Bi-Polar Bear Hug

Japanese schools have a "Special Ed" class, but often the parents decide if their child will be placed in this class or not, and too often they opt out. This is a problematic policy. Here's why:

Working at two schools, alternating two weeks at either, means every other Monday morning I arrive at a school after a two-week absence, walk into the office like I belong there (because I do) and, aside from the English teachers and a few select others, the staff need a time-out to adjust to having a foreigner in their midst.

It never fails.

Not Kawaguchi-sensei, though, thank god.

“Baye-sensei, you look like shit!” she said as a welcome. “Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“Of course not. He was at it again!" I replied, shaking my head. For shits and giggles, I used to blame my roommate sometimes, in lieu of telling the truth: I was up all night writing about why Japanese people bring out the worst in foreigners. Then I raised an eyebrow, suggesting I had some juicy tidbits to share with her later.

 My roommate at the time, a German cat, used to have a harem of Japanese girls coming in and out of our house at all hours of the night, and he used to do them all, and do them well, with reckless abandon, the thin wall between our rooms was never even a consideration. And if that weren't bad enough, being an American and having been inundated with dark Nazi stereotypes or ridiculous German tropes my entire life, it was hard not to think of the Gestapo when listening to a citizen of Deutschland speak, let alone his grunts and cries of passion when savaging his Japanese conquests.

So, occasionally, I’ll give her one of those stories.

Kawaguchi loved to hear decadent stories of foreigners that confirmed her well-embedded ideas about us. One idea is that foreign guys come here and stay here because they believe Japanese girls are easy and unburdened by so-called Western morality. But, the funny thing is, she told me once or twice when she was being generous with her theories that these guys are unaware that their Japanese conquests are usually outcasts (for one reason or another, sometimes by choice) from any semblance of Japanese respectable society. I remember the first time she’d told me that theory of hers. I just stared at her and had to resist the urge to laugh and say: “And???”

The atmosphere in the office that day was different. It was kind of somber and tense, more so than usual, so I just knew something was awry.

“What’s going on in here?” I asked Kawaguchi, nodding at the room. She did her thing when she’s about to unload some office secret on me, where she looks around, leans in and speaks in hushed tones.

“One of the first-year students brought a knife to school on Friday…”

I guess I should have been more surprised, but I wasn’t.

“Who? Matsui-kun? Satou-kun?”

“No, no, no…it was a girl!”

“Really?” Now, that was surprising. There was only one girl in the entire school I could even imagine doing something like that. She was a first year student by the name of Mika. I had already marginalized Matsui and Satou as future Yakuza from the first week of school, and I had pretty much done the same to her, as well. Not as a future Yakuza, though. I imagine one of the prerequisites of becoming a Yakuza would be some semblance of mental stability. Mika had yet to display, at least to my satisfaction, that she knows the difference between right and wrong, good and bad, sometimes even teacher and student. She was OUT there. So, yeah, I had written her off as a total whack job.

“Don’t tell me, Mika-chan…”

“Who else?"

“Did she cut anybody?”

“No, no, no, no…”

“Did she pull it on a teacher? Or on a student?”

“No!" she said, looking astonished at my suspicions, which were apparently beyond the scope of conceivable for her. "Of course she not. She just showed it to a student…”

“Showed it? Okaaaaay…”

I was picturing Mika holding it to one of her classmate’s throats, laughing hysterically, the way she laughed when she kicked me in the ass the day we first met, establishing, at least for me, that she wasn’t wrapped so tight.

“What the HELL is your problem???” I'd yelled at her that day, totally uncharacteristic of me. But she didn’t know, nor did she give a fuck about my characteristics. She'd made a sad face like a clown or a pantomime does and then suddenly burst into wild laughter, jumping around and pointing at me. Then she made like she was going to kick me in the balls, actually looking at them and pointing. So, what did I do? I tried to icy glare / dare her into submission. I threw on an I'm an unpredictable black gaijin and I don't play by Japanese rules! I WILL HURT YOU REEEEAL BAD if you even think about lifting that foot, you crazy little fuck! glare.

Her foot missed my nuts by inches…it actually grazed my zipper. She didn’t even hesitate. If I hadn’t leaped back, I would have needed hospitalization.

“HA HA HA HA BAYE SENSEI BAKA!!!” She hollered. Other students from her homeroom were watching this. They had looks of pity and fear on their faces.

