The Same in
Japanese
Part 2
It's 7:30 at night. I leave the office
and walk toward Shinjuku train station. It's close to
my office, but I have to go through Box City. The
homeless people live there. A man sits in a Panasonic
TV box. He takes off his shoes and put s them on
again—the smell! He wipes his hand on his dirty
pants, then takes his shoes off, and puts them on
again. And again. Another person sits in an opened-up
Sanyo refrigerator box. Inside, three small boxes make
a bookcase. I wonder what books are in the bookcase.
Would the homeless read Hemingway?
I’m walking and thinking about books. Then I notice:
there are hundreds of homeless walking in front of me in a
long line. I've never seen them like this. Usually they
just stay in their boxes. I cover my mouth and nose and
walk quickly—the smell!! I try not to look at them,
but they're in my way. Their hair is dirty, their clothes
old and gray. The smell is terrible! I feel sick. I can't
get to the station. I'm almost crying. Why now? Why are
they here now? What do I do? I can't walk through them. Oh,
no!
Then I notice the man at the front of the line.
He sits on a broken chair on a board with wheels. The
others push him. His hair is strange, like one of those fat
sumo wrestlers. A bamboo stick is at his side like a sword.
He looks like a king or a samurai—a dirty, broken
samurai. He looks at me and our eyes meet. For some reason,
I calm down a bit. He's old. He's sick, dying maybe. I feel
sick.
Someone walks between us and I lose sight of him. The line
of homeless people passes and I can finally get into the
station. I go to the washroom and wash my hands. I start to
cry so I hide in a toilet stall with the door shut. When I
stop crying, I come out and wash my hands again. And again.
--------
When I get home, I take a shower. But I still remember the
smell, the sick feeling, and the samurai’s eyes.
I call my boyfriend. “Busy?”
“I’m sorry. I have to go home tonight.”
“But I feel sick. Please come.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. Sorry…”
I put down the phone, sit down and cry again.
