True Japanese Ghost Story
By Kevin C. Crowell

In 1978 I was the only American living in Okazaki, Japan. I was teaching English at a Jr. High prep school living with a Japanese family. The hours were conducive to a young college graduate- 4:00 to 9:00pm; my days were free. My Japanese "mother" and "father" were in their early-60's and came to the teaching profession by circumstance not by choice. My Japanese father was black-listed in the early 60's after he was suspected of being a communist labor organizer at nearby Toyota Automotive. Being black-listed meant that he was forced to work for himself in a country which prided itself on group employment. With little other alternatives, both he and his wife started a "cram" school for young children to help them prepare for the dreaded high school and college entrance examinations. They rented space in a building in downtown Okazaki from an older couple, the Takeuchis. The Takeuchi's home was on the top floor of the building, the school rented the second floor, and across the street was their office supply business. Naturally we'd see Mr. Takeuchi walking across the street after closing shop for the day at 9:00pm, just as we closed the school.

My Japanese father was quite a reserved man, alike in that respect with nearly every Japanese man I've met. Atypical, though, was his almost severe lack of humor. Maybe it was because he had been branded a communist and had to lead his life outside the mainstream of Japanese socitey that he had little time for joking around. Or maybe it was his training as a math teacher. But whatever the reason, he rarely joked and only occaisionally smiled. While he was only half my height, I felt intimidated by his demeanor. I often hid behind a smile but there was preciouis little that deserved a smile in his presence. We respected eachother and in the months that I lived with his family, in many ways he had become a father figure to me.

Our days, like those of so many teachers, were routine. Classes started at 4:00pm sharp and ended at 9:00pm with children returning home bleary-eyed to finish their homework for the evening. Each night my mother and I would close up the school, turning out the lights on the second floor and then walking two flights of stairs down to street level where my father would be waiting in the car he'd gone to retreive. So it was on one late September evening. Unlike the USA, Japan does not observe daylight savings time so mornings and evenings both appear earlier there than in the States. By 9:00pm the sky was dark, and on that particular night it seemed even darker than most due to the waning moon.

For several weeks prior, the owner of the building, Mr. Takeuchi, had been in the hospital. During that time, his wife of many years would stoically inform us that all was well and that Mr. Takeuchi would soon be returning home. We missed our regular 9:00pm exchanges with Mr. Takeuchi as he walked home from the store and told her so, asking her to give him our best regards for a speedy recovery. It was with great pleasure on that evening when my Japanese father told me that he'd seen Mr. Takeuchi while waiting for us to close up the school. My father was waiting in the idling car, headlights on, when Mr. Takeuchi steped into the beam of light they cast, the upper half of his body illuminated by the lights shone a healthy glow upon his continence.

"Okairi-nasai Takeuchi-san! Ogenki desu ne!" (Welcome home Mr. Takeuchi. You look great!)

"Okagesama desu. Mou kairimasu." (Thank you! I'll just be going home now...)

When we entered the car my father told us of seeing Mr. Takeuchi and how, healthy, peaceful and relaxed he looked. "It's good to see him home again." he said as we drove away into the night.

The next morning we received a call from Mrs. Takeuchi. My Japanese father answered the phone. Mrs. Takeuchi said she'd been at the hospital the evening before and was calling us to let us know that her husband had passed away just before 9:00pm.

"But that's impossible. I saw him enter the building just a little after 9:00 yesterday." said my father, his voice uncertain now about what he'd seen.

"I'm so greatful you told me." she replied. "He must have been going home one last time."

Later when my Japanese father told me what Mrs. Takeuchi had said, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had seen Mr. Takeuchi's final trip home. That was not something he would ever lie about. Didn't he tell me less than 24 hours before after seeing Mr. Takeuchi how well he looked? Then as if to cast aside all doubt, I remembered that he'd only seen Mr. Takeuchi's torso- because as every Japanese rightly knows, ghosts don't have feet.

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