The Long Highway Pt. 05

Another example of events veering out of control.

Akemi came back from a trip to Japan and we were so busy with friends we didn't even have time to fuck and I didn't see when we could, hadn't the first night and probably wouldn't the second either. They were staying over again.

Akemi walked across the living room naked. I guess she was still feeling like she was in Japan- au naturel. She saw me gaping at her- god, her breasts looked good, her nakedness, the dynamism, how she was put together, contours against the white plaster of the wall she moved close to, almost as if keeping a distance to me, fearing my gaping eyes- lol- she hadn't realized the response I'd have after her weeks away and the night of her return, a rough one with her pals out on the guest futon.

We went for another foray into the city. I was feeling so exhausted from the first day's that I didn't remember the way we were going, sightseeing to a part of town I never went, far afield for anyone but those who lived there and, of course, tourists. But Akemi's friends knew the route well, as did Akemi, having studied the travel guide. She lives here but can quickly switch back to the vantage point of a tourist, enjoys doing that with visitors from her country.

I'd hardly slept at all, remember. No doubt that clouds my perception of what follows, likely enhances it, as when you look through rain droplets and colors look stronger, otherworldly.

The underground train system here can feel eerily detached from the earth even on your most lucid days, maybe especially then.

Not a bus ride as I'd guessed, walking groggily, but the subway, F line, long way down, lot of commuters heading the same direction then, pouring one by one, making a collective flow, all at roughly the same speed- fast- to stairs through an opening in the sidewalk like a throat swallowing them all- like a regurgitation in reverse. From the frantic business of midtown, we plummet headlong and disappear, leave behind its broad sun-struck avenue sided by glass and steel skyscrapers- one of my favorite zones in the city, come to think of it. The monoliths are set far enough off the pavement to give a sense of open space. They seem to move against the sky when you look up, to soar. And your spirits tend to as well at that sight. The air feels fresher than in other neighborhoods. There's a thrill in joining the crowd yet keeping your anonymity, walking as a proud individual amid fellow citizens, office workers who seem to live and breathe brisk efficiency, positivity. Even that morning I felt good being part of the momentum, en route to a future full of promise. The city at its best offers that. The skyscrapers give a sense you're near the stratosphere, the sidewalk linked to worlds beyond. Life feels free and open, I mean.

But if you live here long enough, of course you also encounter the city at its worst. Doesn't take long at all, in fact.

Descending the first flight of stairs, leaving the sharp daylight behind, you enter a thin grey florescent zone, sort of mezzanine, ante room between train routes, stay there only for the few steps needed to reach a second staircase leading further down toward the single set of tracks shared by the F and the D. Signs in primary colors pointed the way to other lines and I hoped the crowd would thin out, people disperse, but that didn't happen. The F seemed to attract the majority like a magnet.

A train was pulling into the station as we arrived on the platform and we rushed, the four of us. Losing sight of our friends, I urged Akemi toward the first car, thinking it would be less jammed, but a stream of people had the same idea, rushed with us, like a stream of minnows, I thought in my out-of-it state, streaming unstoppable, the full force of numbers brought to bear. If a train with open doors hadn't been there, you'd have felt at risk of being pushed onto the tracks by the heedless passengers, some of whom seemed to view others' lives as less consequential than their quest for a seat on the train (little chance of that; through the door, even at the acute angle I could see the thing was already nearly full).

We pushed on. Recognizing my failed strategy, I'd thought of suggesting to Akemi we turn around and go to the next car, but she was heading forward and I too kept going. She assumed I still wanted the lead car and explaining to her my change of mind would have been too complicate, what with Akemi's limited English (even worse than usual after the weeks in Japan). There wasn't time for talk in any case. Navigation required all your attention. You couldn't even see the ground beneath your feet. The crowd got that dense. Pushing and pulling, it narrowed and built forceful toward the end of the platform, which tapered, making the last ten or so steps especially precarious.

Here's where double-pronged trouble started. Entering the car behind us was a guy we didn't see until he was right on us.Young guy in a light brown shirt, barging ahead, oblivious of anyone in his way- which first of all meant Akemi and me. He was Brazilian, I learned later- he and his friend spoke Portuguese. Advancing at speed, stocky, powerful upper body in and sturdy thighs (a soccer player?), he knocked against the top of my shoulder, hard. Contact was accidental but afterward he seemed pleased by it, maybe had even deliberately caused a harder collision than necessary when he saw one was inevitable. I'd really been shoved by the bastard. When he got to the relatively open space beyond Akemi and me, he looked back at us with a self-satisfied expression, as if assessing the effect his violence had left. He frowned and then smiled, mocking my apparent unwillingness to respond in kind. No, I wasn't about to start a fight.

I was thinking instead, "Okay, let's get out of here." I gestured to Akemi, who seemed to understand now, words not needed. With a nudge from me, she turned around as I did.

"Keep moving," I murmured. If only it were that easy. We'd barely started on our way back toward the door when progress stopped short, impeded by a guy who'd gotten on the car and rounded the corner directly into the path we were trying to navigate through the narrow aisle.

