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The sky was deep and dark at this late hour. My flight from Sri Lanka to Haneda had been delayed by several hours, setting me back on my schedule. I glanced at my watch and sighed. I had expected to be in Ginza by 7 PM, but it was already 9 and I had only just reached Yoyogi Park. There was nothing for it other than to work my way through the park and reach the main road on the other side. I would have to walk to Harajuku Station and board the Chiyoda line to Ginza, or I could probably hail a taxi once out of the park. This unfortunate situation was my fault, really. I boarded the wrong train when exiting the airport, and by the time I realized my mistake, I was already in Shibuya. Regardless, it should take me another half hour or so, and then I would be able to sleep off the jetlag.
I walked confidently on the meandering path—after all, I had been to Tokyo a hundred times before now and I was intimately familiar with the glittering city. Yoyogi Park was famous for housing Tokyo's oldest Shinto shrine, Meiji-jingu. However, stopping for a visit now would cost me a further hour of delay. I made a mental note to come back during the day.
As I made my way through the dark park, a pair of inebriated men showed up and blocked my path. I didn't expect there to be any problems that couldn't be solved through a brief conversation. After all, people in this country were usually level-headed and reasonable.
“Oi nii-chan , want to drink with us? I know a place,” asked one of the men, tie askew and eyes glazed by the alcohol. “Wait, do you even understand me? Ah man, I can't speak English at all.”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I answered in Japanese for ease of conversation. “Unfortunately, I must decline your invitation. If you would be so kind as to let me pass—”
“Get a load of this guy!” Cut in the other man, a rougher looking individual in jeans and a fitted tee. “Think you're better than us? What's with all the fancy words, huh?”
“Apologies, I learned to be polite with strangers.”
I didn't mean to sound flippant; I just genuinely wanted to get past this unpleasant encounter and move on as quickly as possible. My flight had been long and uncomfortable, and I was looking forward to a nice hot shower and a soft bed to rest in. Perhaps a slice of cheesecake was in order before that. In any case, I didn't want to aggravate them, but sometimes by personality was accidentally off putting.
“Whoa, man, are you trying to say we're rude? What would you know, stupid foreigner!”
Before I could react, the first man had shoved me hard, and I found myself stumbling over my own suitcase and falling flat on my behind…how embarrassing. I was about to respond to the insult when I was faced with an incoming shower of tepid beer, graciously poured over my head by the second man.
I shivered involuntarily as some droplets rolled down the back of my shirt collar, leaving a sticky, stinking mess down my back.
“Ha, look at this guy. Not so high and mighty now, are we?” said the tee-wearing ruffian. “Hey, Tanaka, what do you think he has in his case? All these foreigners are so loaded.”
This is where I drew the line. If either of them even as much as breathed in the direction of my suitcase, they were going to be met with a solid right hook. I was never one for violence, but this was truly off limits to anyone but myself. The inconspicuous cabin sized piece of luggage is filled to the brim with gems of all kinds. Some of these were already promised to high profile clients, and there was no way I would let their precious stones be taken.
I glared at the pair, which only resulted in them breaking out into laughter. Granted, my current appearance was hardly frightening. I was sure that I looked rather pitiful, half sprawled on the ground. I spared a thought for my poor suit—the pale grey fabric would undoubtedly be stained and would have to be sent for dry cleaning immediately.
I was about to push back the closest assailant who had an outstretched hand towards my suitcase when, suddenly, a strong and clear voice reverberated in the near empty park.
“HELP! SOMEONE’S BEING ATTACKED!”
“Shit! Who's this clown?”
“HEY! YOU'D BETTER RUN OR I'LL CALL THE POLICE!”
“Nevermind, man, let's go! We'll be in trouble if we stick around any longer!”
I suppressed a smile when I saw the two men hightail it out of the park, but the mirth I felt died when my eyes alighted on my saviour. Even though it was quite dark, I could see that the young man—no doubt a university student, judging by his simple jeans and hoodie—had gentle eyes and an open face, though at this moment deep lines creased his face with concern.
“Excuse me sir, are you all right?”
I saw the exact moment that my appearance dawned on the young man. His eyes went wide, taking in all he saw in the dim light. His mouth loosened slightly, the bottom lip drooping slightly to reveal space for him to intake air. A faint blush dusted his cheeks to complete the look.
“I'm sorry if this is really rude, but has anyone ever said how beautiful you are?”
There it is. The usual remark on my features. While it's true that I was born with uncommon looks, I don't think it has ever warranted getting stunned looks from perfect strangers in the middle of the night. What is so arresting about blond hair and blue eyes? I know I stand out in this country, but it's not like this young man has never seen a foreigner before, right?
