Journal lingqi's Journal: September 6th, 2004 1
Sept 06, 2004 (4:44pm)
Maybe not the most tasteful subject. Proceed with caution.
In the men's room of my company, there are four urinals facing four stalls. The urinals does not have dividers between them. Something I noticed recently is that Japanese men pee while standing right up against the urinals. So close, in fact, that it looks like the urinals got hungry are eating the said individual, as their clothes are all rubbing against the urinal's sides. I am not too sure if it's a matter of being shy or what, but it's an interesting culture. I mean, in an onsen people flop-about with little regard to this issue, so why is such urinal-hugging warrented?
While generally kept, the unwritten rule of "no talking, no eye contact, and no looking in any direction except up and forward" are more frequently broken too... I was on the receiving end of this one time... Simply going about my own business, in my own world, and suddenly somebody asks me a question from behind. The question I already forgot, but it was like my little world encased in thin glass (like a christmas ornament) was suddenly shattered, and everything suddenly went into slow motion. Within that fraction of a second, an epic conflict ensued in my mind between whether I should turn around to answer, or continue to uphold the code. I probably would have wet myself if I wasn't already in progress. This day, I already forgot what progressed from that fateful moment - apparently I lived through it intact, though my memory is like a movie that ends at the critical moment and leaves the audience to imagine the outcome... Even at this moment I cannot imagine it, and I do not really want to find out. However, such an even had not occured to me again, so I also entertain the possibility that maybe I turned into the incredible hulk, and nobody dared to try that again.
-- -- --
Typhoon 16 passed over Japan this weekend and it was rainy throughout. While the rain started to die down by sunday night, it still shifted between drizzle and rain. About 7pm, I left apartment and walked across the small asphalt parking lot to my car.
In the middle of the parking lot was something out of the ordinary, white and fluffy, though visibly damp with rain. I realized that it was a white cat that was going to dash off under some car, vigilant eyes gazing toward me.
A few step later, however, all was still yet. The cat wasn't standing upright, I noticed, instead it lay on its side, paws extending straight forth, like it was standing one moment and was suddenly frozen and then fell over. I walked past it; the cat's mouth was slightly agape; as the muscles were all relaxed, gravity pulled its face so that it made an expression somewhere between a smile and a teethy threat, both in discord with the its position of lying on the asphalt. The fur was curly, but wet and gray. Rain fell silently all around; everything was still. In my cursory examination, there was no blood.
I let out a humph coupled that really sounded like a sigh. I did not quite appreciate a dead cat in my path - as it was perfectly in my path of pulling the car out. As much as I would hate cleaning it up, running over it would not make the job any more pleasant.
Driving out carefully, I took off, position my wheels so that the body would pass right between the wheels. It succeeded and it was left undisturbed.
I did some shopping. The rain did not stop and eventually became heavier. At the supermarket I took an extra plastic bag in case I will have to be cleaning up. A thought came to my mind, wondering if a dead feline would be considered burnable trash.
Pulling into the parking lot, my eyes met with the same blotch of white on the otherwise pitch ground. While I hoped for better, I was sufficiently prepared so I didn't mind it so much. I was actually just a little excited by the curiosity and the heroism (ha!) in cleaning up the parking lot for all of the building's residents.
The rain wal falling harder now. raindrops passed through my headlights, glowing and outlining two beams of light, yellow and warm, in an otherwise cool evening. I took my prepared bag and headed toward the cat, apprehensive that the cat would come to life and jump at me impetuously. Close, I took another look and indeed there were no blood.
Turning the bag inside out, I put my hand in and reached out and touched the cat. The rain fell around me and on me and on the white fur, now making a small psh-psh sound on a background of leaves russling. My finger, through the layer of polyethelene, touched the soft fur, and through the fur, I felt death.
I have always known that when a person die the body becomes cold and hardens. While I assumed that a cat, being mammal, would do the same, I simply never knew to what extent did each of that took place. The flesh of the cat was soft but icy cold. Under the pliable skin, one can feel the muscles underneath that had became like coagulated sand. We must have some natural instinct built into our brains what death feels like, and that moment triggered this circuit. The feeling at my fingertips, in no other word more fitting, was death.
I tried to slide the cat into the bag, and the cat's body was stiff and uncooperative. It was also very heavy. Maybe the cat died of ingesting lead, I thought, as I clumsily tried to pull the other end of the bag oner the cat's head without having to touch its body directly. Propping its head up, I saw its face up close. The mouth was still in the agape, half-smile half-angry position, and the eyes were open. However, the eyes were actually like sockets - or even the voids of space. It was black and empty, looking at nowhere and having no life, like the soul had escaped and I was peeking through into an empty shell, and if I stared too long I would have been also drawn into this void.
With great effort, I got the stiff body to shift enough that it was inside the bag fully. Back curved, the cat looked like it was lying on a hammock. I picked it up, amazed at its incredible weight, and placed it on the burnable trash collection pile. The cat in its hammock position, eyes looking forward into the void; everything was again still.
The rain fell, pit, pat, on the plastic bag and on the black asphalt. Passing through the beams of the headlight, outlining two faint brushstrokes of yellow warmth, in a otherwise chilly night.
Urinals and dead kitties (Score:2)
And dead cats need to be disposed of specially at extra cost, at least in my neck of the woods. Don't be surprised if you were spotted and have a visit from your manshon's gomi patrol...