Tuvalu Read Free Page B

be.’
    â€˜I imagine,’ I said, looking around, ‘it’d be very similar to this.’
    Mami clucked her tongue. She started to walk faster. When she resumed speaking, the haughty edge to her voice was gone. ‘Yes, but I mean, with nothing written down.’
    â€˜What difference does that make?’
    â€˜What difference?’ she parroted. But she did not answer.
    I was left with a vague unease following this conversation. I had never really broken the law. I had hardly broken a rule. This was not due to a concerted effort on my part, but more a result of my fearful nature. I disliked risk. The night we first met, it was mostly drink that gave me the courage to follow Mami home. But if, as Mami was suggesting, she had rarely observed a rule, how was I to proceed?
    We passed a theatre, or what might have been a theatre. The Japanese characters above the door looked a little like eigakan , but were not—not exactly. I looked for the two basic alphabets I knew, for hiragana or katakana , but there was mostly only kanji —thousands of complex little stick houses stolen from the Chinese. I could extract no sounds from which to puzzle out meanings. Far more telling was a queue trailing out front. People flapped tickets in gloved hands, their breath white. I noticed the snow was starting to abate, that the flakes were smaller and no one was looking up anymore. A mother tried to pull scarves over children’s faces, but every time she got one up it was pulled back down while she fished for the next. I counted seven children in all, swirling around.
    Mami dragged me into a smaller street, talking quickly and loudly. ‘My argument didn’t make sense before, I know. I’ve never tried to explain what I do, not even to myself. It’s difficult.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜I don’t steal to thumb my nose at the government or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not a communist. I just steal sometimes. Like that ticket. I saw that fat, lazy stationmaster sitting there and knew somehow I could travel for free. Like there was a little sign in front of him that said: “Mami can travel for free. Everyone else, please refer to the set prices”.’ Mami ran her hand down the columns of this imaginary sign, the rubber band from the train still wrapped around her fingers. While presumably she saw vertical Japanese characters, she spoke in her fluent but oddly accented English, the sort of accent you could never place.
    â€˜This might be off the topic,’ I said, ‘but are you truly bilingual? I mean, are both languages the same for you— equally easy?’
    â€˜No. English is what I use for thinking. Isn’t that strange? I’m Japanese and I think in English. It’s not that I don’t like Japan or speaking Japanese. I like both. But all through my schooling I liked English more. It was the language spoken in the classroom and I think it was just easier after a while.’
    â€˜So you went to an international school?’
    â€˜My father insisted on it. He hated memorising English from books and tapes.’
    â€˜Have you ever been overseas?’
    â€˜Never.’
    â€˜Are you planning to go?’
    Mami shrugged. ‘I could live in Korea but I don’t want to. I know Tokyo. I see those little signs. Private messages just for me: “Mami Kaketa Can Have This”. And Mami Kaketa takes, believe me. That wouldn’t happen overseas. Overseas I’d have to be normal.’ This last word fell from her mouth like spoilt sea urchin.
    â€˜How awful,’ I said sarcastically.
    â€˜I’m glad I’ve told you about my little signs though. Once I told this Japanese boy and he went crazy. Pure madness. He said, “You can’t do that! That’s no way to live. Where’s the honour in that sort of selfish approach?” Too many samurai movies. Honour? Please! What a