Short Novel : Japanese expat children in 70s - 80s (5.1): A Japanese school on the seaside (Chapter 2)

 

1978 — Life at the Boarding School

 

Monday morning.

First period was Mathematics.

 

"Good morning, everyone. Right then, open your books to page eighteen..."

I did as I was told, but several of my classmates still looked half asleep.

 

A month had slipped by since I'd arrived at the Japanese boarding school.

I'd become quite used to eating in the dining hall.

That morning, Maiko and I were chatting over scrambled eggs as usual. Before we knew it, the bell rang, ten minutes before lessons were due to begin.

We grabbed our bags and ran to the classroom.

 

It didn't take me long to notice that, out of the twenty-eight students in our year, fewer than I'd expected paid much attention in lessons.

It was the same in Mathematics as it was in Japanese.

Some slept with their heads on their desks. Others didn't even bother to listen.

 

The moment the bell rang at the end of each lesson, a handful of students disappeared outside, gathering behind the buildings where the teachers couldn't easily see them.

The staff did what they could to discipline them, but very few of those students seemed interested in changing the way they lived.

 

Sometimes a student would simply disappear.

One day they'd be there.

The next, they'd gone.

I held on.

I would finish high school here. Then I would return to Japan and go to university.

No matter how much my roommates tried to upset me, I never let my studies slip.

 

I ignored the daughter of my father's predecessor completely.

Instead, I slowly found a few friends who accepted me.

 

Saturday mornings became my favourite time of the week.

I'd slip quietly out of the dormitory before anyone else was awake and carry my breakfast to one of the benches outside.

At weekends, meals weren't provided by the boarding school.

Everyone was expected to fend for themselves.

I usually bought breakfast from the little village shop.

A packet of eight scones.

A tub of margarine.

A jar of blackcurrant jam.

As long as I had a pot of tea, that was all I needed.

 

Scones were something I'd discovered only after coming to England.

 

There was no proper clotted cream, but a warm scone with jam and a cup of tea in the early morning could make even the strain of boarding-school life feel a little easier.

I'd sit there in the sea breeze, savouring my small weekend luxury.

 

Towards the end of October, the entire second-year class went on a school trip to Rome.

 

My first trip to continental Europe.

The sightseeing began almost as soon as we arrived.

Everything felt new.

The pale stone streets.

The gelato we shared during our free time.

We climbed the Spanish Steps and looked out over the sunlit piazza below.

 

For late October, the weather was surprisingly warm.

Open-air cafés lined the streets.

People in short-sleeved shirts and sunglasses lingered over coffee as though summer had forgotten to leave.

For someone whose world usually consisted of nothing more than school, the dormitory and the village shop, Rome felt impossibly glamorous.

 

Some of my classmates, however, spent the day complaining.

 

"What's the point of coming all the way to Rome if they won't even let us go shopping?"

"Look! There's a Gucci!"

"If I were here with Dad, he'd buy me a handbag... and some clothes!"

"What kind of school trip is this?"

"They're just marching us around like prisoners."

 

Their grumbling never seemed to end.

The rest of us ignored them.

 

We took photographs of one another. Outside St Peter's Basilica, all of us crowded together for a group picture.

Maiko held up the camera.

"Ready? Everyone say cheese!"

 

Back at school, weekends settled into a comfortable routine.

 

At weekends, Maiko and I walked along the beach.

By late autumn, driftwood had begun washing up along the shore.

We would sit on the larger pieces, talking until we completely lost track of time.

Our favourite music.

Our plans for the future.

Our families.

Even the smallest things became little secrets between us. The wind coming in from the sea seemed to carry them away before anyone else could hear.

 

Then one day another rumour spread through the school.

Someone's money had disappeared again.

A hundred pounds had been stolen from the storage box each student kept for personal belongings.

At the same time, one of the students had vanished.

 

Apparently, it happened quite often.

Some simply reached the end of what they could bear and fled back to Japan without warning.

In a tiny village with no bank, ready cash meant one thing:

an airline ticket home.

The words I'd heard on my very first day echoed back to me.

 

"Keep your personal things locked away whenever you can. 

"You never know what might happen here"

"Especially anything valuable" 　

 

Everyone wanted to leave this place.

But I couldn't.

 

For reasons I couldn't quite understand, some of my classmates would gather in one room or another during breaks and at weekends.

Some would sit together listening to Japanese pop music on cassette tapes at full volume, forming little groups of their own.

Pink Lady. Candies.

Songs I remembered from home drifted through the corridors.

I wondered whether they were simply looking for people with whom they could share a little enjoyment, or whether they had somehow lost the sense of why they were studying at all.

I couldn't really tell.

What I did know was that those circles were tightly closed.

You didn't simply wander into them.

 

Saturday mornings meant a walk to the little corner shop for sweets.

The same kindly old lady came out from behind the counter.

"Bounty, please."

