by Philip Roy
I stared at the map on the TV. Fukushima was about two hundred miles north. Maybe here the air wasn’t so bad. Maybe I would be okay. As I stared at the screens I realized I had to make a decision. I could run away now, hoping that I hadn’t been too badly poisoned, and let Sensei die, or I could keep searching for help here and try to rescue him, knowing that I’d probably be sicker in the long run.
It wasn’t an easy decision because I was really scared. I didn’t want to get cancer. I didn’t want my lungs to fail. I was too young to fall seriously ill, too young to die. Sensei was already very old.
I didn’t know what to do, so I shut my eyes and tried to centre myself the way we did when we were meditating, and waited for the answer to come from inside. And slowly it came. None of us lives forever. There’s not even any guarantee we’ll live to be old, like Sensei. We’re lucky if we do. What was more important to me was not how long I lived, but that I lived a life I could feel proud of. If I ran away and let Sensei die, I didn’t think I could ever feel proud of myself again. I didn’t think I would even be able to look in the mirror again.
Well, that settled that.
But where were the dive shops? There had to be dive shops in a port city? I went up and down the streets faster and faster, until I was sweating. The mask on my face was dripping, and I was breathing in poisonous air the whole time. Still I found nothing. What should I do? Should I bang on someone’s door and beg for help? But how could they help me unless they were divers? And how could I know that they wouldn’t just turn me in to the police?
Four hours after leaving the sub, I had been up and down dozens of streets. I had seen shops for cameras, books, paper, electronics, furniture, marine devices, medical devices, teaching aids, musical instruments, food, toys, and clothing, but not a single shop that sold scuba gear! Sweating like a pig, I felt I had to take off my jacket, hat, and mask. But the moment I did, another old woman appeared out of nowhere and screamed at me to put them back on. She slapped her arms, and gestured for me to cover up. “Fukushima!” she cried. “Fukushima!” Her eyes were filled with fear.
“Okay! Okay!” So I put them back on. Then I tried to ask the old woman where I could find a dive shop, but she ran away, and I didn’t try to chase her; she was already too upset. This was crazy! I was getting nowhere.
I had to stop rushing around. I had to stop sweating or dehydration would drain all of my energy. There just had to be something I could do.
As I went down one dead-end street, close to the edge of the woods, I noticed in the very last house a martial arts studio on the second floor. There was a sign that showed two men fighting with swords. It reminded me of Sensei, and I stopped below the sign and stared at it. Maybe somebody who respected ninjas would be willing to help me rescue Sensei, or at least tell me where there was a dive shop.
So I went to the door and knocked. Nobody answered. I knocked again, more loudly. No one came to the door. Was there anyone home? There were no lights on. I stared down the street from where I had come. In the other direction was the woods. I was tired and frustrated and feeling desperate. If there was anyone in that studio, I wanted to find them.
There was a high fence around the house and yard; the only way to get to the back of the house was to climb it. Sensei could have jumped right over it without touching it. I had to jump onto the fence, pull myself up, and swing my legs over and down into the yard. Except for a few tiny bug lights next to a garden, it was very dark. There were no lights on at the back of the house either, but I did see a tiny light coming from the studio above.
The second floor had a balcony but no way to get up there. Once again, Sensei could have jumped to it. But I wasn’t Sensei. Like a beginning student of ninjutsu, I climbed the drainpipe that came down one corner of the house until I could grip the underside of the balcony floor with my hands. Then I swung myself into the air and hung there for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next. I kicked off my sneakers, and then started to swing back and forth to gain momentum. The balcony creaked with my weight, but my feet reached a space at one edge; now I was gripping with both my hands and feet. Crawling upside down beneath the balcony floor, I came to one corner, and then pulled myself up onto the top. I jumped down into the balcony as quietly as I could, and crept over to the door. I felt like a ninja now.
Through the window I saw a small light that looked like a candle. I pressed my face up against the glass and got a fright. On the other side of the glass was another face staring back at me in absolute terror.