Oh my god! What the fuck is this? I remember thinking that day.

While Matsui and Satou run the other first-year class, Mika runs her class, and apparently, she runs the homeroom teacher too: the very prissy chichi foofoo Okawa sensei.

Okawa-sensei was sitting across from me and looking very distressed indeed.

“Ohayou Gozaimasu” I whispered in her direction.

She waved and smiled the same smile she always had, like Miss Japan at the airport waving hello to her Japanese supporters upon returning to Tokyo from winning 1st runner-up to a black Miss France in the Miss Universe contest, mortification smoldering beneath it.

That bitch, Takahashi-sensei, sitting across the room, was watching me now, I noticed. Maybe she was wondering if I knew that she had given me some needs improvement marks on her review of my performance simply because I couldn’t control her kids. I tossed a grin in her general direction. She smiled cheerily in return.

Just one big happy family we were.

I wondered which one of them had the bigger knife, Mika or Takahashi.

*****

I called The Company later that day, and Silky Tony himself answered the phone.

Me: It's Baye over at Syougannai.

Tony: Baye, my man, how are you?

Me: I'd be better if I'd gotten a raise this year.

Tony: I understand how you feel...it's just this economy, you know how it is.

Me: Whatever, man…I didn't call about that, though. I knew you'd give me the party line if I had.

Tony: Well, there are other factors. Do you wanna hear them?

Me: Only if I haven't heard them before...If you're gonna tell me it's based on these whimsical ass teachers' assessment of my performance, forget about it.

Tony: You know, Baye…sometimes I get the feeling you don’t like me very much…

Me: Tony, my man, sometimes I get the feeling it’s not your job to be liked, and it’s not my job to like you. But if it's any consolation, I know you're probably a likable guy under different circumstances.

Tony: Hahaha Touché! You’re funny!

Me: Can’t lose our sense of humor in this man’s land, now can we?”

Tony: Truer words have never been spoken, Baye…

Me: OK, so let me ask you something, Tony.

Tony: Shoot.

Me: A student with…let’s just say mental issues…brings a knife to school and gets a slap on the wrist-

Tony: Is this a hypothetical question?

Me: Yeah…a student hypothetically pulled a hypothetical knife on another student and received a hypothetical slap on the wrist last week…this after hypothetically kicking me in the ass and trying to kick me in my nuts after that...

Tony: OK OK OK…

Me: So…my question is: if that student pulls a knife on me and I accidentally break her arm or put her through a wall, what would happen to me...you know, hypothetically?

Tony: Well, Baye, my man, hypothetically speaking, your job and possibly your Visa status would become hypotheticals…

Me: Great.

Tony: But, personally, Baye, I’d be behind you 100%!

Me: You don’t know how cherished and invaluable that makes me feel, Tony.

Tony: Hahaha! You’re a funny guy! I didn’t know that…Anyway, hang in there. Don't worry, things will--

Me: Yeah, glad to hear it. Gotta go. Later.

*****

When I was 13 I was enrolled in Jackie Robinson Intermediate School in Brooklyn. It was my first year of school in the real world.

Before then I was attending a school so tight-knit that it was basically home-schooling. I mean love was in the air; sometimes a little too much love. But I had been nurtured in this environment. It was all black, and it was all I knew. My friends were essentially family. Some of the teachers were parents, and some of the parents were teachers, and ALL had license to put their foot in my ass if I got out of line. It was a fairly insulated and sheltered world where cultural awareness and the revolutionary spirit were valued and fostered.

It was not the real world.

Jackie Robinson had security guards with Walkie-Talkies at the doors and a number of “deans” running around the halls chasing students. Deans who would gladly place delinquents into the loving clutches of the NY Police Department. As for the chasees? Some of these guys truly needed to be in custody. Vandalization, assault and battery, molestation and muggings were not rare. Nor was it strange to see a posse outside the entrance laying in wait on some fool who’d fucked some guys' sister or had something of value he shouldn’t have been foolish enough to bring to school, like a new pair of Nikes, some Cazal eyeglass frames or a sheepskin coat. They wouldn’t shoot him or stab him usually, but by the time they finished stomping him he’d probably wish they had put him out of his misery. This was the type of school life my mother had sought to protect me from. The world of beat-downs in the cafeteria, blood trails in the stairwells, and minimal learning or mis-education in the classrooms.

