“Sam!”
He spun round when he heard Tara calling him.
“Sam, thank goodness! Are you okay?” her voice was concerned.
“I’m fine. Are you okay? Helen? Have you seen her? What about Paul and Yoshi?”
“Yeah, we’re all fine. It’s okay. Well, Helen was knocked out by a falling TV of all things. She has concussion, but she’s being released now.”
“What? They’re sending her home even though she’s got concussion?” Sam had been concussed enough times to know that people were usually kept in for observation, often overnight.
Tara rolled her eyes. “Trust me, Sam. She’ll be better off at home; it’s chaos in there. We just need to get her a taxi.”
Sam frowned. “But she could slip into a coma in the night; she could…”
Tara grabbed his hand and held it tightly, forcing him to look into her eyes.
“I know, Sam, I know. But I mean it when I say she’s better off with us looking after her. I’ll sleep the night in her room, so if anything happens I’ll be right there. She’ll be fine. Now stop panicking and get us a cab. Okay?”
At that moment a pale-faced Helen walked slowly towards them, supported on either side by Yoshi and Paul.
Her voice, however, was calm and full of its usual warmth and humour.
“Hi, Sam! Good to see you. Are you okay? You look like crap warmed up.”
Sam laughed, relieved to see Helen was her old self.
“Thanks! I just took two trains and ran nine blocks to get here and you insult me!”
Helen smiled sweetly. “How many blocks do you usually run to be insulted?”
“I’ll get that cab,” he said.
“Good idea!” she smirked.
Eventually they all piled into a taxi and Yoshi fired off the directions. The cab driver looked relieved to have a native speaker amongst the self-loading cargo.
“God, that was an experience I could have done without,” said Helen, rubbing a lump the size of a hen’s egg on the back of her head.
“What happened?” said Sam.
Helen wrinkled her forehead.
“I was in my classroom when the earthquake started and, lucky bugger that I am, I happened to be standing underneath the one thing that could actually do me some harm: an old TV screen that was sitting on a shelf. I wasn’t out long, a few seconds maybe, but the school insisted they call an ambulance. I was impressed how quickly one came but, really, they’re just drivers, not paramedics like at home. They dropped me off at the entrance and I had to wait in a queue. I must have waited about three hours and then got a three minute consultation with a doctor who looked about 12 years old and didn’t speak much English. Thank god Tara and Yoshi turned up when they did, or I’d still be there.”
“Yeah,” said Tara. “Someone from Helen’s school had phoned Frau Brandt’s office and got a message to me. It was just lucky that I was sent home from school early today because of the quake. I left messages for you guys but I bumped into Yoshi just as I was leaving for the hospital. You little beauty!”
She gave Yoshi’s cheek a squeeze and Sam couldn’t help noticing the jealous look in Paul’s eye that quickly gave way to a tight smile.
“I’m so lucky to have met all of you,” said Helen, tiredly.
“Sure, no problem, mom!” said Paul, raising his eyebrows.
“You spend all your time looking after us,” said Tara, her voice soft with sincerity. “It’s nice to return the favour.”
When they finally arrived back at the hostel, Sam and Yoshi volunteered to get some take-out noodles, then they all squeezed into Helen’s tiny room, eating and chatting – until she begged them all to go away and let her sleep.
“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “Tara’s going to look after me; I just need to rest.”
Yoshi and Paul headed back to their rooms and Sam dragged himself to the shower block. All he wanted to do was sleep, but the heat and dust of the day had left him feeling gritty. He let the hot water run down his back and wondered, not for the first time, if it were possible to fall asleep whilst standing up in a shower.
When he could barely keep his eyes open any more, he shut off the tap, wound a towel around his waist and trudged back to his room.
He’d nearly made it to the door when he noticed Tara waiting in the corridor.
“Is Helen okay?” he said, a sudden rush of adrenalin burning through him, his brain immediately alert.
“Oh, sure. She’s fine,” said Tara, quietly. “Don’t worry.”
“Okay, then,” said Sam, breathing out slowly.
He waited for her to say something else about Helen but instead she said, “I was worried about you today – when you didn’t show up at the hospital. And you don’t have a mobile so I couldn’t call you, and I didn’t know… if you were hurt… or anything.”
