Suzuki-San

Suzuki-san

I met Suzuki-san in 1979 during my junior year at Sophia University. The house across the street had renovated their downstairs and opened up a small snack. (By “across the street” I mean about 15 paces from my front door!)

How strange I thought, that a snack would open up on a residential street. It really was true that you can open up a business anywhere in Japan! (A snack is a small establishment that serves alcohol and cooked food. Since they serve food, they can stay open until the wee hours of the morning. A bar, on the other hand, serves mainly alcohol, no cooked food, and has to close by midnight-1am.)

I had never ventured into that place because I was usually too busy with school, teaching, and partying with my friends at discos and “Live Houses” (places where live rock music was played). Besides, I didn’t like venturing into strange places if someone didn’t take me first.

Some nights when I was studying or trying to sleep, I would hear the singing of karaoke from that little place. It really bugged me at times, but I let it slide as this was, after all, Japan and karaoke was becoming all the rage. What the big deal was about karaoke was beyond me, but the Japanese just loved singing to the “empty orchestra.”

Yes, this was Japan. One of the few places in the world where you can rent an apartment with paper thin walls and hear your neighbors snoring or making love as clearly as if there were no walls. But, like everyone else, I pretended that I didn’t hear them, and never complained or knocked on the walls, and neither did they. After all, I knew they could hear me also when I had a “guest” for the night no matter how quiet we tried to be.  It was something you got used to and learned to live with as all Japanese do.

Anyway, one night at about 10 pm, having nothing to do, I decided to venture over to that place as it was so close rather than walking the 10 minutes to the places I knew around the train station. I opened up the sliding door and ducked under the curtain. Talk about a hole in the wall! The place was no more than eight feet wide by maybe, 16 feet long and had a counter that sat 6 people. That’s it. Any more than 6 or 7 people in that place and it would probably be deemed over crowded and a fire hazard.

The place was empty and I was greeted with the customary “Irrashaimase”, welcome, and sat at the counter. I could tell that the small (no more that 5 ft tall) mama-san was perplexed that a “gaijin” came into her place, so I quickly ordered a beer in Japanese. As the place was empty, I wanted to put her at ease in case she thought I was going to rob her or start some trouble.

She gave me the beer with the customary small plate of some snacks and poured it into my glass. Sometimes the snack would be potato chips, or peanuts, or pickles, or whatever she was serving with drinks that night.

Since I ordered in Japanese she began the conversation with the usual “20 questions” in Japanese. “Oh, you speak Japanese?” “What do you do?” “Do you like sushi?” “Do you live around here?” etc.

I answered her questions and I could tell that she quickly became at ease with me, especially since I told her I lived across the street. After the questions stopped it became eerily quiet, so I ordered another beer and wondered if anyone else would come in here.

The mama-san asked if I was hungry and I scanned the menu on the wall and ordered some edamame (soy beans in the pod) and some ika maru yaki (fried squid rings). Live in Japan long enough and you come to find out that one important, unwritten rule-of-thumb in Japan is that one MUST order food with ones drink in a snack.

She was impressed that I could read Japanese and quickly made my order. More small talk followed while she cooked my order and played some music in the background. Still no one came in.

After being there for what seemed like an hour or so, the sliding door opened and an older Japanese man with a black French beret and glasses on walked in. I glanced over to the door and was surprised to see that he had a dog on his back. He was carrying it the way mothers carried their babies on their backs! In Japan this is known as “Onbu suru”, to carry on ones back. How strange and cool I thought!

He came in and the mama-san got him his “key” bottle of whisky from behind the counter. I could read the name “Suzuki and Jiro” on the bottle. For those unfamiliar with the term, a “Key Bottle” is a bottle of Whisky, Sake, or other alcohol, that you purchase at a bar or snack for about double or triple its regular price depending on the area. Your name is put on it and it is kept on a shelf for the next time you come in. Once you purchase a “Key Bottle” you only have to pay for a bucket of ice & water or whatever, if you are drinking mixed drinks. This usually costs about 500 or more yen, again, depending on the area. If you are drinking it straight, then you pay nothing. In either case it is expected that you will order something to eat. It’s still the most economical way to drink when out in Japan and you frequent a place often.

Jiro was the name of his dog. It was a beautiful Shiba-ken dog.  Anyone who has lived in Japan for any length of time knows what type of dogs they are as they are very popular.

Suzuki-san bent his knees and lowered the dog to the floor. Mama-san brought the dog a bowl of water and Suzuki-san sat at the far end of the counter about three seats away and didn’t even acknowledge that I was there. I looked at him nodded my head in a greeting and said, “konbanwa” (good evening). He nodded back with a little grunt of “Un”.

I love dogs, so I bent over to pet his dog which was quite friendly. Still no acknowledgement or words from Suzuki-san. Well, the heck with you too, I thought and went about drinking my beer and eating my squid and edamame.

Mama-san played some more music and they began to talk. I ignored them as, although I could hear most of the words and phrases they were saying, I had no idea what the subject was. That’s one of the great things of the Japanese language. You can have a conversation with someone and only you two know what you’re talking about as the subject is understood between the speakers and is usually never mentioned in front of strangers.

After a while I heard him say, “Kono hito dare?” Who’s this person? Mama-san came over to me and asked my name. I told her it was Joe. She repeated my name to Suzuki-san and he said with a bow of his head, “Joe-san, yoroshiku hajimemashte,” Nice to meet you Joe. I noticed he was missing a middle tooth. He introduced himself as Suzuki.

I replied and introduced myself in Japanese and we began to talk with the usual “20 questions”.  I found out that he was a retired business man who lived alone with his dog about a 10 minute walk away. His wife had died two years previous and he had a son who lived somewhere up north. I also, later on in the relationship, found out that he and his son were not all that close.

