After Midnight in Kawasaki

Long ago in what seems like another lifetime, a friend and I ended up missing the last train from Tokyo to Yokohama. Missing the last train to Yokohama was a specialty of mine; having done this twice in one year, I'd spent much of the evening fussing over the likelihood of doing it again. Now, I was beside myself.

We'd tied one on but good, she and I, but I sobered up fast as I watched her study the train schedule.

"Oh no!" wailed Toyoda-san, confirming my worst fears, "we’ve just missed the last train!"

This was the last thing I wanted to hear. I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to say I told you so! Because I had.

Toyoda-san stood there for a few moments, her brow knitted, then nodded. "Right. No problem. I know what we’ll do, come on. We’ll have to walk a ways to the next station, but you’re okay with walking, aren’t you?"

I did my best not to sulk. I reasoned that a brisk walk in the night air would take over where the strong coffee had left off: it would sober us up.

When we got to the next station, there was a train already waiting there. "Come on," yelled Toyoda-san, "we’ve got a minute or two before it leaves but I don’t want to take any chances!"

Neither did I. I broke into a clumsy run, cursing my stupid high heels. Once we were on the train, still panting from the run, I commented that I'd never realized the line we were on went all the way to Yokohama.

Toyoda-san looked guilty. "It doesn’t. Not at this hour anyway."

I turned to stare at her. "What?"

"It only goes as far as Kawasaki at this hour."

Kawasaki is closer to Yokohama than Tokyo, but it is a good, long train trip away. It was all I could do not to shout. "So what are we going to do?"

"Relax! You worry too much, Mary! We’ll be fine. We’re staying with someone I know."

"Who?"

"Somebody perfectly nice – don’t worry!"

"Who? Come on, tell me!"

She smiled. "My obaachan, Mary. My grandma."

"You're kidding!"

Toyoda-san gave me a look. "I'm not."

"Please tell me you're kidding!"

"Relax! It’ll be fine."

I could not believe her. I tried – and failed – to picture showing up on my own grandmother’s doorstep unexpected, unannounced, at midnight, drunk, and hoping to spend the night. With a friend. Someone she’d never met before. Who was a foreigner!

"Toyoda-san, I’ve got just enough money for a taxi back to Yokohama. Why don’t you go to your grandmother’s and I’ll – "

"Forget it, Mary – a taxi’ll cost you a bundle!"

She was right, but even parting with a bundle seemed preferable to showing up at a strange grandmother’s house at midnight, still drunk enough that running in a straight line and staying vertical had been a challenge.

As we walked along the street toward her grandmother’s house, I just knew what was going to happen. We would be met at the door by a grumpy, indignant eighty-year-old in a hairnet and pajamas. Who almost certainly remembered her house being fire-bombed by the Allies during the war -- as it had; I'd heard Toyoda-san's stories. She’d be madder than hell to be dragged out of her bed and find us on her doorstep – of course she would. She’d give us a good bawling out then and there. Toyoda-san would be embarrassed, I would be mortified, and the whole situation would be just horrible.

Toyoda-san acted like it was all a real hoot. "She’ll still be up!" she said breezily. "Just you wait and see. She never sleeps, I swear."

I shivered and tried to make myself look as innocent, respectable and contrite as possible. The door opened a crack. I heard an elderly voice. "Hai, donata dessho ka?" Polite language for Who is that? A good start.

Toyoda-san grinned. "It’s me, obaachan! Akiko! And I’ve got a friend with me. We need to crash!"

The door opened wide, letting out a blast of kerosene-scented heat. "Akiko! And a friend! Lovely!" She looked at me with curious eyes.

"She speaks Japanese, Granny. She’s American – her name’s Mary! We work for the same company."

"Well, don’t stand there, then, come on in, the two of you! You’ll be freezing out there! An American, eh? Ha-ha-ha!"

She held the door open for us, and looked me up and down as though I was the most interesting thing she’d seen in ages. "Nice to meet you," she said rather shyly, given that her dentures were probably in a glass next to her bed. I mumbled the same back.

Toyoda-san’s grandmother was easily eighty. Maybe older. But she moved with the grace and energy of a thirty-year-old. "So come on through! Have you eaten? Are you hungry? Wait – I’ll go and put on some tea."

Toyoda-san elbowed me as we were ushered into the warm, well-lit sitting room. "See? What did I tell you?"

I couldn’t answer her. I could have tripped over my jaw, it had dropped that far.

After a few cups of hot tea, Toyoda-san and I climbed into the warm, fluffy futons that her grandmother had put out for us. We slept a good eight hours each and woke up to the smell of roasted fish, miso shiru and rice. After a decent breakfast and a friendly chat – and many expressions of thanks from me – we left.

On the train back to Yokohoma, Toyoda-san yawned and stretched. "See, Mary, what did I tell you? My granny loves having visitors -- even late at night!"

"You really did tell me. But I couldn’t believe you until I’d seen it with my own eyes."

She laughed. "Not all grandmas are like that!" she agreed. "Especially not in Japan! But my granny’s special."

She was absolutely right.

Decades have past since that late-night visit to Toyoda-san's grandmother. I’ve got my own family now, including a couple of teenagers, and although I try, I often feel that I can never live up to her incredible example of hospitality.

Recently we had a post-midnight visit ourselves from a couple of teenagers, friends of our eldest. They'd been to the local festival and foolishly managed to get locked out of their respective houses. Neither of them dared to wake up their own parents, my daughter told me sheepishly; could they please stay at our house overnight?

Bear in mind, I'm not like Toyoda-san's grandma. I'm grumpy and grouchy and even though I may be an insomniac, I still prize what little sleep I can get around here. But such was the power of Grandma Toyoda's kindness and generosity that even after all these years, I could picture her welcoming face, hear her telling us to come on in and get out of the cold.

"Tell them to come on in," I told my daughter, stifling a yawn. "And ask them if they're hungry."