I'd hoped the newcomer- big bushy-haired guy, looked like a basketball player- would continue past us, but no such luck. It turned out he and the Brazilian in the tobacco-leaf brown jersey were friends and without waiting to join each other they immediately began a yelling conversation apparently resuming one before boarding the train, taking up where they'd left off- and it soon had them both in stitches. They may have been high. Who acts like that? The guy between us and the door stopped right where he was, stood his ground, blocking our way out, while his friend prevented any movement forward.

I thought it would still be possible to get off, believed there was time- the train had just pulled into the station, after all- but while Akemi and I were contemplating how to manage the feat, dodge the looming figure hanging from the straps on both sides, monopolizing the space- before we could act, that is, the train doors suddenly closed, much earlier than usual, it seemed to me! Ordinarily, passengers were given a minute or so to board at relative leisure. Not so here!

We were stuck, sandwiched between the two crazed guys and the rest of the crowd pressing us all together.

Lot of fun and laughs, only it wasn't from my point of view!

Another concern was that Akemi's friends visiting from Japan might not have reached the train, the doors hadn't stayed open long enough for them. They probably hadn't hurried, assumed subway conductors here would behave reliably, with consideration, as their counterparts in Tokyo did. All Akemi and I could do was wait for the next station- not near; that was an express train- and hope for the best, endure.

Akemi didn't seem concerned as I was. She really doesn't take city danger seriously, as I've said, feels nothing can happen to her. But those two guys with their eyes on her, gaping and meanwhile carrying on a conversation across us, talking through us, their loud voices, breath right in our faces, oblivious or intentionally, concerned me all right. Brazilians, Latin Americans in general, may have a different notion of personal space, but if they'd gotten any nearer they'd have been dancing a samba with Akemi.

Giving them the benefit of the doubt, they might not have been threatening, just having fun, or maybe they thought threatening and having fun were the same thing.

The scene reminded me of one in Japan, though the similarities were superficial. It was the first time I visited Akemi there. I was going to the subway, heading through the turnstile (what they have is slightly different- barriers pull out of the way to let you pass) when the station attendant in his white shirt and cap stepped in front of me, put his palm flat out, as if to physically block my way, as if convinced I'd try to push past otherwise. I still remember the soft, fatty hand held at chest height and the white of his shirt, which matched the walls (for some reason he wasn't wearing a uniform jacket).

"Stop!" he said. "You have to go around." Because I didn't have the right ticket, the one Japanese carried. I felt then that my mere presence there was an annoyance. I tried to talk pleasantly to the guy. You don't have to get so riled up, I wanted to say. I can understand and follow instructions. I'm a person like you. But he wasn't buying it- and wasn't small. I remember he had a concave chest- the white shirt gave that impression at least, but he still might have been hard to take in a fight, ha ha.

Of course he knew barely any English, looked very uncomfortable dealing with the language, irked that he had to- why couldn't foreigners just stay home? He had in his command only a few phrases, like "Stop" and "Go around." That partly explained his behavior, for sure. And I didn't know anywhere near enough of his language to handle the conversation.

Japanese society runs like a machine, smoothly, everyone a piece that fits and contributes to the seamless flow. Maybe you know that famous saying about the ruthless conformity: "The nail that stands up gets hammered down."

It happens here too, of course, but differently. I don't want Akemi to experience that, the rough guy who pushed me aside- or he and his friend both- hammering her.

But the thought of it, the threat and the horror (that word once more, Halloween aftermath) gave me a fierce hard-on. Picturing Akemi with two guys being had every which way.

Call me a bad husband, a bad guy. I'm trying to be honest and see where it leads, in words and deeds.

When I was teaching Akemi (speaking of learning a language) I used the phrase "up for grabs." It was in one of the first days with a new group while I was still trying to figure out how to approach the class. The colloquial expression came up in conversation apropos something or other unimportant to this story (as far as I can remember). You never know what will come out of your mouth when your job is to talk with people on and on through an hour and a half session.

Students didn't understand and I had to explain. The best way is through an example.

"Take a woman," I said, "who's still available, doesn't have a man in her life; it's unclear which, if any, she'll be with. She's 'up for grabs.' Get it?"

I realized that as I spoke I was looking directly at Akemi behind her desk in the middle distance of the classroom. She wasn't in front but centrally located. The short black skirt she wore that day was not her usual style, and I wondered if she had a date later. The fabric was tight, looked something like sharkskin- I have no idea what it's called, only that it bound her like a Hong Kong hobble skirt, bound her legs, which were crossed. My face must have burned bright red after talking about her being up for grabs. Or maybe not. I'm pretty good at keeping cool on the job. But Akemi, just by sitting there looking back at me, even poker-faced, brought on the heat.

Last night Akemi asked me the meaning of the phrase "dead heat" she'd come across in a book she's reading to improve her English (though the novel is Japanese in translation, not the best choice for her stated purpose).

"It means when people in a race are-" I began.

"I think I know," Akemi interrupted. "It's two runners who are both really good and-"

I cut her off in turn. "No, it's competitors who are almost even, so close you can't tell which will win. Like 'neck and neck.'"

Akemi didn't understand that last figure of speech either but got my point.

It struck me I'm in competition with Nelson, even though he's my former teacher, doesn't live here and has only met Akemi a handful of times.

I realize I'm talking too much about myself again. More soon about Akemi and her mission to be a good wife.