The Three Strike Law

Oka Goten - the historical building with flags. 

“That’s strike one,” said Junpei, when I knocked my coffee cup over, spilling all over the little tray and

a bit on the floor of the five-hundred year old historical landmark house. 

It was his idea to begin with. 

Junpei, who organizes events in town, suggested I come see the decorations put up for Golden Week, a series of invidual holidays strung together in order to get people to go to the movies during post-WWII Japan. (Says my English teacher.)

Shibahara-san, an older fellow with twinkling Tony Curtis eyes and a child-like frame, was there, manning the desk, and was so happy to see people, he jumped up and made coffee for me, which was nice. I tried to drink it, but he was also very intent on showing me everything that had been put up for the holiday, including a bunch of hand-painted flags from time out of mind, and a number of antique trinkets pulled out of the closet for the occasion.

“And this is a helmet! And this is an old-fashioned ice cream machine! And this is a cigarette box!”

A cigarette box, a button, a top, and a broken sword hilt.
It's like a treasure trove for a homeless man, from the Edo period.

At some point, the historical society had also acquired an accordian, an old-bed warmer, and a plastic crocodile (donated by Junpei).

In 1765, southern Japan was simply crawlin' with these guys.

Oh, the cultural significance of it all.

Shibahara-san was very excited about the tour. After we had covered both rooms, he sat me down to explain the stories on the various flags.

"Once upon a time, there was a man who went fishing. While he was fishing he came across a turtle. He met a turtle, or maybe he rescued a turtle from a net, or something. And the turtle took him down to a something something – a place where princes and princesses live,” he paused and look around.

“A castle.”

“RIGHT! A castle under the sea.”

Excitement is infectious. “I know this story, that’s the guy riding the –“ I exclaimed.

Crash, splash.

I turned around to point at the flag and knocked my china teacup right over. It poured the rest of my coffee out, over my hand, over the tray (mostly collecting there, happily enough), and splattering the floor.

Does coffee tint hardwood floors? Yikes.

Junpei chose this moment to explain about strikes and how I was now collecting.

“Now you have one. And do you know what happens when you get to three?’

nooo.

Shibahara-san and I mopped up the mess, and I am happy to say, he did not seem at all distressed.

(By the by, at the end of the story, the man returns to dry land after receiving a small box from the turtle, and wanders around his village where no one recognizes him. On learning that his father died of grief at his son’s disappearance, hundreds of years ago, the turtle-rescuer opens the box, out of which spring his lost years, and he shrivels up into an old old man and dies.)

It’s a Japanese fairy tale. What did you think was going to happen?

In an effort to make me feel totally at home, Shibahara-san reminded me to sign the guest-book. And old ojiichan (grandpa) who was wandering around the house at the same time added, “be sure to take a little flying helicopter.”

“Can you do this?” Shibahara-san picked up this cue and showed me how he could make it fly by twisting it together between his palms.

Little flying helicopters.

I tried and failed. The ojiichan came to my rescue as Shibahara-san scurried off to finish something else.

“No, no!” Ojii-chan chided me. “Like this. More power!” And with a vicious twist of his wrists, his helicopter went flying up to the roof.

“Like that, Mary. Do it like that,” Junpei egged me on.

I put more power into it. My little helicopter spun away and up into the air with fervor.

Whoosh whoosh, thwack!

Oh. My. Gah.

My helicopter had just popped a hole in the rice paper covering the lattice work on the top of the room.

If you look closely, you can see the hole. 

“Mary!” Junpei stared at me in shock. “We’re going to pencil in that you’re the one who did that.”

“Wait, I, what, the old dude said more power.” I looked around wildly, but  the ojichan absolutely deserted me here. I never even saw him leave, he was that quick. Guess you figure out who your friends are in times like these.

“That’s strike two,” J-kun warned me.

I sat down in the middle of the room with my hands folded on my lap. Junpei and Shibahara-san finished cleaning up and moving the temporary boards in place around the building.

When it was time to go, Junpei came to collect me, like an errant child, from my time-out.

“Say thank you,” he admonished.

“Thank you, Shibahara-san.” (I was going to do that anyway.)

“Say, ‘sorry’,” he added.

“Sorry, Shibahara-san.”

“Don’t mention it!” Twinkling eyes, laugh lines and all, Shibahara-san scurried off.

Junpei pulled the last sliding door into place. He turned the corner and grabbed the “open, come on in” sign out from in front of the house.

Crrrrrrk, chunk.

“Shimata!” (Oh, crap.)

Junpei had managed to knock the actual sign right off the signpost as he put it away.

“That’s strike one,” I told him.