She bit her lip as if she really wanted to say more, but something held her back.
Sam’s lips twisted in an awkward smile and he shrugged.
“I had to do some first aid on some of the pupils and then there were long queues for the trains. I didn’t get back here till gone seven. I came as soon as I saw your message…”
“I was worried,” she said, taking a step towards him.
He looked up at her, reading her expression.
Suddenly Paul’s door opened. His eyes narrowed when he saw them together.
“What’s up?”
Tara looked away. “Nothing,” she said. “Helen’s asleep now. I’ll stay with her – just in case. Night, guys.”
Sam watched her as she walked away but Paul’s eyes were on him.
“Sam?” Paul’s voice was cold.
“Yeah?”
“Are you making a move on Tara?”
Sam looked at his friend, feeling annoyed. “We were just talking.”
Paul didn’t reply, but turned back into his room and slammed the door.
Sam stared and stood outside Paul’s door, hesitating for half a minute, before shaking his head and closing his own door against the world, and the tiredness that threatened to engulf him.
Sam’s Blog
Hi everyone!
I’ve just survived my first earthquake! It was pretty, intense but although it was a 4.5 there wasn’t much damage that I could see. Helen got knocked out when a TV fell on her (‘perils of the media age’, she says) so I got to experience a Japanese hospital. I can’t say it filled me with any desire to return: it was a bit like Friday night at the Royal Free after chucking out time. Maybe more disorganised than that. Helen was okay, but with a Hackney-sized headache. Anyway, don’t panic Fi – I’m fine.
Ok, now I’m going to answer the burning question that you’ve all been bugging me with: what is karaoke like in Japan? Short answer: like nothing else! Did I sing? Maybe ‘sing’ is too specific a verb: suffice to say, I partook…
Paul led the way to a typical karaoke bar in the Shinjuku district, which is an area for nightlife and clubs of all kinds. He’d wanted to go to Lovenet in Roppongi, which has the infamous Aqua Suite featuring an oversized bath for up to six singers, (your kind of place, Keith) but I think he’d had enough of spa treatments after going to the onsen at Odaiba last weekend. I’d say more, but then he’d have to kill me.
We were going to a place called Big Echo, which is part of a karaoke chain, like MacDonalds with microphones, but as we were walking down the street we were accosted by a shifty-looking spiv in a mac, smoking a roll-up cigarette (you don’t see that often in Japan – he might have been channelling Humphrey Bogart?). Apparently there are a lot of karaoke touts around here because it’s such big business. He wanted to charge us ¥600 for half an hour but Yoshi negotiated it down to ¥500 including all our drinks (which worked out about £4 per person for half an hour). Pretty cheap compared to most nights out in Tokyo – and way cheaper than the hostess bars. Go, Yoshi!
We were put in a cheap-looking room with vinyl settees arranged around booths, and three or four groups of salarymen who had already been knocking back the old sake, and had their ties around their heads like bandanas (see photos for evidence of cliché).
You could choose from hundreds of songs but the most popular ones were at the top of the list: everything from Eminem to Aretha Franklin. Then one guy in the booth next to us jumped up and dragged Paul and Yoshi up to the front and got them to sing Bowie’s ‘Rebel Rebel’, although only the tune gave it away – I have
no idea
what words the salaryman guy thought he was singing. It sounded a bit like ‘Leper, Leper’.
There was an applause-meter scored out of 100 and those out-of-tune gits got 98! (Ok, so the score is based on noise not ability, and Helen and Tara were howling like banshees – I think I burst an eardrum.)
The mama-san bar owner brought over a bottle of something she said was whiskey (it tasted like she’d distilled it the day before) and we shared it out with everyone there. Then I got dragged up to sing ‘My Way’ (the video has been destroyed, so don’t even think about it), and I stumbled and fumbled and mangled my way through Frank’s magnum opus in a way that would have him spinning. Actually, I think it was closer to Sid Vicious than Sinatra, but at least I didn’t have to do it sober (or, as Tara so elegantly put it, ‘boozed up like a dunny budgie flat-out lizard drinking’. Don’t ask, cos I have no clue either).
It was sweaty, smoky, and the song seemed to last about two hours; I was eyeing the doors in case there were any Sinatra fans and I had to make a quick exit.
