Tonight, two voices follow me up the hill. One is speaking rapid-fire Japanese, the other is also speaking Japanese, but just chiming in every now and again to show they’re listening. I catch every few words of the fast voice. They are discussing something complicated, like politics or the plot of a mega robot anime. Not a huge difference, if you think about it.
The fast voice is needy, constantly asking for the other’s approval. “Six thousand tons of steel… don’t you think?... but I mean it’s all massive weaponry… isn’t it?... or fuel… right? Up to the government… wouldn’t you say? Might be war… would you agree?”
They are right behind me. It’s an awkward distance. Too close to turn around and see who they are. Our eyes might meet. It’s just that I never hear Japanese on my way up the hill.
Well, that’s not true. There is that mother-son duo on bikes. The son is always calling after his mother, asking permission to do something. His voice is not fully broken but that doesn’t stop him. They often pass me, so I never have to turn to see who they are. And they pass by so quickly on their bikes that I never get a chance to hear whether permission is granted or not.
Anyway, curiosity is killing me. What is a socially acceptable thing to do to turn around? My shoelaces are tied. No go. There is a Eucalyptus tree up ahead. I could stop to inspect it. But back where I come from, they call these trees “widow-makers.” Willfully standing beneath one is a death wish. Their branches are known to fall without warning. A blue dragonfly lands on streetlamp. (They have been blue lately). That’s it. I’ll stop to admire it.
My plan is of course foiled when out of nowhere a white Pomeranian is nearly flattened by a tractor coming down the hill at lightning speed. Chaos ensues. Meanwhile, the Pomeranian acts as if nothing happened and trots off. I have never understood their appeal.