Walking in the dark

by Diane Gouet (Germany)

A leap into the unknown Japan

It was around two in the morning in Tokyo. The night was Halloween night, and I decided to spend it in the city center, getting lost in the phantasmagorical crowd. I was 17, and my younger sister was strolling behind me, vaguely following my steps. If someone had taken a picture of the scene, it would have been a strange picture. Under the neon lights, geishas walked with a Starbucks cup in a hand, mythical creatures were staring at their Iphones, while severe businessmen were chatting with a japanese David Bowie. And there was us. The air is fresh, the light is red, blue, pink, yellow. People walk past us, beer in a hand, laughing. They all seem to have somewhere to go. I look at my sister, who returns my stare with hesitant eyes. We've already walked a lot, she's tired. So am I. We were in this bar for a bit, populated with the travelers and tourists. We hoped the alcohol would help to turn this strange night into a fun one. A danish guy approached us, asking where we come from, and what we're doing here. We had the usual small-talk, the one that belongs to the travelers. All over the world, the same questions. Then, we had the same conversation with someone else. We walked out, following random groups. After circling the neighborhood about three times, we decided it was time to go home. In that particular case, home was a small apartment way out in the suburbs of the city. It belonged to a family-friend who let us sleep there for the week. It took an hour and a half to get there from the center, even in the day. But, as we faced the closed door of the metro station, we realized we might not get to go home that night. It had not occurred to me that a hyperactive city like Tokyo would ever stop running. And yet, here I was, standing face to face my stupidity. Why didn't I think of that ? I had, of course, almost no money on me. The little amount I had taken for the night was spent on ineffective cocktails. I opened my wallet to find 1000 yens, looking back at me shamefully. Fully aware that the amount would never get us even close to where we wanted to, my sister and I walked to a cab station. A single Japanese man, in his late twenties, was already standing in line. For some reason, he decided to start talking to me. Finding a Japanese who can speak English is like finding a needle in a haystack. Thankfully, that man was the needle. He had been out looking for some good company, sadly, the company was not so good. He was going home empty handed. As he asked about our night, a cab pulled up. He asked if we wanted to share the ride. I answered without thinking. Sure. We climbed in. As we drove away, I explained our situation. He thought for a moment before speaking again. “You are going to say no. But, if you want, I might have a solution. You could sleep at my apartment.”. We had known him for about 15 minutes. I turned to my sister to discuss the matter in our native French, protected by the language barrier. “If anything seems sketchy, at any moment, we walk away. There’s two of us.” we looked at each other. We decided on following our guts. He seemed surprised when we accepted the offer. We stopped in a quiet street in Shinjuku. As we walked towards the apartment, my heart was pounding. What if this was a terrible idea? It was not. He offered us his bed, pyjamas, even a spare toothbrush. He slept in an armchair, and that was it. That night, we made a bold move. But I am happy to say that I lived to tell this story and today, I am thankful that this stranger offered to take us in, share his home for a night. I am thankful for this terrible situation I was in, because it forced me to trust.