I forced myself to smile, but it didn’t do any good; the terror on the other side of the glass just got worse. I heard a scream. It sounded young, and I think the person on the other side of the glass was younger than me. Suddenly the blind moved, and I saw another face, a bigger, fatter face, and it didn’t look frightened; it looked angry. I tried harder to smile and waved with my hand in a friendly way. “Can you help me?”
A minute later, the door slid sideways and a man stepped out. He was holding a sword in his hands. Right away, he reminded me of Sensei, not only because of his sword, but the way he was standing, with his feet wide apart and his knees slightly bent. He was ready to fight. I wasn’t afraid though, because he looked like a gentle man, and I was unarmed. I felt confident he wouldn’t attack an unarmed man. A boy about ten years old took a step outside the door and stood behind him.
“Who are you? What do you want?” said the man. He had a sharp Japanese accent but I was glad he spoke English.
“I am sorry to bother you,” I said. “I need help.”
The man’s face softened immediately, but he still looked suspicious. “Why do you need help? Are you sick? Why are you outside? Don’t you know there is contamination?”
“Yes. I know. I am not sick, but my friend needs help. He is trapped inside a ship. I need to find a dive shop where I can rent scuba gear. I cannot find one in your city. Do you know where there is a dive shop?”
I spoke slowly, and the man listened carefully to everything I said. He thought about it for a while before he answered.
“Where are you from?”
“Canada.”
“How did you get here?”
“I sailed here.”
“Do you have a boat?”
“I have a submarine.” Normally I wouldn’t tell people that, but I knew that if I hoped to win his help, I’d have to earn his trust. And I’d do that better if I told him the truth.
“The man I need to rescue is an old man.”
“How old?”
“A hundred years old.”
He made a strange face. I wasn’t sure he believed that, but I was being completely honest with him, and I think he could feel it.
“He is a ninja,” I said, hoping that would make a difference.
It did. The man’s face went pale. He just stood and stared at me with a kind of shocked expression. Then he slid open the door. “These are strange days. Please come inside.”
So I followed them into the studio, which was in the back of their apartment. There were a few small candles lit with mats on the floor. “Come in,” repeated the man, and he led me through the studio into the front of the apartment where there were two very small bedrooms, a kitchen, and a small living room. It was clean and tidy. “I am Yoshi,” he said. “This is Katsuo.” He pointed to the boy. I couldn’t tell if he was his son, or his younger brother. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thank you very much.” I was dying of thirst.
While I sat at the small wooden table, Yoshi put a kettle on the stove, prepared a teapot with loose tea, and put out three small cups. He didn’t speak until the tea was ready. The boy just sat on the other chair, staring at me the whole time. Finally, when the tea had steeped, Yoshi poured us each a cup, sat down, and stared into my face with great curiosity. “Please. Tell me about this old man.”
So I did. First, I explained who I was, where I had come from, and why I had come to Japan. I told him everything, hoping that
if I were completely honest, he would want to help me. Then I explained how I had come upon the old freighter, met Sensei, and how the tsunami had capsized and sunk the ship. Lastly, I explained what I was hoping to do.
“Amazing,” said Yoshi, when I was finished. “Do you know there is a legend about an old ninja who sails the sea on a ghost ship?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“I have grown up with this story. But you have seen him. Everything you say is true to the legend, except that the ship is said to be a ghost ship. Did you see ghosts?”
“No.”
“And the old man, do you think he is really one hundred years old?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Sensei means teacher. I am a sensei of martial art. So that is not the old man’s name. He was just telling you that he is your teacher.”
“He was my teacher. Do you know if there are any dive shops here?”
Yoshi shook his head. “No. There are no dive shops in Choshi. But I have a friend who dives. Maybe he will help you.”
“Do you think so? Do you think you could ask him?”
“I can ask him tomorrow.”