This was the real world.

Well, not in Japan. At least, I thought not. But, that week, I was back at Jackie Robinson again…and not as a student. I felt more like an unpopular teacher. A teacher with the crosshairs on his back.

I’d been anxious about this moment ever since Kawaguchi told me that Mika-chan had brought a knife to school. I mean, if you were caught with a knife back in old Jackie Robinson, you would definitely find yourself at least suspended, and, depending on the length of the blade (for a Swiss army knife you claim you’ve had since you were a Boy Scout they might let slide,) you could wind up, again, in the warm embrace of those who were notoriously known to serve and protect and break nigger’s necks for a living… In the real world.

But Mika was simply told not to come to school the following day. She promptly ignored and not only came to school but sans uniform and wearing a mini skirt that would prompt even seasoned hookers to say, "You GO, girl!"

Her mother was called, naturally, and showed up that afternoon with Mika’s uniform. Later, Kawaguchi, on the down low, informed me that when reminded that her daughter was not even supposed to be there that day due to a suspension, the mother replied, “Here’s her uniform. Sayonara!”

And left.

The next day, she returned and met with the school's guidance counselor, Katou-san. Katou-san is a Returnee who speaks better English than Takahashi and Kawaguchi but doesn’t teach it. She comes to the school once a week (one of five schools she rotates through) and handles whatever issues might have arisen since her last visit. The first-year students this year have kept her pretty busy. Katou and I have grown close, so she let me in on what went down in this meeting.

Turns out this is the third school Mika has landed at in as many years for obvious reasons. Her mother, a housewife and, according to Katou, was as nutty as the daughter. Katou recommended that Mom get Mika some professional counseling at a “facility,” to which the mother replied something to the effect of “Been there, done that! Any other bright ideas, you westernized bitch??” Katou kept her cool and said, “A knife is a very serious thing,” to which the mother replied, “She told you she would never do it again, just like she told me. I believe her. Don’t you?” Katou looked at me with eyes that conveyed that bitch is out of her fucking mind, and so is her daughter! But she told me that she simply replied, “Of course, I want to believe her.”

That settled, by the working definition of "settled," in this neck of the globe, Mika was back at school, and when I arrived to teach her class on Thursday, she was standing in the doorway blocking my way.

“Good morning, Mika," I said, eyes on high alert. "How are you?”

Mika has the attention span of a squirrel, and I have yet to hear her ever utter a single word in English, so I didn’t expect an English response. I was just going through the motions.

She wouldn’t move. She looked at me through black eyes of icy cold coal. An actual shiver went through me. She reminded me of kids from a Stephen King movie I'd seen. I turned around, and a line had formed behind me of students waiting to get into the class. When I turned back, Mika looked up at me and rushed toward me. I threw up my arms in defense. I just knew she was gonna slit me open like a pig and go tell the staff she’ll never do it again and be back in class tomorrow.

But that wasn’t what she was up to at all.

She was giving me a hug.

This was not the first time she’d hugged me. She’s done it two or three times before, always unexpected and always very lovingly. But I never understood why except to think she was trying to set me up for a bite or a sharp knee to the groin. But she never used her hugs that way. They always feel authentic. And this one was no different. She’s a big girl and very strong and so squeezed me tightly. I could feel her power. Then she let me go like she’d had enough. My back certainly had. She'd tweaked it.

“Baye sensei, ageru…” (this is for you) She reached out her hand, and in it she had a folded piece of paper. I took it, unfolded and read it. It said, in English, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Baye Sensei. I Love You!” It had lots of hearts and manga characters all over it, neatly and fairly artistic, and looked as if it had taken more attention to detail than I'd yet to see her give anything except the manga comics she kept in her desk.

I looked at her as she stepped aside, her attention already having moved on to other things. She walked out of the classroom and made her way to the staircase, then vanished.

I and several of the students who had been waiting just stood there at the entrance to the classroom scratching our heads.

Valentine's Day wasn't for another six months.

*****

Aisatsu (greeting) time at the start of a class should occur within a few seconds of the end of the Westminster chimes, which rang at the start and end of each class. Once all the kids are seated, the designated student (it changes daily, I think) says: “Ki wo Tsuke…” to which all the students stand at attention and prepare to bow, followed by, “…rei!” at which point they all bow. Then, fairly in unison, they shout, “Onegai shimasu!” which has a dozen meanings, but in this case, I presume, from the students’ perspective, it means something like, “OK, we’re all here now, and you've got our attention, so do us a favor and please teach us something useful, will you?”

