The Parakeet Lady
The Parakeet Lady
In the spring, that idyllic period between Akita’s brutal snowy winters and its equally brutal muggy summers, there are a few days when the weather is so pleasant it compares to Eden. And on those rare days, we adjourn from our usual inside tables and congregate outside, where we can enjoy mild breezes coming off the Sea of Japan and soak up a bit of warm sunshine to relieve our tired and aging bones.
Well... in the interest of accuracy, maybe it’s a little more honest to say we enjoy soaking up some shade. Being fair skinned, it’s both healthier and more comfortable for us to stay out of the intense, direct sunlight that bathes northern Japan and to sit under the overhang instead. That being said, there’s no better place in Akita to enjoy warm weather and people-watching than under the Starbucks overhang. Our proximity to Akita Station provides an endless parade of Akita bijin for us to admire and a host of other interesting people for us talk to and talk about.
On this particular Friday, Paul had joined us and, because the weather was perfect, the beautiful young women of Akita were out in full force. There were hundreds of them walking past us, many in short skirts and high heels. The three of us were deeply impressed by their uncanny ability to carry a purse or shopping bag in one hand, while, almost effortlessly, using the other to keep the wind from revealing the better part of them. While our admiration continued unabated, after some time, the three of us began to realize that this wasn’t going to be a day of serious conversation. Still, we were okay with that, being perfectly content just enjoying the view.
We were, however, distracted from our distractions by the sudden appearance of a middle aged, glasses-wearing Asian woman who sat down at the next table. She was not wearing a short dress, but she had something even more interesting. In her hand she carried a small bird cage, and in the small bird cage was a small bird; a blue parakeet. She also had a dog on a leash.
Now, the sight of gaijin rarely raises an eyebrow in cosmopolitan cities like Tokyo and Kobe. In those places, we aren’t the curiosities we are in the backwater towns of Tohoku. Even Akita, one of Japan’s core cities because of its size and population, remains, at heart, as provincial a Japanese town as any tourist trying to discover the “real” Japan could hope for. Thus, the sight of three fair-skinned, blue-eyed, white-haired foreigners gathered together at an American-style coffee house is not a common occurrence. Instead, it’s the stuff of folklore and the basis of legends: to be cherished and passed down, with appropriate embellishments, from generation to generation.
Our bespectacled Asian woman, therefore, understandably had to address us. Allowing her curiosity to get the better of her, and overcoming any shyness she might have had, like so many others who have seen us over the years, she bravely struck up a conversation with us. In broken English, she explained that she was from South Korea and that she had recently moved to Akita, where she acquired her dog and her parakeet. She had some errands to run near Akita Station and noticed us. She wanted to know what the three European types were doing here.
We all decided to indulge her. After recounting for the upteenth time the old stories about how we all ended up in Japan, we wanted to talk about the parakeet, which was a lot more interesting. We were able to learn that she had been trying to teach her young parakeet to talk, but, so far, she hadn’t had any luck.
Just then, as happens a lot in Japan, owing to a diet rich in beans, cabbage, bulk and vegetable fiber, an unmistakable sound, accompanied by an unmistakable aroma, erupted somewhere in the vicinity of our group.
Tim was the first to react. “Someone farted!” Trying not to laugh, Larry added, “And it’s pretty ripe.” Then, for reasons unknown, the parakeet lady suddenly gathered up the bird and dog, apologized for leaving, bid us a hasty goodbye, and walked off.
We thought we had seen the last of her, but, ten minutes later, she returned, seemingly with neither dog nor bird. She apologized for being rude and leaving so quickly. We asked her what happened to her animals. The dog, it turned out, was now in a black, purse-shaped carry bag she had come into town to purchase for him. The parakeet was safely in his cage, snugly inside a white shopping bag that had contained the dog carrier purse she had just purchased. She was happy to have met us, and thanked us for the conversation. We, too, said our goodbyes, and watched her walk off toward Akita Station.
As she walked away, we heard a little voice coming from the shopping bag. Between whistles, it spoke very quickly and very distinctly, saying, “Someone farted. Someone farted. Someone farted. And it’s pretty ripe.”
Copyright (c) 2020 Lawrence Gordon