Passengers on a Train

On the passage from Hakuba back to Tokyo, I enjoyed the scenery from my window seat. I recognized the clusters of Sugi trees, remarkably straight and tall. They would be good for making log cabins, or for beams in a house.

Ahead of me were two young boys, scrambling around like bear cubs. Little sibling ferrets, more like it. I decided to entertain them, hopefully to a calmer place. I pulled out my magic knife, waved it to get their attention, and demonstrated once again how white can become black, and back again. Engaged they were; calm they were not.

“I want to see your magic trick again!” one shouted. What had I started?

Their mother showed up at a stop down the line. I spoke briefly with her, learning that they are from Guam. I pointed out their straight but unusually brown hair. “American,” says the Mom. I assumed the father was American. Cute boys.

Trying my hand at friendly conversation, I said, “They are wrestling around like little baby animals!” Her face registered hesitation, then disapproval.

“What animals?” she asked sternly.

Oops! Quickly, I clarified, “Like bear cubs.” She seems satisfied with this answer and turned back to her brood.

Ahead of me on the other side, a young girl was playing. She seemed somewhere between spirited and feisty. Somewhat more cautiously, I showed her my trick. She approached, more with the look of a budding Samurai than shy girl. I tapped her on the head; she jumped back. Fearing she might think this more combative than playful, I tipped my head toward her. She responded as I had but with a more distinct swat.

At this point, her mother appeared with a rather shocked expression on her face. Having no words to explain, I watched the youngster being dragged back to her seat. So now I was getting young girls into trouble. Great cultural communication, Jim!

Toward the end of the train ride, a young woman boarded, holding a child on her chest. She looked weary from her day’s tasks; yet there was no place for her to sit in the full car. Many men were seated, some younger than she. No one offered a seat. Perhaps transit competition outweighed a sense of chivalry.

At the next stop, no seat became available. Tired, I looked at the greater exhaustion on her face. I rose. A mother and child rested, both having time to nod off. This was good. Later the net departing passengers opened a space for me on the last leg into Tokyo: a tangible as well as spiritual reward.