Baby Boiling Barbarian Refuses To Pray

Every so often two Caucasian boys will pass me by on their bikes. Their heads are stuffed into shiny, halved, black bowling balls, tightly clipped under their chins. The rest of them is dapperly attired in crisp white shirts and starchy black pants. They brazenly pedal through the town, inhaling Niihama’s thick, polluted, industrial air and car fumes as they determinedly rush to pass along the word of their glorious god. We have never officially met, but I know them from a distance well enough to spin quickly on my heel and roadrunner it in the other direction.

Although, it is not the foreign missionaries that I need to be wary of. Oh no. My yahoo ways, more often than not, are pounced upon by local Japanese Jesusial Zealots. Several weeks ago I was coming home when I was accosted at my door. Two Japanese women turned around. Their eyes lit up and they scurried over to me like insects, their feet scuffling on the floor as if cleaning it, brandishing their Bibles, pamphlets, wooden stakes and holy water in my general direction. Caught unaware, I allowed myself to be engaged in conversation with them. They had been shunned by everyone else on my floor and saw the wide-eyed foreigner as their one last opportunity to rid the world of another evil spirit.

I don’t know the Japanese for “sin,” “salvation,” “atonement,” “crucifixion,” “the unmerited grace of god,” or “QUICK, ESCAPE THY FIERY FATE, YE HORNED DEVIL!!!!11” These vocabulary words have yet to come up in my Japanese For Rational People Texts. But my inability to understand did nothing to dissuade these two women.

Whilst she couldn’t understand, “No thank you, I’m really not interested,” she was able to proclaim, “GREAAAAAAT POOOOWER!!” as she looked at me—fear and wonder glazing over her eyes.

The other woman, a kindly soul, I’m sure, sidled up to me with a sugar coated, “Do you know god?”

I insisted that yes, I did know about this so-called god, and that I was familiar with his work but the literature they had brought with them was entirely useless to me as I could not read it.

“Lots of Kanji!” I argued. “A happy thought, but I’m terribly sorry, I shan’t be able to read a word!”

The only retort they came up with, with which to argue my infallible logic was, “Happy??”

Posed as a question it was incredibly easy to deflect.

“WHY, YES, YES. I AM JOYOUSLY HAPPY. NEVER A SAD MOMENT IN MY LIFE. FUZZY BUNNIES AND BLUEBIRDS FROLIC AROUND ME AT WORK AND LITTLE PUPPIES ROMP IN MY HEAD FROM MORNING TILL NIGHT. Why don’t you go try Mr. Tanaka in 3D, I think his pet squirrel just died.”

They laughed, dubious that such a philistine could possibly be that happy. I took this valuable moment to smile brightly, excuse myself to go boil a baby and shut and latched the door.

The next day my mailbox was full. Inside were all the pamphlets I had been arguing against translated, for my benefit, into English.

Out of pure curiosity and a lack of anything else in this foreign land to read, I perused them. Whilst coffees are mislabeled with Tommy Lee Jones’ mug shot under the nonsensical word BOSS, and advertising declares that these special crepes will “stick to you and eat children,” the English written about god the omnipotent and eternal sustainer and his son Jesus Christ was perfect.

A week later and once again I am blessed with visitors. My doorbell rings. Thinking that perhaps I have a surprise box o’ love or a friend has traveled completely out of his/her way to surprise me on my doorstep, I fling open the door without bothering to peer through the peephole.

The same two women darken my doorway. “DID YOU GET IT? DID YOU READ IT? WASN’T IT FABULOUS? DIDN’T IT CHANGE YOUR LIFE IN UNTHINKABLE, UNFATHOMABLE WAYS?”

“Right, yes, I did get it. I read it.” God’s bolts couldn’t possibly strike me down for lying as I had, in fact, skimmed it through.

However, there was no stopping them now: “FANTASTIC! WE GOT ONE! EXCELLENT! SO, LET’S TALK GOD! LET US PRAISE HIS GREAT POWER. HIS HEAVENLY SPIRIT.”

As politely as I can I attempt to excuse myself, pulling the ol’ “I’m awfully busy right now” card from it’s usual place in my back pocket. I have facebook photos of peoples’ elbows and beer cans to tag, tatami mat bugs to observe and document and lint to pick off my blazer.

I slowly back into my hallway, a smile on my face.

“WAIT. NO. JUST 10 MINUTES. 10 MINUTES TO DISCUSS OUR GLORIOUS AND HOLY LORD AND SAVIOR!!!!”

As tempting as it might be to have a conversation that would go something like this:

“…Happy?”
“Yes. I am happy.”
“Greaaaaat powaaaaaa. You know?”
“Yes. Right. He has great power. I know.”
“… Powaaaaa…. Happy…. Now?”
“Sure. Yes, no change from seven seconds ago,” I excuse myself and return to my hapless heathen ways.

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Published:
6.6.07 / 10am
Category:
amusing incidents, what i call life, unschoolish