"Of course, love. Your usual. You really do like those chocolate bars, don't you?"

"I do."

"You're one of the Japanese school children, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"What year are you in?"

“I'm in my second year of high school. I'm sixteen.”

"Oh! My granddaughter's the same age. So you'll be going on to university?"

"I hope so."

"I thought as much. You've got your exams ahead of you, haven't you? Well then—let chocolate keep your strength up. Good luck!"

"Thank you very much."

In the space of a year, I'd at least learned to manage everyday things like shopping on my own.

That, I thought, was progress.

 

Friday came round again.

The same ritual began.

 

Make-up cases spread across the washbasin and beds.

Heavy eyeliner.

False eyelashes.

Tube tops.

Skirts slit daringly high.

Towering platform shoes.

 

"What are you staring at? If you've got nothing to do, clear off."

"Honestly, it's Friday night and you're not even getting ready. You'd rather hide away in the library with your books. This has got nothing to do with a swot like you."

 

Once the make-up was finished came the hair.

Then came the perfume.

Each of the three girls wore a different scent, all equally overpowering. In a room that small, it wasn't pleasant any more—it was simply suffocating.

 

"How long till we meet everyone?"

"Taxi's booked for six. About ten minutes."

Almost as soon as she said it, several girls appeared in the doorway.

"Masumi! You're still doing your make-up? The cab'll be here any minute. We're leaving without you!"

"Sorry! I can't get these lashes on straight!"

 

I watched from my desk by the window.

The girls from the other rooms looked me over as though they were judging livestock at a fair.

 

"Finished, Masumi? Right then—come on!"

Seven girls swept noisily out of the room together.

 

I made my way to Maiko's room.

For a little while, I simply wanted somewhere peaceful.

Somewhere I wasn't alone.

 

I told her all my roommates had dressed up and gone out.

 

"Ours left a little while ago as well."

"They're going into town dressed like that? Just girls on their own? Isn't it dangerous?"

 

"“It won't just be girls." Maiko said. "Apparently there are boys like them in the boys' dorm as well."

"Have you ever been to a disco?"

"No." She shook her head.

"They've certainly got plenty of energy."

Maiko gave a faint smile.

"I suppose they have to be."

"What do you mean?"

“Apparently, this is the last place they've ended up.”

“The last place...?”

“They don't feel they have a place in Japan any more. And they don't really have a place in Britain either. So this is where they've finally landed.”

 

If I left here...

Where would I go?

Back to Japan?

At the very least, I knew Father would never allow it.

 

The girls who'd gone out didn't emerge until well after lunchtime the next day.

 

By November our second-term examinations were approaching, and we began meeting with our tutors to discuss our future plans.

When my turn came, I said I intended to apply to university in Japan.

I hadn't yet spoken to my father about it, but I already knew what I wanted.

 

Once the December exams were over, I went home to London for the first time in three months.

Mother made a roast turkey for us. It was the first time I'd ever seen one—so large, and so delicious.

It was a world away from the food we had at school.

 

But even that brief happiness passed quickly.

I spent most of the holiday studying.

 

The New Year came.

We stood together to watch the first sunrise of the year.

Mother had prepared a meal that reminded us of osechi, our New Year's dishes back home.

 

When the holiday was over, I returned to school.

Life in the dormitory continued exactly as before.

Without Maiko, I honestly don't think I would have stayed sane.

 

I finished my homework while cannabis smoke drifted around the room.

Whenever the library was open, I buried myself in revision and prepared ahead for the next lessons.

 

I had no idea how difficult the university entrance examinations in Japan would be.

All I knew was this:

Everything I could do during my second year, I had to do.

 

The students back in Japan would be working just as hard.

I couldn't afford to fall behind.

 

Whenever it all became too much, I'd go down to the beach alone and breathe deeply in the cold sea air. One deep breath of the cold sea air reminded me who I was.

 

Before I knew it, the final examinations of the school year were over.

Spring holiday arrived—the last long break before the entrance-exam year.

At home, my younger brother lent me a stack of manga.

I read them one after another.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed so loudly.

 

Then the holidays ended, and my final year of high school began.

I took the train to the nearest station and then a taxi to the school.

 

The villagers tended to look rather sternly upon the students from the Japanese school.

Apparently, quite a few students spent their weekends making a spectacle of themselves in the village, or behaving rather rudely towards the locals.

 

For the next twenty minutes or so, I chatted with the taxi driver, who looked to be about sixty. He asked where I came from, what year I was in, where my family lived, and how we'd spent the holidays.

I told him that I'd come to Britain with my family.

He listened quietly, then said,

"You ought to hold your head high, lass.

It's true enough that plenty of folk round here don't think much of the youngsters from your school.

But you're not one of those children.

Just as there are good Englishmen and bad Englishmen, there are good Japanese and bad Japanese.

I've lived long enough to know that."

His words stayed with me long after we reached the school gates.

 

Cont. to Chapter 3)