The elderly Japanese couple was in
The Japanese gentleman stood peering through the window. Outside right under the first of the marble tables he saw a rat. The rat was hiding from the rain but at the same time it seemed to be glaring at him and showing him its teeth.
‘How dare this rat glare at me like that. I’m going down to kill it with my ninjato[1],’ he said suddenly.
‘Do you want me to go and do it with my kaiken[2]?’ asked the elderly wife from the rocking chair she had rested herself in.
‘No, it belongs to me. I’m not coming back without its head.’
‘Be careful with your kimono,’ she murmured from the insides of the chair as he closed the door on his way out.
The husband went downstairs. He passed through the lobby where the hotel keeper sat behind her desk drinking beer. She was a big German matron in a crimson silk dress, her muscular neck and massive biceps bulging under the fine fabric.
‘Gute nacht’, said the husband. He was impressed with the frau’s warlike appearance.
‘Schönes Wetter heute,’ she responded in a thunderous voice.
The husband did not speak much German but he thought that the hotel keeper was indeed very polite, so he turned to her and bowed reverently. Then he opened the door, took out his ninjato and prepared for combat. Suddenly he heard a flapping sound and at the same time felt a poking sensation in his behind. He turned around and saw the hotel keeper who had unfurled a large umbrella without measuring the distance and now was giggling with embarrassment.
‘Not get wet, you,’ she boomed and lifted the umbrella above his head.
‘Arigato,’ said the husband and they stepped into the cold rain outside. They reached the backyard where the toilets glistened mysteriously in the moonlight. The husband carefully examined the space around the tables with the shining ninjato ready in his hand, but the rat was gone.
‘Warum du out in rain?’ humbly asked the formidable frau.
‘There was a rat.’ said the Japanese gentleman and pointed under the first table.
‘Rat…rat…’ the hotel keeper started mumbling to herself, scratching her head.
‘Yes, a rat. I saw it from my window. It was hiding from the rain under that same table. It glared at me and showed me its teeth.’
He looked at the hotel keeper who by that point had become rather confused, a large raindrop hanging from her pale Aryan nose.
‘Go in...get wet...’ she said and smiled somewhat hesitantly at him.
‘Alright then,’ agreed the husband and reluctantly sheathed his ninjato.
They went back into the hotel lobby. The husband watched the hotel keeper as she folded the umbrella and violently shook it to get the water off. ‘Impressive woman,’ he thought, ‘gentle yet brave.’ He pressed his palms together and bowed reverently again.
‘Oyasuminasai,’ he said and went up to his room. He opened the door and saw his wife still crouching on the rocking chair. She was listening to haiku on her iPod.
‘Did you kill the rat?’ she asked as she removed the buds from her ears.
‘No. It was gone.’
‘Maybe it was struck by lightning. After all, the bold do receive their punishment.’
‘It was mine. Its head should have fallen under the infallible blade of my ninjato. Maybe I should have taken its miserable life with my shuriken the very moment I saw it from that window…’
His wife had resumed listening to haiku.
He walked up to the big mirror that hung on one of the walls and took off his pants. He carefully examined his thighs, his left buttock, his right buttock and his six-pack. Then he started tensing them rhythmically like a bodybuilder.
‘Do you think it would be a good idea if I wax my legs?’
His wife removed the earbuds again and, after a moment of consideration, replied ‘Only legs won't do. You should go for chest and back as well. Maybe there, too,’ and she nodded sagely at his loins.
The husband stepped back from the mirror and went to the window, peering through the glass into the mellow German night.
‘I want to be smooth. I want to be silky smooth. Like the silk of a kimono. Like the silk of the hotel keeper’s dress..’
‘What the hell..’ started the wife.
‘I want this rat’s head on a silver plate. It’s my duty to offer it as a gift to my brave ancestors.’
‘Why don’t you try some haiku?’
The husband still stood with his pants down in front of the window. He couldn’t stop thinking about the rat. The rat in the rain. The rat that had laughed at him and then ran away. The shame had almost covered him from head to toes when someone knocked on the door.
‘Wilkommen,’ he responded.
The door opened and there stood the formidable frau, the hotel keeper, in her crimson silk dress, bloody cleaver in one hand, slain rat in the other.
‘Entschuldigen Sie bitte,’ she said solemnly, ‘Rat!’
