It took a few more cries of “hello” and “sensei” together before I really understood that it was I who was being addressed. After all, I was not a licensed educator, and was not expecting to receive the title more appropriate for one who is. But the coupling of that title with the English greeting, and the fact that there were no other foreigners within 20 miles of where I stood, made it unmistakable that the hailing was for me. But even then, scanning a crowd of people for someone you have never seen before, when everyone is making a commotion of some kind or another, is not an easy task. Not to mention that to my unadjusted eyes, everyone looked so overly similar with their dark hair, sitting cross-legged on the ground around a hibachi, smiling, laughing, and gesticulating with a pair of chopsticks in their hands.
Perceiving my failure to locate her properly, my caller finally stood up and began waving her arms at me. This clearly had an unsettling affect on groups seated around her, which she seemed to either take no notice or simply not care. In any case, the ring of seated people staring apprehensively at her flailing made her all that much easier to identify.
She looked to be in her late 50’s, was short and plump, with short, tight, light brown curls adorning her head which bounced in delight at seeing my recognition of her. She quite literally shimmied her way, hands pointed perpendicularly out from her torso as she danced through seated groups of people, out to the edge of the tarps to greet me. This singular movement alone had me wondering with whom I had to deal. But I had little time to ponder as upon reaching me, she immediately seized my right hand with both of hers and began shaking it furiously and giggling uncontrollably.
Then in a voice that was exactly the same volume she used to get my attention from within a crowd of people 10 meters away she said in English, “Hellllloooow!” Then after a fresh bout of giggling, “My NAAAME izZU MEEE-ki-KOH MAH-tsu-NO!” she bellowed and then cackled hysterically, bits of spittle and food flying out of her mouth. A grain of rice in caught her attention as it landed on her sleeve and she hastily picked it off with her hand and put it back where it came from.
I was more than slightly bewildered at this point, and wasn’t sure if she thought I was hard of hearing, or if she was. Assuming the latter, and with both her hands still latched onto mine, I replied, “Hellllloooow! My NAAAME izz JYER-ed BOH-sen!” Her head tilted to one side and her faced winced in the pain of incomprehension so I tried again, this time with a more Japanese pronunciation. “JYE-re-DO, BOH-sen!”
She mimetically repeated it back to me at the exact same volume, her lips puckering like a giant fish with each ‘o’ sound.
“YES!” I said, to her extreme delight and she once again began giggling uncontrollably.
Not sure how to respond to this behavior, I said simply, “NICE to MEEET YOU!” and bowed.
Mrs. Matsuno’s giggling came to an immediate halt. Her hands unclasped from mine, and in a movement of extraordinary feminine elegance, gently overlapped them at a 30 degree angle and with the fingers straight and closed, placed them lightly on her knees, which were also closed tightly together, and bowed deeply saying. “Nice to meet you,” in the gentlest and sweetest tone you can imagine. It was a fleeting moment of sincerity and respect that lasted only as long as her bow. For when she stood up again, she immediately resumed her initial candor.
“I LI-Bu IN NA-KA-Boh-Ree town!” she yelled, slapping herself hard in the chest to ensure I was clear she was the subject of this new line of conversation. “I STAH-Dee IN-GRISH!” On the syllable, “grish,” her eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets
“Wow! That’s great!” I said stupidly, and then in typical Japanese fashion, “Your English is very good!”
This compliment brought on another burst of violent cackling and Mrs. Matsuno waved her hand in front of her as if to swat my words away and then began a fit of coughing and hacking half doubled over. I was about to ask if she was alright when that wave of elegance suddenly swept over her once again and she stood straight up, cocked her head to the side and with only the faintest of smiles bowed and said simply, “Thank you.”
“Who is this person?” I thought to myself, “The local schizophrenic?” In a new town in a completely new country, I was very conscious of the danger of taking things too much on face value. In fact, I was half inclined to think that someone, Mrs. Matsuno or otherwise, was putting me on. But I couldn’t imagine any reason under the present circumstances why anyone would go to such lengths to harass me. Besides her act was so bizarre and the emotions so sincere, I finally concluded that she must just be naturally zany. Or as a co-worker put it later, “formally hospitalized.”
Suddenly her eyes lit up and she clasped her hands together right under her chin, her elbows held tight against the side of her body and her shoulders rose slightly as she inhaled a large breath of air in preparation to say. “SenSEI! DEW yUU Rai-KU Japa-NEEse SA-KE!” The words burst out with immense pleasure followed immediately by a huge braying laugh, “AHEEEee-he he he he he he he,” the sucking in of a new breath of air while laughing, “heeeeeeee,” punctuated by a giant hacking caugh.
“Uh…,” I hesitated, not sure if I should pat her on the back or assist her in some manner. “Yes. I like sake!”
“Eh?!” she stood bolt upright. “Japa-NEEse Sa-KE, OK?!” she yelled, her eyes bugging out.
“Yes! OK!”
“Ohhh!” She clasped her hands together in pleasure once again. Then grabbed my arm with her left, and with her right pointed and said, “Der izz Japa-NEEse Sa-KE!” Then giggling and cackling she led me over to the large, permanent concrete stage. There on one corner was a big wooden barrel with a removable wooden lid on top and the handle of a ladle sticking out.
Mrs. Mastuno opened the lid and grabbed a paper cup from a package hanging underneath the barrel. She put two big ladle-fulls in the cup and handed it to me. “He-ah YOU (her eyes bulged) Aaaah! Japa-NEEse Sa-KE!”
“Thank you very much!” I said taking the cup and bowing. However, not wishing to mistake whether this was a gift or I was being shammed into buying something, I asked, “How much is this!”
“Eh?!”
“How much?!”
“Ah!” A wave of comprehension spread over her face. “FuREEE! Yes. FuREEE! Dozo. Pu-REEZe!” she said, her hands palm up in front of her in a gesture of offering.
“Thank you very much!” I repeated, taking a drink to show her my acceptance of the gift.
She gave me one more delighted cackle and then, without even a bow, said simply, “Bye,” and before I could reply, she turned and danced her way back to where she came from, shuffling this way and that around groups of BBQers. It was beautiful and paradoxical to watch. How could someone speak and act with such coarseness simultaneously speak and move with such grace? I stood there in shock, still holding my full cup of sake, and watched her as she sat back down with her friends at her hibachi. She looked back at me and I raised my cup in thanks. From somewhere she took and raised an identical one of her own and waved. Had she been drunk, I wondered? I could almost hear her cackling reply.
I took a big swig and wandered away into the crowd. The sun was setting and the infield lights came on, a sign that soon the karaoke singer would be taking the stage. I met lots of other people, exchanged lots of smiles and laughs. But Mrs. Matsuno’s singular encounter seemed to dominate my thoughts. Later, I went to refill my sake cup and looked for her. But she was no longer there. I wondered when or if I would ever see her again. As my readers might have already guessed, I didn’t have to wait long.