I felt a sudden panic. “Tomorrow will be too late! Is there any way you could ask him tonight? It is very important that I go back as soon as possible because Sensei will run out of air.”
Yoshi thought it over. “He won’t like it, but maybe we can ask him tonight.”
“I can give you some money.”
“No. No money. But my friend … he might like your money.”
“Okay.”
“You are very determined to save this old man.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that thousands of people have died in the tsunami?”
“Thousands?”
“Yes. Many more will die now because of radioactive poison. Maybe everyone will die. This is the worst thing that has ever happened. This is why you see no one in the street. Maybe you would be wiser to leave now. Maybe your old friend is already dead.”
“I think he is still alive.”
“The legend says that he is a ghost. Maybe he brought the tsunami. Do you think so?”
“No. He is just an old man.”
Chapter Fourteen
Once outside, I collected my sneakers and followed Yoshi through the streets to his friend’s house. Katsuo wanted to come, but Yoshi said no. We wore our jackets, hats and masks pulled tight. Yoshi wore gloves. I kept my hands in my pockets.
We went quickly, and didn’t talk along the way so we wouldn’t have to breathe as much. I was happy that Yoshi was trusting me. It gave me hope. I tried to imagine Sensei sitting inside the ship, in darkness. Was he meditating? Was he sleeping? Was he staying calm? Was he still alive, and would he still be alive when I got there? I wouldn’t know until I did.
After about half an hour we reached another house, went through a side gate, and Yoshi knocked loudly on the door. No one answered. “He doesn’t like to answer his door,” said Yoshi. He knocked again and again, more loudly, until the door finally opened, and a bigger man stuck his head out and said something in Japanese with an angry voice. Then he saw Yoshi, and a great smile replaced his angry look. They embraced, and the man questioned Yoshi with a soft, sweet voice. They spoke in Japanese, and the man stared at me on and off. I smiled and tried to look like somebody he could trust, but didn’t know if it was working. Finally he insisted we come in.
His name was Hitoshi. He didn’t speak English well, but he could understand it a little. Yoshi explained everything to him while we sat on cushions on the floor. Once in a while Yoshi said a word I understood, like “ninja” or “sensei,” and Hitoshi’s eyes opened wide. He asked Yoshi a bunch of excited questions that were probably about the legend they had both grown up with. Towards the end, Yoshi asked him a few pointed questions, and waited for a response between each one, but mostly Hitoshi was shaking his head, which didn’t look good. Finally Yoshi nodded in understanding, thanked Hitoshi, and turned to me. He had a sympathetic look on his face.
“He cannot help you because you are wanted by the police. He saw you on TV. If he is caught helping you, he will go to prison too, and there will be no one left to look after his parents. He must be here to look after his parents. He is very sorry. He hopes you understand.”
I felt crushed. I looked at Hitoshi and saw his apologetic face. I nodded that I understood. “Can he tell me where I can get scuba gear? Would he let me borrow his?”
Yoshi spoke to Hitoshi again, then answered me. “He has scuba gear, but he cannot help you. He is very sorry.”
“Does he know where else I might be able to get some?”
“No one will want to help you because you are a criminal. I don’t think it will be possible for you to get any scuba gear. Hitoshi wants to know if you saw the old ninja jump. Could he jump over walls?”
I stared at Hitoshi. I felt a little angry because he wouldn’t help, angry that there was a justice system that wasn’t really just. I was believed to be a criminal just because I had tried to stop people from killing whales, the most beautiful creatures on the planet. I felt so angry inside, but I knew that I couldn’t show that now. I had to try to win these guys over to help me. “Yes, he can jump over walls. He can jump eight feet into the air.”
“Did you see him do it with your own eyes?”
“Yes.”
Hitoshi smiled like a little boy, and his eyes watered with excitement. But he would not help me.
Such a feeling of desperation rose up inside of me. I asked Hitoshi if I could just see his scuba gear. He frowned. “You want to see it?” said Yoshi.
