Typhoon Buffoon
...written on 07.10.02, @ 11:43 p.m.
Wed July 10, 2002
Just before I was leaving to go to work today, I saw that my floor by the window was soaked. Upon closer inspection, I could see that there was a stream of water coming in from the outside on my tv cable. It has been raining steadily for the past 24 hours, and since we're expecting a typhoon tonight, I sent a short mail via my cell phone to my boss to tell him I was going to be late for work.
I went downstairs to find the landlady, but she didn't answer the bell. I went next door to her mother's antique shop and saw the old lady there sitting alone. I stepped in to try and explain my situation. Luckily, I had written a note with a few words and some cartoon faces on it detailing the problem, so I left it with the landlady's mother and then went shopping for groceries.
When I came out of the store, it was pouring rain. I shifted my two plastic bags to one hand and grabbed my umbrella. I walked for a ways under the awning and then decided to take the underground stairway so I could cross the street without getting my shoes wet. It was very slippery down there though, so I had to take baby steps as I wondered which would have been better, having wet shoes or falling and breaking my neck under the street.
I got home to find the landlady and her husband outside of my apartment. They came in and took a look and babbled amongst themselves and then babbled at me, and I tried to help as much as I could. I then heard them mention a name that sent my heart leaping for joy. "Obata-san".
Obata-san is my foxy neighbor. He's a handyman type and I've been to his apt once. I wrote about it in "An Apartment with Soul". We have met each other in the hallway here and there, but it's been just a brief hello and that's it. I've been wondering how best to break the ice and now it seems I was faced with such an opportunity.
The landlords left saying they would call Obata-san and would all come over and look and see what they could do. Not too long after, I heard footsteps, voices and then knocking. I opened the door to Obata-san who looked like he had just been roused out of a hundred year slumber, but come to think of it, he always looks that way. Maybe it's the artist in him.
Everyone tramped in and huddled around the puddle. Obata-san then opened the window and leaned out to take a look at how the water was making it's entry. The landlady, fearful that he might take a plunge into the street, stuck her hand down the back of his pants and held on to him as he leaned out (wish I had thought of that). Obata-san tinkered at full tilt over the street and pointed out the problem to the landlords. When he was finished, the landlady pulled him back in and gave him a towel to dry off with.
Then it happened. I saw him sort of touch his shirt, kind of tentatively, and then I said to myself "He's going to take it off!" Maybe I even willed him to do it (I have found my mind to be a very powerful thing), but whatever, he reached around his sides and slipped off his wet T-shirt.
I am so glad no one was watching me. I was not cool at all. I was trying to hide a lust-filled satisfied smirk and I wasn't doing a very good job. I quickly took in his pale hairless not very defined chest and abdomen and then admired the soft contour of his upper arms. Still not looking at me, he modestly clutched his shirt to his chest as he passed in front of me, letting it drop again when he got to the other side. The landlord was trying to tell me something and since I looked confused, Obata-san chimed in with a little English and I laughed and touched him lightly on the arm. Everyone then left enmasse, bowing and apologizing.
I didn't have to go to work after all due to the typhoon warning, but here it is, almost 11pm and I haven't seen a drop of rain since late this afternoon.
Last night, however, was a different story, as I left Brian, John, John's mother and sister at Bizen. A gray curtain of rain was ricocheting about a foot off the road. I put on my helmet and my yellow rain poncho and off I pedaled, hooting and yehaa-ing like a cowboy in a rodeo. My shoes got soaked, but a night in front of the fan did wonders for them.
I made some tabouli tonight and was going to take it over to Obata-san, but I waited until too late. I'll give it to him tomorrow.
Anyway, the wet T-shirt number reminds me of one of my adventures on a train in Europe. I was going on the night train from Venice to Austria. I had already learned not to travel alone on the trains, so I sought out some company. I found two young Canadian men and a young woman who could speak German. The conductor had shown us to a compartment, switched on the light and bade us to sit down with the once-sleeping woman from Senegal. The boys got kind of noisy, especially when they pulled out the liquor they had in their bags. I didn't drink, so they had a lot between the three of them.
Sometime during the evening, the blonde Canadian stood up and took off his shirt. Now there was a lean and mean body! Even though my reaction was cooler that time, I'm pretty sure the woman from Senegal saw my pupils dilate.
It was miserable trying to sleep sitting up in the second class compartment, so I left my companions to take advantage of my first class ticket and found an empty compartment. I pulled out the seat closest to the window and stretched out to sleep.
The next thing I know, the blonde Canadian is leaning over me! I leapt up with my heart wildly pounding. He apolgized for scaring me and asked if he could stay with me for a while as it was a little uncomfortable in the other compartment. I said ok and we talked for a bit.
Our talking finally turned to kissing. His kisses were quite enjoyable and I was content with them until he said something that I considered ultra ridiculous. He said, "I promise to keep my clothes on."
Why in the world would he say that? I couldn't figure out what prompted it, and it just sent off a red flag, so I told him to leave. He was very shocked, but tried to hide it and kept on kissing me and repeating, "You just say the word and I'm gone."
"I am saying the word! Now, go please." I said finally. He gathered himself up and slunk out the door with a pout. I was very uneasy because I had been asleep before and hadn't heard him come in. I realized how vulnerable I was to him or to anyone for that matter, so as a lame precautionary measure, I pulled out the seat closest to the door, leaving the middle seat up, so that there was a space in between the two "beds". I turned off the light and closed my eyes.
After a few moments I heard the door slide open and then heard "Ouch!", as the blonde Canadian bumped his shins on the first bed. "You knew I was coming back didn't you?" he said with a laugh.
I let him sleep on the first bed as I cuddled up on the one in the corner by the window, wearing every stitch of clothing I had with me. He, on the other hand, was only in shorts and a T-shirt.
About 3 or 4 in the morning, the door was slammed open, the lights brutally turned on and we were brusquely asked for our passports by the Austrian border guards. To this day I wonder what was behind the intriguing expression of the border guard as he gave me back my passport after he surveyed the situation in the compartment.