My Valentine's Day Story#3 published by Philippines Free Press and Likhaan Book of Poetry and Fiction Anthology A GATHERING by Cesar Polvorosa

The images blurred by. There were drab and decrepit tenement buildings and newer ones of steel and glass. There were numerous bantam cars and bicycles that competed for space in the narrow streets. There were shops, restaurants, shopping malls with colorful neon lights, rusty and unused railway cars, locomotives and people everywhere. These were closely cropped by like a thick populated forest with no room for another tree. But somehow, the open spaces began appearing, becoming larger and popping out with greater frequency. The buildings became smaller and smaller and greenery became bigger and bigger. In many ways it was different but it could have been also any other big city in the world. We were entering the suburbs of Tokyo and heading for the countryside.

While the Keihin-Tohoku frequent commuter train (the blue one) chugged along at its usual leisurely pace, my friends and I were talking boisterously to the consternation of some of the passengers. We especially stood out like a sore thumb because we were gaijins or foreigners. We were always a noisy lot but especially so today. We were in a celebratory mood for that morning we all successfully defended our master’s thesis before the court of inquisition- our advisers and faculty panel of interrogators. The graduation ceremony that formalized our master’s degree was a week away and we were leaving Japan by the end of the month. We were at the conclusion of two years of post graduate studies in Japan.

Gregory Gruenberg was explaining to our guffaws how he crossed swords with the faculty members trying to dissect his thesis.

“I fooled all of them,” he said with almost utter disdain. His thesis was on the business cycle and stock market prices and he used a lot of regressions. He’s from Dallas and is planning to work for the Brookings Institution in Washington D.C.

“How about the nubile young females you will be leaving behind?” I asked him, half expecting his answer.

“Hell!” he replied. “I gave them a good time. I can’t do more than that!” he said emphatically with a completely serious countenance.

We made lecherous sounds at this. He said he never promised them anything. The other passengers were looking at us with an unfriendly expression. Gregory was really noisy and drawing attention to himself. The only break came when an occasional train would rush by on the opposite track, the noise of which would force him to stop talking. I ignored the other passengers. Many of them were locked in their own private conversations which after two years here we can still barely understand.

Outside, the transition from city center to suburbs to countryside continued. There were the small pubs, numerous quaint shops festooned with colorful banners and signs in Katakana and Kanji characters and rows upon rows of parked bicycles that proliferated near train stations in Japan. About every few minutes we made stops at the various stations along the Keihin-Tohoku line. The stations included Akabane, Kawaguchi, Warabi and then to Minami Urawa in the heart of Saitama prefecture. They were strange sounding names but it was comforting to hear these places announced in the train for I knew that I was homeward bound. Ueno Park in Tokyo was already a one hour memory.

Gregory was eyeing a pretty Japanese girl who became visible as the coach packed like a sardine when we left Ueno unloaded passengers at every station we passed as the train plunged deeper into the countryside. She was in a smart and trendy Burberry’s charcoal gray trench coat and carried a black leather portfolio. She had silky, black shoulder length hair, alabastrine complexion and almond eyes which were typical in this country but statuesque with finely chiseled features which were uncommon in these parts and perhaps almost anywhere. She appeared to barely hit her twenties. Most likely, she just graduated from one of the local universities and now works at one of the big offices in Marunouchi or Kasumagaseki. The girl was becoming conscious of the penetrating stare of Gregory. I know the guy. Later on, he’ll move next to her and strike up a conversation by pretending to be a foreigner who’s lost and needed the right directions. This, after two years in Japan! Like most Japanese, the girl will only be too glad to assist the helpless foreigner. Well, this time it won’t work. When the train stopped at the Urawa station, the girl gave a look that said, “sorry, I am also attracted to you but this is where I get down,” and joined the mass of people getting out of the train. Gregory gazed after her with mouth agape.

“You’re too slow man,” I teased him across the aisle of the coach.

“Hey man, she may think I am going to pounce on her. There will be many others.”

That’s true especially for somebody like him. Gregory bore a striking resemblance to Ryan Reynolds- and he knew it. I had seen him introduce himself as the actor a few times during the past few years. The funny thing was only one knew who Ryan Reynolds was.

I ignored the chattering of Gregory and turned to Danny who had been awfully quiet during the entire trip. Danny seldom talks and likes to be with himself most of the time but even his degree of reservation today was unusual. His cow eyes were looking even more mournful. I asked him what’s bugging him. He told me he was worried about the results of the thesis defense. I am sure you did well, I assured him, you just worry too much. No, I didn’t, he had insisted and he proceeded to recount the mistakes that he had committed. If he’s not exaggerating he’s in a lot of trouble. He must have been rattled out there. To flunk on the thesis defense: it’s a terrible time to choke.

