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.