“If you don’t mind. I have never scuba dived before. I have done a lot of free diving. I can hold my breath for four minutes and dive to one hundred feet.”
Yoshi nodded his head towards Hitoshi. They were impressed with that.
“Scuba diving: is it difficult?”
Hitoshi frowned, and answered in very broken English. “Not … difficult, but … no mistake. Follow rules … not difficult … but … no mistake.”
“Do you have a book about it?” I asked.
Hitoshi nodded.
Yoshi and I followed Hitoshi into a basement room where I saw several tanks, masks, snorkels, fins, and wet suits lying around on the floor. Hitoshi was not clean and tidy like Yoshi. He went to a small bookshelf and pulled out a book that had lost its cover. He handed it to me. One part was in Japanese, one in German, one in Spanish, one in French, and one in English. He opened it to a page with tables.
“Follow rules … or … many sickness.”
I glanced at the page. I read the word, Narcosis. “What is narcosis?”
“Like … very drunk,” said Yoshi. “Hitoshi says you must take a scuba diving course … or you die.”
“I understand. Can I at least borrow this book?”
Yoshi asked Hitoshi. Hitoshi shrugged, and handed me the book.
“Thank you. I promise I will never tell anyone where I got it,” I said.
Hitoshi looked genuinely sorry. Then, just before we left the room, he went to a small window at the top of the wall. I watched as he reached up and unlocked it. He turned and said something to Yoshi. Yoshi relayed it to me. “Hitoshi says that it is not his fault if he is robbed.”
“What?” I wasn’t sure I understood what I had just heard. But the two men dropped their heads, and would not say any more.
Chapter Fifteen
On the way back to Yoshi’s house I paid close attention to the streets so that I could find my way back to Hitoshi’s. I had been invited to rob him. That’s what he meant. No other explanation made any sense. Why would he have unlocked the window while I was there, and said what he said? I guess it was the only way to give me what I needed, while still protecting himself. He could then honestly declare he had not helped me, that he had, in fact, been robbed.
But I had to rob him. And I wasn’t looking forward to that.
It wasn’t easy to
memorize the way because so many of the streets looked the same to me. But there was one house with dragons on the corners of the fence, and once I found that on my return, I’d know I was close.
Yoshi did not speak on the way back, but I think he was feeling badly that Hitoshi could offer me help only in this weird way. There was one more thing I had to ask Yoshi: could I use his telephone to make a long-distance call? I would reverse the charges of course. He thought about it for a while, and I was afraid he was going to say no, but he said yes.
When we got back, he led me into the small kitchen where his telephone was. While he went into another room with Katsuo, I made a call to Ziegfried and Sheba.
Sheba picked up the phone on the other side of the world. She was like a mother to me. The older I got, the more I felt that. As I heard her loving voice come through the phone, I pictured her standing in the kitchen of her home, on her own little island in Bonavista Bay, Newfoundland, and my heart began to thump with emotion. I wanted to be there now, and sit down with her and Ziegfried at the kitchen table to drink tea and talk about my travels, to hear everything that was new in their lives.
They were married now. I had seen them in India, where they travelled for their honeymoon. But now they were back home, surrounded by the animals and birds and plants they lived with, on their tiny island in the sea. They were the very best people in the whole world, and I missed them so much.
I found it difficult to speak without my voice breaking. Sheba had a way of stripping away all my defences just with the sound of her voice.
“Alfred! I am so happy to hear from you! Happy Birthday to you! How I wish we could have shared it with you. Where are you, my darling boy? How are you? Are you eating well? Are you safe? When are you coming home? You should be here now already. We miss you so much. The cats miss you. The dogs miss you. The goats and birds miss you. Please tell me you are on your way home now.”
I took a deep breath and tried to answer without my voice cracking. “I am okay. I miss you, too. I wish I were there. I am coming home as soon as I can. I am in Japan right now.”