Vichit, our Thai classmate approached and stood before us with his back to Gregory. I think he had enough talking to Gregory for the meantime. He was wearing his standard thick eyeglasses so that when I look up at him I could not clearly see his pupils but just a fuzzy black spot in the center of his spectacles. He had curly locks of hair and was rather on the heavy side. “What’s up?’ he inquired. As I told him about the case of Danny, I noticed that his pimply face was having a new round of eruptions. It’s probably the result of several nights in a row spent in preparing for the oral defense. In my case, I became constipated during the week – the result of eating nothing but Kentucky’s chicken nuggets and McDonald’s hamburger sandwiches for several days in a row. Those joints were the nearest to my dorm and I literally had no time for anything else. I thought about teasing him about his acne but I know that he’ll just shrug it off. When he heard about the case of Danny he just said that it’s nothing to worry about in an even voice and expressionless face and became silent once more as he surveyed the landscape outside the train. Vichit wants to become an economic researcher in Chulalongkorn University back in Thailand and eventually work for Bangkok Bank. But I think he will do nicely as a philosopher.

We arrived at Omiya station after several more minutes. By this time, the train from Tokyo had just a few people left inside. I stood, stretched out my limbs and walked out with the others. Gregory was talking to a Japanese woman. We were so used to it that we did not pay attention anymore. Later on, he will catch up with us as he usually does. We joined the people climbing the stairs and headed for the exit. Meanwhile, the sound of express trains speeding by on the tracks, another disgorging its passengers and the announcement over the public address system of arrivals and the advice to take the necessary precautions continued. Just outside the station there was a shop where we bought three bottles of sake or Japanese rice wine and some fruits that we can bring to Mr. Suzuki’s residence. We slowly wended our way to the bus terminal which was just a block away from the train station as is usually the case in Japan. We joined the queue just as the bus stopped by to pick up passengers. Gregory arrived just in time. The driver in his customary cap and white glove nodded to Vichit who related to us that he was recognized from his frequent visits to his Japanese girlfriend in Omiya. The shadows were lengthening and the light was failing fast when we took our seats. The bus drove out of the commercial center of Omiya and headed to its own suburbs. We made several turns in clean and narrow streets built over with houses of glazed roof tiles of mostly deep blue and gray. There were occasional trees and shrubbery. We arrived at our destination in less than fifteen minutes.

The house of Mr. Suzuki was bigger than that of most Japanese. There was even a small yard. It also reflected the position of Mr. Suzuki as a Vice President for one of the mighty Sogo Soshas. Mr. Suzuki welcomed as warmly even as we gave him our gifts with the traditional greeting- “these are small things but please accept them.” This was meant to be a farewell party for his foreigner student friends. Our other Thai and Indonesian classmates were already there as well as a few of our closest Japanese friends.

To loud cheers of kampai! We started the celebrations as we sat around a low table. The drinks and food overflowed. There was gyoza, sushi, sashimi and sukiyaki among others. The heady brew of sake was followed by Kirin beer. Mr. Suzuki remembered that my favorite Japanese food was yakiniku and had this prepared. Later, one of our Japanese friends, Mr. Tanaka fed the CD player with the records of popular old Japanese bands – Off Course, Tulip and Southern All Stars. A little later the Karaoke set was taken out and we took turns singing both English and Japanese songs. I belted out my favorite “Sayonara” from Off Course. Too bad that it may have been a little off key as this was going to be one of my last performances in Japan.

A little later, Mr. Suzuki brought out the family photo albums. We enjoyed looking at the pictures for sometime. The Suzukis were well traveled even for Japanese. Not only were there pictures of Disneyland in California or Eiffel Tower in Paris but also the Grand Canyon in Arizona, Stonehenge in England, Capetown in South Africa and the house of Pablo Neruda in Chile. He pointed to his son in many of the pictures. The son was away taking his MBA at Harvard and it was obvious that he missed him. What really caught our attention though was when he brought out the samurai sword of the family. He unsheathed it slowly and the steel glinted in the soft lamplight inch by inch to our collective awe and admiration. He later recounted the most outstanding stories of the martial tradition of his family including their exploits in the Satsuma rebellion and the Russo-Japanese war. Sensitive to the feelings of his Asian guests, he hardly mentioned the Second World War. The stories were so vivid it came to the point that we can visualize the great grandfather of Mr. Suzuki wielding the sword before us to great effect against the marauding ninjas in this very same spot. It was heady mix indeed.

