Japan

Every few minutes, a wave hits me in the small of my back like the butt of a pen-knife, propels me tripping forward a few inches into the warm swell drenching me. Every step sends shudders of weight down my legs, already numbingly blasé from an entire day’s walking to get to this point. The sea smells like pickles, the sort you find in two-bit bento boxes next to the tempura and usually punctuated by a few lonely panko crumbs. It’s dark and quiet, the waves still for now. I brace and stretch upwards, my toes creaking into full pronated extension. The sea stretches away behind me, faces blurring into one another from the cold and the night and the sheer inhuman distance of it all. The cold leaves playful knife-cuts on my cheeks, followed by a warm breath of taiyaki from somewhere by the sea.

There’s a buzz in front of me, a frisson of shuffling which warns me that it’s time to drop back down amongst the coats and scarves. Even so, I can still see the piece of cardboard turn, revealing a happy-go-lucky cross between Astro Boy and an undeveloped leprechaun foetus from whose mouth emanates a string of Kanji which I can only imagine says something akin to “GO FOR GLORY”. And we go, a shambling half-step penguin dance which starts at the foot of the steps and shimmies down through the Gore-Tex jackets and thick black boots and maraschino ties until it reaches the end of the Senso-ji arcade and quietly dissolves into the streets. Like a wave, except it brings us in instead of throwing us out to sea.

Five minutes later, another wave hits.

And another.

And another.

And then I’m climbing the steps, cold from winter and polished by centuries. They suck at our body heat, pulling it out through the soles of our shoes, but we trudge on, up. At the top there is a bell and a cauldron. I look around, see strange quiescent faces, waiting. Explosions pierce the sky. A booming cheer rises up, then another. Some of the faces smile, some heads nod, some don’t change at all. There is no sound up here, at the top of the world. So I palm a coin, flip it and reach out, and my wish goes soaring into the cauldron as the sea roars and bubbles away below. The clink of change is quiet, barely audible under the New Year’s crackling stars.

Four years later, another wave hits, and I make another wish.

—

Ninja stories aside, the main point of this post is to highlight some of the other people making the same wish. The Red Cross, of course, is one of the most well-known bodies assisting with the relief effort, but donations can also be made through Google’s Crisis Response Centre which also links to a whole list of resources and contact points including the Missing Persons’ Phone Line, shelter/blackout information, and up-to-date alerts and warnings. Twitter’s Hope140 blog has a list of accounts worth following to keep abrest of news and updates from the zone, and a lot of charity events are expected to keep popping up (the first of which I’ve heard of is glass brasserie’s charity dinner).

Last but not least, the team at Shinobi Valley will donate AU$2 to the Japan relief effort for every comment left on The Ninja Review from now to April 19 (that’s a month away). Monetary donations will go to a maximum of $500 (because we’re not actually particularly well-endowed, so forgive us) but if we have a lot of comments even after that we’ll think of something else on top of the money. Leave a comment on any post or page and it’ll be counted – but no spamming or insensitive jokes please. If you can’t think of anything witty or interesting to say, answer this basic question: what does Japan mean to you?

Receipt will be posted after the cut-off date and MVP commenters will be given a virtual medal/pat on the head/complimentary slaying. Stay safe, everyone.

The Ninja and the Shooter

 

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