![]() Before I can figure out how to ask this in more digestible way, he takes the initiative and changes the subject. He cocks his head again, in the same “I don’t understand” way as he did earlier. I say, “Oh no! which company do you work for?” “I am Salaryman,” he says, then holds his head in his hands, “very tired. He taps his chin and looking skyward, before holding his hands out in front of him and waggling his fingers. I pour some more beer from our last large bottle of Sapporo and into our glasses. “I Looooove Sharknado,” he tells me, “Sugoi.” Cool. “You bought these today?” I ask.Īnother movie whose title I can’t read, the cover sporting a scary looking shark. “I like Shark movie,” he reaches into a satchel he has under his chair and pulls out three DVDs in plastic sleeves. This time I try to make it sound Japanese. He cocks his head to the side and frowns. I turn back to our friend, “Do you like Godzilla?” What’s the first thing you think of when you think of Japan?” Makes you think about how other countries see your country versus how you see theirs. “It’s interesting to me that his first association of England is James Bond. ![]() I’m trying to think of more iconic British movies, or other ways to make conversation. A young family lingers on the edge of the pass, their kid pulling his dad’s hand to go out into the rain, but his dad holds firm. Fat drops of rain are falling outside the arch, shrouding the remains of the day. I hear “London” and “Double oh Seven.” The man with one tooth laughs and gives us the thumbs up.īehind Neesha a steady flow of people moves through the underpass. His face is completely red, but he’s been avidly listening to our conversation. He turns to his left, speaking in Japanese to an old man with one tooth. “Eeehhhhhhh,” he says, waving his hand, “I like…” he thinks how to say this, ”double oh seven… better.” He pulls a face and waves his hand dismissively, “magic…” “Harry Potter is from London too.” I say. “What do you think of the Queen?” Neesha asks, tracing the shape of a crown above her head. I do my best Sean Connery elbow-lean and say, “Shaken, not stirred.” “Hontou Sugoi.” I say, deploying my limited baby-japanese. “I… like double-oh-seven,” he says, nodding. “Double-Oh-Seven! Yes! He is from London.” Neesh says. He holds them next to his face and pulled his lips into a tight, serious line as he says: “Jamesu Bondo, dabu oh seban.” Our flush-faced friend laces his fingers together, sticking two of his fingers straight up like a gun. I smile in the way I do when I don’t know what else to do, then I look at Neesh to rescue me. His round face is split by a huge grin of comprehension. “We’re from London, England,” she says slowly. I feel bad for him and start thinking of ways to mime this one out. He tilts his head slightly and looks up and to the right, saying nothing. We’d settled in this little pub under a railway arch just as the rain had set in. The hours of walking around the temple at Senso-ji, then across town to Ueno, we needed a break. Since we’ve arrived we’ve eaten six chicken skewers and drunk about a litre and a half of beer and were starting to recover. We’re seated at a long communal table at a cheerful japanese pub. Overhead, another train rumbles along the raised tracks leading into Ueno Station in East Tokyo. He pauses and purses his lips and falls silent. “Sumimasen, Wakarimasen” Sorry, I don’t understand. “Iie,” I say, No, holding my thumb and forefinger close together in front of my face. He bows in return and asks, “Konnichiwa… Nihongo?” Hello… you speak japanese? His eyebrows rise halfway up his forehead and his smile broadens. I smile and nod toward him, lean forward in a micro-bow. I’m thankful it’s not just me that’s sweating bullets in this humidity. His round, friendly face is flushed pink with alcohol and sweat beads on his upper lip. The man sitting to the right of Neesh catches my eye and smiles.
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