I could feel the liquor starting to numb my cheeks and I slapped myself slightly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I saw Danny sat cross legged just behind me. His face broke out in a smile which was the first time I saw him lighten up today. He was really looking morose during the entire trip; it was, I said to the puzzlement of my pagan friends, the “Good Friday” look. He was the only other Filipino in this motley group so we had a natural bond especially during the early days. Later on, we diversified as he started to hang out more frequently with his Thai friends. I did the same with my own set of Thai and Japanese friends. But his smile didn’t mean he was happy.

“I am just afraid about the result of my thesis defense,” he blurted out in between nervous gulps of beer.

“Don’t agitate yourself needlessly. Surely, it’s not that bad,” I tried to reassure him while I poured the contents of another bottle into my glass.

“It is. It’s really terrible!” he said with a cracking voice.

This conversation was not going anywhere. I tried to keep my temper in check. The beer was working its way in my system and it took me quite an effort not to snap at him. “Well let’s suppose you choked during the revalida but you’ll get your Master’s degree and we’ll both go home after a few weeks,” I told him evenly and I tried to sound as pragmatic and as sober as possible. He looked at me with a skeptical expression on his face.

“I don’t want this to be brought to the attention of my Director in Manila. It will be embarrassing for me,” he replied despondently.

I have to change the topic without me showing a lack of concern. To my relief, Mr. Suzuki came over holding a bottle of Johnny Walker black label and his half filled glass. The slant of his eyes became more pronounced and his cheeks were visibly flushed from the liquor. He squatted down on the tatami mat in front of us with some difficulty due to his bulk and probably due to the volume of food and drinks he consumed during the past hour.

“How are my Filipino friends?” he started enthusiastically as he poured the alcohol into our glasses. We replied that we were enjoying ourselves, toasted and sipped our drinks.

“We are lucky to have you as a special friend in Japan,” I replied as I, in turn poured the liquid into his glass. Despite the inebriation, I reminded myself that I must keep an eagle eye on his glass. It must never be empty.

“We are all lucky to have each other as friends. We should make sure that we can still see each other even after your return to your country.”

“Please visit the Philippines,” I said taking the cue. “We will bring you to Tagaytay and Baguio. We all know that he was retiring after a year so I hastened to add, “by the way, aside from travelling what are you going to do after you retire?”

“Good of you to ask,” he replied. “I am planning to set up an import and export trading company in Southeast Asia. I hope to eventually cover the major countries but I like to start with the Philippines,” he recounted.

“That’s very interesting,” I observed. “We hope we can help you set up the company in Manila,” I told him as I sense a business opportunity. My plan to establish a profitable Japanese business connection once I am back in Manila is off to a good start.

“Of course!” he answered emphatically. “You are the people that I trust.” There was now a chance of a payback for him after the two years of hospitality that he has extended to our group of foreign students.

Just then a commotion at the other end of the table attracted our attention. It was Gregory mouthing expletives and pushing away a Thai classmate, Damrong while both were still seated on the tatami mat.

“I have nothing to do with Mariko leaving you,” said Damrong while gritting his teeth and desperately trying to keep his voice down.

“You stole Mariko!” shouted Gregory as he stood on wobbly legs, clenched his fists and took a fighting stance.

Damrong however, was not biting and merely looked up at Gregory. “You are drunk Gregory…I have not done anything wrong,” he replied coolly while remaining seated.

“You are fighting about women?” commented a smiling Mr. Suzuki but there was a hint of irritation in the squint of his eyes. “There must be other more important things worth fighting for,” he added which brought down the house with laughter and visibly eased the mounting tension.

Gregory however was clearly in no mood. His face flustered with the hard liquor was wet with tears.”I wanted to bring Mariko home to Texas and become my wife but she broke off with me yesterday,” he bawled like a child.

Damrong looked at Gregory steadily and strained to explain. “I accidentally met her in Shinjuku and we rode together the train on the way back to Urawa and then I treated her to dinner at Denny’s. She is a friend of our whole group and we will all be leaving Japan in a few weeks. What’s wrong with that?” Damrong turned to Mr. Suzuki after reasoning with Gregory. “I apologize, Mr. Suzuki for this incident. You are our host and this is very embarrassing,” he added as he bowed slightly to our Japanese host.