He started looking through a book that was on the counter and after a while asked to sing a song. Mama-san slipped an eight-track tape into the player and he began to sing while reading the words from a book.

After the song was over, he asked if I could read Japanese. I replied that I could. He then asked if I could sing karaoke and I told him that no, I couldn’t. He said I should learn. I told him that I couldn’t carry a tune and would probably sound terrible. I also told him that I was too shy.  He said he would teach me. I replied to the effect of, “Thanks, but no thanks.” Suzuki-san looked disappointed and our conversation suddenly came to a halt. He continued singing now and then for the next half hour or so, but didn’t say much to me.

I didn’t know it then, but in Japan when you are asked to sing a song when out with a group or another person, no matter how shy you are or how terrible you sound, you MUST sing. Everyone does and no one will put you down or boo you for it like they do in the states on “kary okey” (US pronunciation) nights. Failure to do so will cause you to lose “face” and make you look “stuck-up” or “too good” in front of the others. Even if you can’t read Japanese, there will always be words to some corny song in English that everyone knows, like “Yesterday”, by the Beatles or “You Are My Sunshine” or “My Way” by Frank Sinatra, etc.

In my six years there to date no one had ever asked me to sing a song. Maybe they took it for granted that I couldn’t or wouldn’t sing. I don’t know. Besides, till then karaoke was not all that popular and was just coming into its own.

Anyway, another customer came in and he and Mr. Suzuki began to talk. After a while they were both singing. They asked me to sing and I politely declined. They just ignored me after that and I finally paid my bill and went home.

I went there the next night as it was pretty convenient and was told that Suzuki-san came in there about 3 or 4 times a week always with his dog. I went there maybe 2-3 times a week after that and every time Suzuki-san was there he would try to get me to sing and every time I declined. However, he didn’t ignore me and we became close. Every time I went and he was there or would come in later, he would great me with a loud “Joe-san!” and a wave of his hand. I can still hear his voice today.

I began to frequent the place often and about three weeks later I went there at about 9pm and Suzuki-san was already there and, as usual, began singing. I really liked the tunes to some of the songs he was singing. Some of them I knew from the other bars and radio and TV and some I didn’t.  He pushed me again to sing and, again, I declined.

After about three beers, one which was bought by Suzuki-san, he again pushed me to sing. I finally gave in and said “Ok, I’ll try.” He selected what he called an easy song: “Omae Ni” by Frank Nagai. He opened the book of words and we began to go over it together. The words were simple, mostly hiragana with a few kanji that I knew. After he was satisfied that I could read all the words he asked mama-san to play the tape. We each had a microphone and we went over it together with me following his lead. It was a simple song that anyone could sing and was mostly in hiragana. Then he asked that I sing it alone. The tape was played and I did pretty well for my first try. He made me do it about three times afterwards to make sure I got it. With the echo turned up I didn’t sound half bad after all.

I mastered that song that night. The next time he taught me another song: “Kuchinashi no Hana” and I mastered that. After about a month I was able to sing about 10 different songs. My favorite song though, even today, is “Kitaguni no Haru by Sen Masao.

Soon he began to take me, and introduce me to, other places in the neighborhood and we would sing songs. He would sing one and then I would sing one and sometimes we would sing together. We became the hit of the neighborhood snacks and the bars around the train station. Me, Suzuki-san, and Jiro.

Jiro soon began to take to me and we would walk from the bar across from my apartment to the other places with Jiro on my back. Soon I was known and welcomed in almost every snack and bar in the neighborhood. I was known as the gaijin who could sing Japanese enka.

I made many more friends there and Suzuki-san and I became the closest of friends along with the mama-san. I looked to him like one would a grandfather. He would visit me often at my apartment with Jiro and we would sit and talk while watching TV and drinking. We would play pachinko together. Once or twice he even cooked for me. A couple of times he came with me to Yokohama when I carried the Omikoshi at festivals with my friend, and he even bought me a watch when I graduated the University which I still wear to this day.

I really came to love that man and we became the closest of friends. We were together at least 3 days a week for two years. We just plain enjoyed each others company and not once were our conversations conducted in anything but Japanese. Even though he knew some basic English, he never tried speaking it. I can still hear him knocking on my apartment door at about 8 or 9pm saying, “Joe-san, nomimashou!” Joe, Lets go drinking! Always with his constant companion, Jiro, on his back.

On August 17, 1981 I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of fire engines. They sounded really close. I looked outside, and since they weren’t on my street, I went back to sleep. The next morning I get a knock on the door and it is the mama-san in tears telling me that Suzuki-san and Jiro died in a fire the previous night. It turned out he fell asleep while smoking and the rest is history. I had just seen him a couple of days earlier and I must’ve cried for what seemed like a week after that I was so saddened.

Yes, even today I still visit a few of the places we used to frequent at Odakyuu-Sagamihara station that are still there when I make my yearly visit to Japan. Luckily, for me my in-laws live near that station. And every time I sing, I make sure to always sing “Omae Ni” in honor of Mr. Suzuki. The song may be 30 years old and ancient now, but I don’t care and it is always in the karaoke books. And I always preface the song with a tribute to my Ojiisan (grandfather) and “sensei” (teacher) who never gave up on the young gaijin and taught him to sing Japanese enka.

It was 29 years ago this August that he passed away and I have never forgotten about him. Sometimes, as I lay awake in bed waiting for sleep to befall me, or while driving at night, I fondly think of him and I can still hear his voice, loud and clear as if he were right next to me saying, “Joe-san, nomimashou!”