen in photos."  Any kid who can be that specific about what I resemble gets a reply.
"I do?"
"Uh-huh."
"Am I scary?"  I look down and give, truly truly, my best and biggest smile.
"No," he grins back.

For the record (now I feel after all that I must explain myself), I wore this coat up north on this trip because I was attending memorial services marking the anniversary of the tsunami, and I wanted to be in something resembling mourning attire.  (I did actually put thought into this.)  None of my other coats would have been appropriate.  My long black coat was inappropriate in other ways, but to have it be such a topic of discussion, amusement, fear, and intrigue means I most definitely won't be wearing it in front of kids again.  All this over a coat!  Living in learning in Japan.  Still.  One day at a time.