“It’s okay,” Mr. Suzuki replied and signaled with his palms outward.

Ordinarily, it would have been an unequal contest in Gregory’s favor. Damrong was reed thin with a gangling figure while Gregory had an athletic physique honed from his regular football games and track and field activities. Tonight however, Greg was tottering from his drunken state.

I was watching with wry amusement. Vichit was there without any change of expression in the fuzzy black spots of his eyeglasses. He looked serene even and that’s why we call him “the Rock” (from the song of Simon and Garfunkel). Lukman, our Indonesian classmate sat with a shocked look. The combined effect of the liquor and the suddenness of the incident had taken him aback. He was still taking it all in. Just then, Danny got up and walked over to Gregory. He put his hand around the shoulder of the jilted man. “Come my friend,” he told the American, “a good talk won’t hurt.” He led him off to a quiet corner. A few minutes later we can still hear his sobs while Danny was patting his back and giving him comforting words. The people at the table looked at each other in disbelief. Lukman was finally moving about.

he singing and the drinking continued. Mr. Suzuki left me and went over to the Thais- probably to tell them also about his vision of setting up a Bangkok trading office.

I was left alone and while nursing my glass I gazed at the rock garden outside. A mist was slowly forming. I have run out of photo albums of the Suzuki family to look at. My two years in Japan passed before my eyes like a phantasmagoric dream. I saw myself in the skiing slopes of the Hakuba resort in Nagano prefecture and this vision faded to be replaced by visits to the Ainu village up north in Hokkaido and the subtropical wonder of Kagoshima down south in Kyushu. I made many friends and always, I am enamored by the women that I have known in those places. I rode by myself on the bullet train to the Tohoku region, visited the famous Tohoku University, transferred to a local train, stayed in Aomori and crossed the Tsugaru Strait separating the main island of Honshu from Hokkaido. I even saw Russian freighters on the strait as it was near the main Siberian port of Vladivostok. I pierced the big northern island up to Fukagawa. But it does not begin to compare with reaching the summit of Mt. Fuji on my birthday! It was truly a magical moment to gaze at the clouds below my feet. I felt as though I was at the very verge of forever as I stood at the rim of the crater and gazed at the horizon of endless clouds. I witnessed the strange, wondrous sight of the sun rising above what appeared to be a vast river of cotton.

My reveries ended when Danny tapped me on the shoulder to remind me that it was near midnight. Gregory was barely conscious and we bid goodbye to Mr. Suzuki and extended our profuse apologies. The members of his family were long asleep. There was no longer any train service available and we called a cab to take us back to Urawa, which adjoined Omiya. The others went home separately. I was with my original group. I started to feel a throbbing headache. Disordered, hazy images floated before me. I barely remembered how we got back to the dormitory.

We brought Gregory up to his room at the fourth floor and laid his sagging body on his bed. He was almost in a stupor. He will surely have a splitting headache in the morning. Danny and I staggered outside with the chilly air greeting us. It was the portent of winter to come. I exchanged a few words with Danny who was still shaking his head at the events of the evening. I noted his drooping eyes and unsteady footing but like me was far from drunk. He invited me to another two bottles of beer at a nearby bar. I told him that I had reached my limit and wanted to sleep already. “Anyway,” I told him “we can always get together in Manila for a few drinks after office hours.”

“I have to remind myself that we’re going back to the same country,” he replied and chuckled a bit.

It was the nature of our multinational group that we were not conscious of our different countries. One can easily forget that one’s good friend is a foreigner and that he’s going home to a different country or that the other guy is also a fellow Filipino and we were both going home to the Philippines.

“By the way, you did very well by talking to Gregory when he was going nuts,” I commended him.

“What are friends and compatriots for?’ he replied while winking at me.

I laughed aloud nervously and gave him a high five. He likewise laughed and gestured to me that everything was fine. He then groped his way to his room at the far end of the floor.

For a moment, I stood at the balcony and observed the dark, silent and deserted dormitory compound. I soaked in the

cold that penetrated my trench coat, felt the stare of the stars and wonder about the secrets that they hold. I have an appointment to keep. I ambled my way to the exit and instead of going up to my seventh floor room I went down and left the dormitory complex. I checked my watch. It’s already past midnight- very late but she’s expecting me. I hate to disappoint her especially as both of us are counting not the months now but the weeks until my departure. Just the thought of being alone in my cold bed made me shudder. Maybe she can follow to Manila and the two of us can be together…