The Scenic Route

Training from Nagoya to Osaka, Dwight and and I took seats together, extending a very interesting discussion from the lobby of the Marriott Associa Hotel. Ranging over politics and history, the thing took up implications for our very own personal lives. Extremely absorbing, all in all. At one point, I referred to my copy of Will Durant's history of the Renaissance, which is being cross-referenced to Spengler's "Decline". Specifically: Dwight was amused and intrigued to read Petrarch's complaint against physicians (p. 531). Pressing on after the reference, I tucked the book into the seat pocket in front of me.

(Look out!)

Yes. Well, timed passed with the miles. The train pulls up to Shin-Osaka Station. I gets up with Dwight: we're still gabbing. We steps off the train, looks around for assembly of the entourage, and -- guess what -- Beck very abruptly notes the sensation of loss in his left arm: Durant is nowhere about. Lightning-quick, he dashes back into the train, thinking that he has enough time to snag the volume and exit the train... which illusion is shattered with utmost leisure but implacable finality as the train slowly begins to move and Beck concludes; "No. I'm pretty sure that this could not happen if I could still get out that door," which is yet about five yards away and out of sight.

Later, I was told that Dwight was very nearly arrested in an attempt to hold the doors open. They say that cops came from everywhere, very politely blowing intense whistles and waving batons in order to impress upon him that this train was moving, no matter what.

So, there I was: on my way to Kobe, all alone in a strange land.

It seemed no great big deal to me: I had money, and -- most of all -- time, on the day off. If I were to pick a day for such nonsense, that was the day.

I made my way forward to the first official train-person in sight, a woman whose function was closely analogous to the flight-attendents on an airliner. Taking her softly by the elbow, I showed her my ticket -- completely incomprehensible to my eyes -- thinking that the very first thing would be to let her know that I knew that I was no longer supposed to be on the train. It was a total loss at communication, however: evidently, the ticket related not much or absolutely no information about where I was coming from or going, or, at least, none that made my situation clear to her. I was beginning to consider the next move when a lovely old lady got up from her nearby seat and interceded with the utmost kindness, conducting in flawless English what I could not remotely hope for in Japanese. She was able to clarify that I had no worries: I should simply go to Kobe, get off the train, cross the track, and come back to Osaka.

"Fine, then," I thought, after thanking her as profusely as I could imagine. "This is going to work out. It's no big deal."

The only thing that had me worried was that I could be inconveniencing everyone else on the tour. I pictured them fretting around at Shin-Osaka, wondering how the hell they would reel me in, and making a note to myself to lay a plan to be generally known for the future: in certain circumstances like these, everyone should just press on and leave me to my folly.

I went to the smoking car, ready to settle in for a trip of unknown duration. I'd barely gotten lit-up, however, when the announcement for Shin-Kobe came over the P.A. "Okay, Beck: let's see if we can't keep our shit tightly wired in one sack. No more nonsense."

Off the train, over the track, and wait. Took a lovely photograph of a moutainside right outside the train station, with cable-cars running up. (I might publish when I get home.)

Train comes; step aboard, run back ten minutes to Osaka. Off the train; no observable team-mates. "Okay: Osaka Hilton, then. Nothin' to it." Stepping to the exit turnstiles, the predictable: Jid-san, waiting and watching. He hits me with a grin and a high-five: "I've never left a man behind, yet."

Evidently, the thing was of some consternation on the team, which I hated to hear, with Peabo-san leaving orders that someone should stay and look out for me. ("I love that boy," which form I found intriguing and charming.) Jid was the man; my oldest mate out here, it's natural. I told him that he should have pressed on, but I would have stayed for him (and every one else, as well).

And, so, that's how I took the scenic route from Nagoya to Osaka for Will Durant.

Iamnotakook.

~~~~

Osaka Blue Note, today: the new one; bigger, better. New lights: Avo Pearl controller for conventional lights, and a new automated controller for movers, which my brother told me about four weeks ago, and which he thinks will supplant the Whole Hog, which even cannot come soon enough for me. (This thing looks like a rock desk -- with, like, faders instead of menus. It's about bloody time.)

Off to work: the band's pulling in now.