I gave the man a blank look that I hope conveyed my contempt. I just wanted to be done with it all and leave the park to finally get to my hotel for the night—for what little was left of it. I peeked at my watch again: 9:40 PM. I guess I wouldn't be able to get that cheesecake at this hour even if I begged. What a shame.
My stare must have had an effect, because the next moment the young man lowered his gaze and bowed his head bashfully, his cheeks deepening in hue.
“Ah, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to offend you; I was just really surprised. Sometimes I say things without thinking. Please forget what I said. My name is Nakata Seigi. Let me help you file a report about the incident. There's a police box on the next corner.”
“Much obliged, Mr. Nakata.”
“You know, even though these guys and I are both Japanese, I don't think they are very good examples of my culture. I hope you won't base your judgment of Tokyo on these people.”
“I would never do such a thing. There are good and bad people in whichever country you visit, regardless of nationality. Tokyo is a fantastic city; two individuals will never be representative of 37 million inhabitants.”
My saviour seemed to like my answer because I saw his eyes light up as he registered what I said. The young man, Nakata, helped me up from the ground with a strong pull on my arm and a steadying hand on my shoulder.
From this close, I could make out the colour of his eyes: a warm brown with flecks of gold; kind eyes that crinkled at the corners when they locked with mine.
Nakata was a little bit shorter than me so that when I stood, I had to lower my gaze slightly to maintain eye contact. I saw my own countenance reflected in his enlarged pupils. My hair was still dripping; truly a pitiful sight indeed.
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” he said, smiling broadly. “By the way, I've been thinking this since before, but your Japanese is impeccable! I think you speak it better than me!”
“I had a wonderful teacher, a Japanese lady.”
“Wow, I think we could all use a teacher like that!” he said, laughing heartily, and I felt a strange flop in the pit of my stomach as a response to that clear sound.
This was ridiculous. I had known this man for, what, 20 minutes at best? But there was something undeniably charming about this young man with the easy laughter. His rich timbre floated over as he explained the process of filing a police report, but my focus had previously been stolen away by those golden eyes, and it wasn't returning anytime soon.
I slapped myself mentally for this nonsensical reaction. Perhaps the beer slowly drying on my hair and clothes was making me tipsy from the smell alone.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finally left the police box, me with a copy of the report, and my saviour with a cheap bottle of water, courtesy of the officer.
It was high time for me to leave, but I felt a certain reluctance to part ways with this stranger. Life is filled with small encounters like these, and most are but fleeting moments in a long stretch of time. Sometimes, however, I had the urge to carpe diem my way through an encounter such as this one.
I loaded my suitcase into the taxi that Nakata had waved down for me and then sat in the rear seat behind the empty front passenger seat. It was now or never, I thought, as I pulled out a business card from my inner pocket.
“Mr. Nakata, thank you for your help this evening. I truly appreciate it. If there's anything I can do to repay your kindness, please let me know. Here's my card.”
The young man smiled sheepishly and accepted my proffered card with a polite bow. He immediately scanned the information on the card:
Richard Ranashinha de Vulpian
Jewellery Étranger
Ginza Nichome
“A jeweller?” whispered my saviour, awe clearly written all over his face.
“That's right. It'll be my greatest pleasure to serve you at my store. Until then, my seigi no mikata ” I bowed my head in his direction, closed the taxi door, and asked the driver to head out.
My hand curled involuntarily on my thigh and I felt my face heat up as soon as the interior of the car went dark.
I had dropped that last line on a whim. I don't know what had possessed me, but I wanted this man to remember the blond stranger in Yoyogi Park, the one with a dirty suit and unkempt hair. I wanted to leave a mark on this person, so maybe by calling him 'my hero of justice’ to his face, it would engrave this moment in his mind the way I was sure it was engraved in mine.
I squinted at the piece of paper still in my hand. On the police report, under "contact person," was written Nakata Seigi with his phone number. I could casually call him in a few days to thank him again, but perhaps this sort of forwardness would be unwelcomed. He was, after all, just a stranger in the night.
The last I saw of Nakata Seigi that night was his diminishing silhouette in the park as the taxi sped off towards Ginza.
I had no way of knowing if I would ever meet this person again. Perhaps he would go home, throw out my business card, and forget all about me. But, there was also the possibility that he would call on me at the shop and, if so, our meeting would no longer be a coincidence, but rather a meaningful encounter—fate.
I hoped for the latter, very much so.