I should add that all seats should be filled by this point. An absent student is rare, and a late student is even rarer.

There was one empty seat in the class well into the second minute after the bell…

Guess who’s?

Takahashi and I were both eyeing the empty seat in the back. Then she glanced at me, eyes squinted, lips pursed, and cheeks puffed out. A weary look filled with dread and dark thoughts...for Japanese anyway. To me, it looked like a petulant child or a spoiled little girl upon being told,” No more ice cream for you!”

”Where is she?” I asked, trying to look like I commiserated.

Takahashi shrugged.

Through the shaded window of the classroom’s door a shadow shaped like a midget sumo wrestler had appeared. It dawdled there a moment like it was telling itself, "OK, I won’t kill her today, I won’t kill her today…I can do this…”

I nodded towards the door. Takahashi turned as it slid open, and Mika schlepped her hefty self into the room, leaving the door open in her wake. She leisurely strolled through the aisles to her seat in the back, the whole class trying to ignore her.

Usually, believe it or not, lateness would incur all kinds of hissing and booing from your fellow students; it’s such a no-no here. But, in Mika’s case, it was as if everyone knew that even the slightest sound or eye contact might incur her wrath.

She threw herself into her chair, making as much noise as possible, reached into her desk, pulled out a manga magazine, held it up before her face, and began to read it.

Takahashi sighed aloud and glanced at me.

“Baye sensei, you can go ahead and begin the lesson,” she whispered as she made her way to the back of the room, like a dead woman walking towards the gas chamber, a priest whispering the last rites in her ear.

The students were torn between paying attention to me and sneaking a peek at what they were sure was going to be something to see in the back of the room.   Takahashi-sensei said something I couldn’t hear from the front of the class with the body language of please don’t make my life any more difficult than you already have. Mika put the Manga down on her desk and aimed those black eyes at Takahashi. I couldn’t hear the words, but her body language replied Bitch, if you don’t back up off of me, I’m gonna break the promise I made to myself at the door not to kill your sorry ass!

Then, I saw Takahashi and Mika both reach for the Manga…

Oh yes oh yes oh yes they both, oh yes they both, oh yes they both, reached for the manga, manga, manga, manga…(sung to "We Both Reached for the Gun" from Chicago).

Nope, a tug of war did not ensue.

Mika snatched it from Takahashi’s weakened and terrified resolve and backhanded her in the gut, shouting, “Jama! Shine!” (Fuck off and go to hell!)

Takahashi, at that terrific moment, must have had the same thought that raced through my head: If Mika had had that knife in her hand, she would be mortally wounded right now, but I gotta give it to Takahashi. She stood her ground and kept her cool. She actually reached for the manga again, and the backhand came again, only this time she blocked it…and spewed some of that corrosive Japanese I can never catch; it kind of sounds like an angry, hungry kitten when erupting from a woman's mouth. Words of scolding, I’m sure, cause Mika looked about half a heartbeat from going into one of the tantrums of rage I'd heard she was prone to. So, Takahashi backed off, and Mika satisfied that she’d won this battle, returned the Manga to its position in front of her face.

Actually, with Mika not making efforts to disrupt the class, which is her Modus Operandi, the class went very well. The kids were able to practice and use the grammar. At one point during the class I was having so much fun with the students that I noticed Mika peak from behind her manga to see what was making the class laugh so much. She placed the manga on the desk and actually leaned in to catch a glimpse of the game we were playing in groups. We made eye contact, she and I, and I could see that her temper was still hot but that it was aimed exclusively at Takahashi-sensei, not at me and not at her fellow students.

But, about five minutes before the bell rang, Mika reverted to form and started making the chime noise with her mouth very loudly: “DING Ding Ding Ding…ding Ding Ding DING!” Over and over until the actual bell chimed.

Once it had, and the students were dismissed, Mika came immediately up to Takahashi-sensei like they’d had unfinished business that needed settling immediately. She actually came to pick a fight with her. I could see it in her eyes. She just needed a reason.

