Hideo Furukawa - Slow Boat

Ive never made it out of Tokyo.

I cant tell you how many times Ive asked myself if the boundary is real. Of course its real. And if you think Im lying, you can come and see for yourself.

Im working on the final plan today. For the last time.

The boundary isnt a border. But just because you dont need a passport doesnt mean you can up and leave whenever you like. This is where I was born, and its where Im going to die.

This is my botched Tokyo Exodus, the chronicle of my failures.

Three failures, to be exact. The Japanese language is nothing but lies. Or maybe just chaos. What happens twice will happen again. OK, I buy that. But how can that idea coexist with Third times the charm?

Farewell, mother tongue.

Still, Im writing this in Japanese. Its the best language I have for writing down my experiences (or the contents of my brain). No question. Language has its limits, but its all weve got. For understanding each other or misunderstanding each other or whatever. Besides, isnt life all about limits?

At the end of the day, weve all got our limits. As living things, were bound to die.

Death.

Let me tell you about the Big Limit.

Tokyo, 2002 A.D.

Winter. K-1 kick-boxer Ernesto Hoost shouts: Im the three-time champion! Good for you. Ive failed to make it out of Tokyo three times. The first time, I guess I was ten or eleven. Not sure which. How old are you in the fifth grade? That old. My most recent fail was a little under two years ago.

Three tries, three girlfriends.

The losses dont stop. The odds were always stacked against me. Sneaking onto some ship is probably my best hope to get out now.

Maybe you figured this out alreadyI dont do well with people. Believe me, I tried. But we need to keep on fighting, right? Even if were just marching towards death.

Nothats exactly why we need to stay in the ring.

Its morning, 24th December. Im at Hamarikyu Gardens, making a fist.

This is the last time. My final plan, ergo my ultimate plan. So I need to get a good read on things. I tell myself: dig, dig, dig. Think archaeologically.

Hamarikyu is between the Tsukiji Fish Market, Takeshiba Pier and Shiodome (where the Shiosite skyscrapers are going up as we speak). Im looking at the moment that Tokyo Bay becomes the Sumida River. Wait. More like Im watching the Sumida lose its name.

Timeso much timeflows by in a liquid state.

Thick, leaden liquid.

The water buses arent running.

Of course they arent. Its 9.20 in the morning. First day after a long weekend. Christmas festivities will bring crowds later on, but theres nobody here now. Just me and the dark clouds. Wait, was it supposed to rain today? Did I miss the forecast? The whole place is empty, but this bus terminal feels like a mortuary.

Thick, leaden sky.

I open the pamphlet I got at the ticket gate. Hamarikyu once belonged to the Tokugawa family. Property of the Shogunate. After the Meiji Restoration, it was an imperial villa. During the American Occupation, it lost its imperial standing. Just makes you wonder who really owns Tokyo? I walk around. There are a couple of spots for duck-hunting, used even in the middle of the Pacific War. Theres a peony gardennot that peonies are in season. Theres Shiori Pond, the only saltwater pond in Tokyo. I see a lot of birds. Taking another look at the pamphlet, I can see that this place gets all sorts of avian visitors. Resident birds: wagtail, spot-billed duck, night heron, little grebe Then the migratory birds: common pochard, northern shoveler, northern pintail, etc. But the bird you see the most makes no appearance in the gardens official literature: the crow.

The jungle crow, to be specific. A very intelligent (and impudent) scavenger.

At this hour, the garden belongs to the crows. They fly around, hang upside-down from the pines, hop across the grass. Theres a party of crows by Shiori Pond, cawing and cawing. Theyre making a racket, so I walk over to see what all the fuss is about.

Theyre going at a carcass. Maybe it was a seagull.

And I was under the impression that eating in the garden was strictly prohibited.

Not that youd know it from the pamphlet, but the crows make their nests high up in the trees. They swoop down and attack lesser birds. They take total advantage of all the nature Hamarikyu has to offer. They do what they want.

I feel a kind of love for this place, where crows can be crows.

But that fantasy doesnt last long.

I hear something like screams. I follow my ears, off the pathoff-limits. I walk up a low grassy hill, and there it is. A huge enclosure, boarded up to look like something legit. Clearly, they dont want anyone to know whats going on.

I peek between the cracks. About ten crows inside, alive, but very unhappy. What the hell is this?

Theres a sign on the boards: WILD CROW REGULATION INSTALLATIONPROPERTY OF METROPOLITAN TOKYO.

Meaning: Hands off.

For the peace of the citizens of Tokyo.

The captive crows thrash around. Theyre frantic.

The screaming doesnt stop:

Let us outta here! Let us outta here!

But this is necessary, to make Tokyo a better place for us to live.

Crows have no value to people, so we exterminate them.

Hands off.

If you cant comply, then Tokyo has no need for you, either.

In that instant, I slip into a daydream. A fury. I fantasize about prying off the boards and busting the bars, freeing the crows. I want to find the other cages (this cant be the only one) and destroy them, too. But my legs dont move. And I know why. Im not afraid of being caught by some cop or security guard with a nightstick. Like I could care. Heres my problem: If a cop comes after me, do I have what it takes to fight back? Like, call him a STUPID DICKHEAD and lunge right at him? I dont think so. And theres only one reason for that. Im not nave enough to think I can free the crows. Not really. If someone like me breaks into the cage and lets the birds out, theyll just step up security. Theyll have ten new crows in there, like, right away. And theyll keep a closer watch on them. The incident would end up on the news, too, giving the citizens of Tokyo more reason to hate crows. And the cop trying to stop me, he doesnt give a shit about the crows. Hes just doing his job. He doesnt care about me or anything I have to say. Justice isnt in the picture.

If the law forbids it, you cant do it. Thats it. End of story.

The Holocaust was OK under Nazi German law.

Thats why my legs wont move. Why I feel empty. Alone.

Dark clouds.

Christmas Eve in Hamarikyu, and no one is around.

Wheres the rain?

I wasnt so weak when I was young. But I got old. Now I always think about consequences. Through my early twenties, when I was sure justice was on my side, justice was on my side.

Now I can barely utter the word justice.

There were times when I stood up and fought back. And I lost. Three times.

Days of failed escapes. When I was younger, and tougher.

When I was sure there was a way out.

I stopped going to school when I was in the fifth gradein early May, right after Golden Week. Everyone always wants to know why. I had my reasons, trust me. My mom was getting hysterical, for starters. And my teacher was always coming to my house and getting me in trouble Talk about no boundaries. But I bet they saw things differently. I bet, the way they saw it, it wasnt me who was giving up on school. School was giving up on me.

Whatever, not even close.

I know what happened. But its hard for me to explain, even now. Way harder for a kid ten or eleven years old to put into wordsinto