But the funniest thing was seeing Yoshi sing Celine Dion falsetto – that was before he accidentally headbutted a strobe light. And every time Tara got up to sing, the salarymen were shouting ‘Kitte! Kitte!’ which meant they wanted her to join them – they were literally dancing on the tables when she sang ‘Hit me baby one more time’. I thought the mama-san would have to call the police, but apparently that’s an ordinary night out in Shinjuku and three hours later everyone filed out in good order. So, except for this blog, karaoke etiquette demands that what happens in the karaoke room, stays there.
Karaoke Haiku
Songs without tunes
Words without meaning
More sake will make music flow.
Thank you and good night. Elvis has left the building.
Sayonara!
A knock at Sam’s door pulled him from a deep, dreamless sleep.
He squinted at his wrist watch in the fragile light of dawn: 4.30 am.
“Yeah, who is it?” he called hoarsely.
“It’s Helen. I’m sorry to bother you – can I come in?”
Helen? At this hour?
“Er, hang on a minute.”
He pulled a pair of shorts from a heap of clothes next to his futon, and, dragging a hand through his hair, opened the door.
“Are you okay? What’s up?” he asked, taking in her rather frazzled appearance.
She pulled her dressing gown around her more tightly and frowned up at him.
“I’m really sorry to bother you so early – I couldn’t sleep… I just needed to talk. Can I come in for a minute?”
He opened the door wider and she peered in.
“Oh, I really did wake you up, didn’t I? I thought… well, you usually get up early to swim, so…”
“I’d have been up in another half an hour anyway,” he lied. “Don’t worry about it. Er… do you want to sit down?”
“Thanks.”
She stepped through the door and lowered herself to his futon, leaning back against the wall. Silently, Sam sat down next to her, waiting for her to speak.
“Malcolm is arriving today,” she said. “I’m meeting him at the airport at three.”
Sam nodded. He already knew this; for days now Helen had talked about little else except the arrival of her husband.
She paused and suddenly dropped her head into her hands. Sam froze, horribly afraid that she was going to start crying.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it, Helen?” said Sam, gently. “I mean… I thought you were looking forward…”
“I am, I am,” she interrupted him quickly, her voice sounding slightly strangled. “It’s just… I haven’t seen him for nearly a year and I feel sort of… I don’t know, nervous. God! I feel so stupid talking about this to you – you’re younger than my son, for goodness sake.”
Sam wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.
“I was just wondering…” she went on, clearly embarrassed, “I was just wondering, how would you feel, do you think, if your girlfriend turned up to see you?” She hesitated. “What would you do?”
Sam frowned. “Run, probably. Anyway, she’s my ex-girlfriend and we were together for less than six months; it’s not like you and Malcolm.”
“Then why do I feel so… nervous? His last email was so strained…” she said, panic leaking through her voice.
Sam felt horribly out of his depth. He was also wondering why Helen had picked
him
for marriage guidance.
“Well, I guess… I mean, it’s the longest you’ve ever been apart, isn’t it?”
She nodded slowly.
“If it was me…” he said, carefully, “I guess I’d be worried that… well… that you weren’t going to come back – to come home.”
Helen looked at him, half hopefully. “Do you really think that’s it?”
“Look, Helen, I don’t know Malcolm, but I don’t think many blokes would fly halfway around the world to say they don’t want to see you.”
She almost smiled. “I know, I know. I’m being so stupid. You must think I’m crackers.”
“Yes, but only in a good way.”
She laughed. “You’re such a sweetie, Sam. I’m glad you were awake for me to talk to. okay, so I’m glad I woke you up. I’ll go now and let you get your beauty sleep. Not that you need it.”
Sam stood up and helped Helen to her feet; she groaned as her knees protested.
“Malcolm is going to hate futons,” she sighed.
She was halfway through the door when she paused.
“By the way, what’s with you and Paul? He seems a bit… off with you.”
Sam frowned, suddenly finding the floor of great interest. “It’s nothing.”
“Hmm,” said Helen. “Well, it didn’t look like nothing at the karaoke evening; he barely spoke to you.”
Sam sighed and looked up. “He thought I was hitting on Tara; I wasn’t. He got the wrong end of the stick. That’s it: end of story.”