During the class, Takahashi, a very talented sketch artist, had drawn a rendering of Sponge Bob Square Pants so accurately and adroitly with a yellow piece of chalk that the whole class was oohing and ahhing…that is, everyone except Mika.

Mika picked up the yellow piece of chalk while Takahashi and I were packing up to leave and began to deface the work…Takahashi saw this and reached to take the chalk from Mika’s hand. Mika drew the hand back, holding it close to her, drawing Takahashi in like a black widow. Then she went toward the board again, and Takahashi reached for the chalk a little more aggressively, and… uumph! right in the goddamn gut! Sucker punched. Not hard, but hard enough. I saw Takahashi actually restrain herself from hitting her back, and again, I was impressed with her.

Mika laughed the same way she had when she'd grazed my nuts with her oversized feet that other day, her face red and evil.

When I got back to the office, I decided that I had better have a clarification session with Kawaguchi-sensei cause I wasn’t about to endure injury for the cause of attempting to teach English to an armed, Bipolar, ADHD-suffering juvenile delinquent. I also wanted to find out how I could help Takahashi, who, though I suspected she might be doing something to provoke this violent behavior, I was still kind of on suicide watch. She might be a Babaa, but she doesn’t deserve to die.

The review I received from Silky Tony the other day was based on feedback from a teacher at Syougannai JHS, which means the knife in my back was placed there by either Kawaguchi or Takahashi. They were the only two teachers who reviewed my performance here.

In my heart, I was 99.99999% sure it was Takahashi, but my years in the land of casual evasion and deception had made it impossible for me to trust anyone here 100%, especially in the workplace- and that went for the men and women. I’d been burned too many times, and only when I’d let down my guards, disarmed by the Japanese tendency to put up a good front. They simply come off as incapable of the kind of deceptions they commit.

I’d learned that to them, in their hearts, it wasn't really treachery at all.

In fact, it was quite normal for the Japanese to do things this way. What would be called two-faced fucking bastardry in the US, something I used to think was deserving of the treatment the Nazis got from Aldo Raine and his posse of Inglourius Basterds, was everyday fare here. They can’t help it so it’s hard to fault them.

I was a fairly trusting soul before I came to Japan. I also felt like I had a pretty well-honed traitor detector and could tell the difference between a person with whom I could share confidences and a person who’d likely share my confidences with anyone within earshot. But, here, that detector was about as useful as a steak knife at a sushi bar. I don’t let it vex me as much as it used to. Now, I just roll with it, but I never trust them 100%.

Sometimes Kawaguchi would take me into the recording room or the conference room where we’d have virtually soundproof privacy, yet she’d still speak in hush tones, heavy with breath. All the security precautions used to make me paranoid, like she knew something I didn’t know about the walls in this place: that they have eyes, ears, or both. Now, I know it’s just her style. She’s sneaky. Japanese say zurui. I say typically Japanese. However, today, with an office full of listening co-workers, she didn’t even bother. She sat down in a chair beside mine and smiled…her eyes twinkled as she read my face.

Me: I’m worried about Takahashi-sensei.

Kawaguchi- Really? Why?

Me: Well, of course, you know about Mika assaulting her and Matsui-kun. Forget about it. Not to mention the hazing that goes on right here in…

Kawaguchi: Assaulting her??? What do you mean?

Me: She didn’t tell you?

Kawaguchi: Tell me what?

Me: Ummm…

I started smelling something foul, something political. Secrets. Lies within lies. I paused and looked at Kawaguchi. My old traitor detector turned on all by itself. It warmed up with a squelch like my old CB radio. A distress call was coming in: “Breaker Breaker, Baye, good buddy, back off the hammer! !10-33, I say again, 10-33! Best get in the granny lane!” (Slow down, Baye. Danger. Emergency ahead, take it slow…)

Kawaguchi: What???

Me: Um…so, what do you know?

Kawaguchi: Know about what?

Me: About Mika and Takahashi…tell me what you know first.

Kawaguchi gave me a benign, inquisitive look like she didn’t know what to make of my suddenly awkward behavior, probably intuiting that I didn’t entirely trust her. But, if she were crestfallen or impressed by this intuition, it was her secret because her face confessed neither. She simply leaned in like she usually did when she was going to lay some heavy shit on me and, in a thick whisper, a little louder than usual, said: “I think it’s her fault!”

And she nodded her head at sweet, prissy, chichi fufu Okawa-sensei.

