Hiroshima Sunset

by John Kelly

Yoshiko stood patiently at the reception counter while the new arrivals removed their shoes, unloaded their back packs, downed their suitcases, rearranged their clothing and fiddled through their pockets to find their passports and accommodation notices. She had seen it a thousand times before, but each time brought with it a new perspective. These travellers to a new country, trying their best to look sophisticated and sure of themselves but inwardly nervous and unsure; always betraying themselves one way or another. The elderly couple approached her, the man asking the same question she was asked several times each day.

  'Hello, do you speak English?'

  'Yes I do,' she answered with a distinct American accent which took the couple by surprise.

  'We have a booking for three nights. The name is Maclean. Mr. and Mrs. David Maclean.

  Yoshiko glanced down the booking page in front of her and ticked off the new arrivals.

  'Welcome to Tokyo,' she said. 'Could you fill out these details please and I will need to see your passports,' she added, handing a registration form and pen across the counter.

  The couple had arrived from Hong Kong on the next leg of an around the world tour, two weeks into a long awaited retirement. They had travelled by train from Narita airport, and found their way through the complexities of the Tokyo subway network, to Ikebukuro station more by good luck than good management. Feeling tired but immensely proud having overcome all challenges thus far, they completed their registration and handed over their passports. The young Japanese girl smiled and thanked them.

  'Where did you learn English?' Mr. Maclean asked of her.

  'In America,' she answered. 'I studied there for three years.'

  'You speak it very well,' he complimented her.

  'Thank you. Your room is not available until three o' clock. You can leave your luggage in the cloakroom and remain here on the ground floor if you wish. We have a common room along the hallway and you can use the kitchen to cook and prepare refreshments. My name is Yoshiko. If you need any advice or directions I will be happy to help you in any way,' she said, as she handed back their passports.

  The Ryokan was a simple three level accommodation house catering for budget-conscious travellers who were satisfied with the bare essentials in lodgings, but wanted to experience something imbued with the atmosphere of traditional Japanese culture. They also wanted somewhere cheap enough to allow them to see Tokyo, and still have enough money left over to spend on food. The interior of the building was dark, with exposed oak timber, thick beams from floor to ceiling, and polished floorboards reverberating to the sounds of people moving about in the adjoining common room.

  David Maclean thanked Yoshiko and the couple took their luggage to the cloakroom. Opening the door they gasped to find it nearly full of suitcases, backpacks, and a varied assortment of luggage all stored and waiting to be collected by other guests at three o' clock. They found room to store their luggage and made their way to the common room where a number of guests had gathered to relax, watch television, or plan their time while others prepared light refreshments in the kitchen and meals area. A young boy sat in front of the television watching but clearly unable to break through the language barrier. He flicked frantically with the remote control as he searched for something he might recognize. His parents sat quietly reading. The Maclean's entered the common room and spent a few moments familiarizing themselves with these strange new surroundings. Margaret Maclean was not a gregarious person, not one to rush to introduce herself. She looked around and her eyes set upon a notice board. It was a welcome distraction and she quickly moved across to see what information was available. David Maclean smiled at the Caucasian woman who looked up briefly while rummaging through her back-pack.

  'Hello,' he volunteered, taking a chance that she would understand.

  'Hi, how are you?' she replied in a thick North American accent.

  "Very well. Just arrived,' he replied.

  'Are you English,' the woman asked.

  'Australian,' David replied.

  'I'd love to go there sometime,' she answered.

  Margaret Maclean was preoccupied with the notices and read one very strict rule prominently displayed on the board: "No socializing permitted in the rooms. Any such activity would lead to immediate eviction." 'Fair enough,' she thought. The rest of the notices comprised employment opportunities in teaching English and seemed to be targeting young people.

  'Oh to be young again,' she thought. 'To start out again and travel the world, picking up a living here and there. Oh, to be young again.'

  David Maclean felt peckish and realized they had not eaten since being served breakfast at Narita.

  'Is there somewhere we can get a bite to eat?' he asked the woman with the back-pack.

  'Did you come in by train?' she asked.

  'Yes.'

  'Then just go back toward the station and you will find any number of places to buy a sandwich or something,' she answered. 'There's a supermarket quite close if you want to get something for breakfast tomorrow. It's a lot cheaper than buying from the restaurants and hotels.'

  'Thank you,' he answered.

  'What are your plans?' the backpacker asked.

  'We are going to Kamakura tomorrow,' David Maclean replied.

  'Great. You'll love it,' she replied.

  'Thank you,' David said. Turning to his wife he said, 'I think we will go for a walk, Margaret. We'll find something to eat and perhaps try to find the Meijji Shrine. That should fill in the time until we can check in.'

  At reception, Yoshiko was tending to some paperwork when she heard the familiar ring from her computer, announcing the arrival of email. The message was brief: 'Has Amanda arrived yet? Q.'

  She sent an instant reply: 'Not due until tomorrow. I will email you as soon as she does. Y'

  At three o' clock The Maclean's returned to the Ryokan and Yoshiko handed them each a blue and white Yukata, a bath gown, and a small towel, together with a key to their room. Upstairs, the rooms were small and basic with a Tatami-matted floor, a futon, a small table, and a cupboard for storing clothing and personal effects. Guests shared common bathroom facilities located on each floor. Rooms were for sleeping only. In keeping with most things Japanese, the house was impeccably clean and maintained by diligent and polite staff.

  'Did you bring towels?' David Maclean asked.

  'No, I thought they would provide them, his wife Margaret replied.'

  'Well if this is a towel,' he said, holding up the cloth he received with the Yukata no bigger than a napkin, 'I'm afraid we'll have to go out and buy some.'

  'I'm used to having our own en-suite,' Margaret said, looking around the room pensively. 'I think I'll take a look at the shower and toilet facilities.'

  'Don't worry dear. It's only for one night. We'll be staying at a proper hotel tomorrow in Kamakura. I don't know why Dad arranged this place for us. His mate Quentin Avers is paying for it so I guess he must have suggested it.'

  12.