Okawa sensei is the head teacher of the first-year students and the person to whom Takahashi reports directly. She’s a very nice woman, always smiling, kind, friendly, and hard-working. Typical. I never liked her much, though. It’s not her fault, really. It’s just that she always uses super formal Japanese when she speaks, which I can’t understand well. She’s the only one in the office who does it, and it has effectively erected a wall between us, verbally. Plus, her voice. Ugh! She makes me want to rip off my ears. She sounds the way I imagine Minnie Mouse would sound if she were a 50-year-old, chain-smoking, heavy drinking, domestically abused singer who thinks she still has it and nobody has the heart to tell her she doesn’t (and never really did…it was always her abusive husband Mickey’s popularity that carried her.)

She was smiling when I glanced over there and wiggled her fingers at me in greeting. She knew we were talking about her. And Kawaguchi knew that she knew that we were talking about her. Had that been a salvo of sorts? Had Kawaguchi just used me to embarrass Okawa??? I could still hear the squelching of my old detector, trying to find a signal on a stormy night, picking up the warning: “10-33, Baye, 10-33…” echoing in my head. The last thing I wanted to do was get into the middle of some office politics.

Kawaguchi: The first-year students are wild, and she cannot control them. None of them can!

She nodded again at the whole first-year students' teacher section. Four of the six teachers, including Takahashi and Okawa, were seated there, shuffling paper around and trying to look busy. The office was very quiet. The only sounds in the universe were the heaters blowing semi-warm air, the whirl of computer hard drives, the squeak of chairs, and the distinctive sound of Kawaguchi’s whispers…

Kawaguchi: …but she doesn’t say so.

Me: Eeee? What do you mean she doesn’t say so? Everybody knows! Matsui came in here the other day, and practically…

Kawaguchi: I know, I know, everybody knows…but she hasn’t said so. And she hasn’t told the principal or the vice principal about the situation. If she doesn’t say it‘s a problem, then it’s not a problem!

Me: What?? What do you mean?

Kawaguchi: She tells the first-year teachers not to speak with the principals or with us about the problems in the classroom with the first-year students. Takahashi told me, but I had to pretend she didn’t tell me because if I didn’t, Okawa would scold her even more than she did already. Takahashi came to me crying yesterday, but I couldn’t help her because of Okawa!

Me: Are you serious? Does everyone have to pretend this problem isn’t a problem because she has decided that it isn’t a problem?

Kawaguchi: Yes!

Me: That's insane! What about the principals? They must see everything. They know, of course…There’s trouble in their school. Why don’t they just jump in and take the initiative? They can see the problem! Hell, students are assaulting teachers!

At this, Kawaguchi went into actual surreptitious mode and became her usual sneaky self when she had secrets to tell. I thought, fuck, I can’t believe I doubted this woman for one second, and I felt bad. She tells me everything and takes risks to do so.

Kawaguchi (whispering so softly I could hardly hear her): The principal and her are…

And, on the down low, she flashes her thumb and her pinky.

Great! Sex and politics…Thumb means boyfriend, and pinky means girlfriend. I figured both together meant simply fucking. I glanced at the front desk, where the vice principal and the principal sat chatting with one another. They were both married, so…

Me: Which one?

Kawaguchi: Eeee?

Me: Which one is she…(I did the pinky/thumb thingy) with?

Kawaguchi: I don’t know…

Me: Huh?

Kawaguchi: They both pretend, deshou? Maybe she’s (pinky/thumb thingy) both of them…

Me: USO!!! (Bullshit!!!)

I knew from that moment that Kawaguchi didn’t only dislike Okawa. She hated the bitch!

Kawaguchi: They both know about the problem, deshou? And they both do nothing, deshou? And they both listen to her lies about how she can control the situation, deshou? They both help her every day…

Me: Come on, you don’t really believe she’s doing them both, do you?

She suddenly burst into a raucous laugh. This was for Okawa’s benefit, no doubt.

Kawaguchi: No, I guess not. I think she’s (pinky/thumb thingy) the principal and he’s keeping the vice principal in check.

Me: So I guess Takahashi is the one really getting (pinky/thumb thingy) deshou?

It took her a second to get my meaning. Then, she nodded grimly and glanced over at Takahashi, looking all helpless at her desk.

Kawaguchi: (whispers) Kawaisou. (It’s a shame.)