The Girl with the Lion Mane Hair

I think about her quite often. Instantly her image flashes to my mind. Her coarse Japanese hair, bleached orange, long and thick, cut at different lengths. It looked heavy. Her arm tattoos were faded and blurred. I think about her when I see my hairdresser. Simultaneously I think about her and gab on about how I need more volume, more foils, more treatment and yes more wine.

“Pour the wine!” I say.

I know that I am being excessive and indulgent, and I remember when I didn’t have that ability, just as she doesn’t, and will not have, ever. I feel like an imposter sometimes, but I still order the wine.  I think about how she is locked up. Still and until the end of her time. I fight feeling the guilts, I shove them back downward where they tend to lurk. Such a flurry of emotions so rapidly filter through me as the gabbing continues. Oh yes, I know! Being locked up in your apartment is like prison. My facetiousness is dripping, she doesn’t notice as she tussles my hair. It’s a strange feeling to project functionality when your mind is elsewhere. Do people notice? I try to stay present and engaging with others, but my mind is always elsewhere. Usually over there in the small cell with her.

I didn’t look up. I knew what that sound meant. Heavy keys jangled around as they turned through the lock. It was loud and always surprising, but my mind was so dull I didn’t jut or flinch as the heavy iron lock slid open. The sound of the metal bar as it pulled through the rings was distinctive, I hear it now as the foils are folded onto my hair. The door swung open; I raise my head just slightly to take in the newcomer. She flipped her slippers off as told and stepped into the cell. The guard barked at her to make sure her plastic footwear were kept neat and tidy, and she did so as she bent down and paired them and tucked them under the entrance. She was holding her face towel and a wad of tissue paper. They’d given her a large bundle of paper; I wonder if that had been intentional. Just like that, the door banged shut. The sound echoed and was definite. There was no way out.

I remained seated on the floor in the corner, with my book open, I re-read the sentence again, just to let it fade away. The cheap carpet had left its mark on my butt cheeks. I had the same ridges indented from sitting on the floor for so long. I had only noticed the wavy bumps last week after the showers. This week’s shower I scrubbed harder, but the ridges remained.  I watched the other girls interact with the new girl from my corner. Hellos were exchanged, no one dare mentioned real names, that was forbidden. The conversation quickly turns to me, it was rare for a white foreigner to be here supposedly. As naturally as it had come to be now, I bowed my head to say hello, the reverse western gesture I once did, flicking my head upwards with a “What’s up” meaning, was no longer an automated gesture. That thought held my attention. Had I changed to fit in? As a child in primary school sitting in the school hall, on the wooden floorboards, listening to the assembly, I could never sit cross legged, as it hurt my legs. I’d fidget from one position to the next. Now I sit on the floor 18 hours each day. Now I only speak when someone asks me something, and now I have learnt to fade into the background.

4864 was her name. She was to sleep next to me then. She looked rough as guts. That was Australian. That was something I remembered. I knew what that expression meant. She acknowledged my bow and continued the conversation with the other girls. 4893 and 4845 explained some of the rules of the place. They softly added in a few details of why they were here strategically. This wasn’t allowed either. 4893 explained she had broken the terms of her visa. She worked in a hostess bar and had worked more than 20 hours. The charge was bullshit, she had been here about two weeks before I arrived and would stay for a few more weeks. Duration of stay tended to be more than less time. Soon we would have roll call, so they went through what was required.

• You must sit facing the bars, in two rows. High numbers in the first row, lower numbers in the second.

• You must sit on folded knees

• Your possessions must be displayed in front of you, each book should be clearly seen by the guards

• Your tissues must be in front of you kept neat

• Your hands must be placed palms up and open

• When they call your number, you must clearly reply “Hai!” for roll call

• You cannot talk

• You must remain seated not moving until all cells are cleared

They usually happen twice a day, sometimes we have more, depending on who is doing the inspection. One of the guards appeared at the bars. She flicked in the library folder.

“You have five minutes!”

One by one the girls quickly flicked through the book to find a title they wanted to read. The newcomer chose a Snoopy comic. The folder was given to me. There were only three English titles (with the exception to Snoopy) and I had read them all.

• Memoirs of a Geisha

• The Twelfth Angel

• The Da Vinci Code

None of the titles evoked a reaction in me, but it would be foolish to pass up having a book. I had my own books that Kei had dropped off in my locker, but the days were long. Every second was felt and focused on. The Twelfth Angel didn’t really captivate me. It was about hope and endurance, and I had neither. I danced between the other two and landed on The Da Vinci Code. Perhaps a second time round I would discover new clues. I fantasised being able to somehow think my way out of my situation. I suppose that’s what got me here in the first place. Testing boundaries, pushing limits. Thinking I had the ability to talk my way out of any situation. I was bound to take it too far. I told the guard my choice and she whisked the folder out through the bars to the next cell.

The day passed like the one that had preceded it, and as the next day would. At eleven o’clock we had access to our lockers, through the guards of course. We were never allowed out of our cell. Twenty four hours day in and day out. With the exception of shower day, which was every four days, and trips to the courthouse, not to mention interrogation. Toshirabe.

“Yon-ju Hachi, oede! Toshirabe!”

You there, come here, you have interrogation now. I was learning new words, words I wouldn’t have thought to know. I was grilled over and over and over, and I would continue to be interrogated up until my last day. It was painful to relive my stupidity. I play the entire day over and over in my mind, and then get asked to retell it for the investigators. I wonder if they could tell I regretted it. It didn’t matter if I had I suppose.

I asked for my writing paper, my Japanese language book and dictionary, as well as one of the books Kei had brought. Actually, I had been given some new titles from friends and colleagues. Colleagues doesn’t really describe these people. They were my family. They came, each of them. Took turns visiting me, chatting in the visitor room, separated by Perspex and closely watched by a guard. Always closely watched, patted down, pockets emptied, cell searched, yelled at. We would talk in Japanese during the visits. Usually it revolved around me apologising, and them telling me I needn’t to. We’d gossip about other staff, and they’d find a way to make me laugh. I chose The Sellout, by Paul Betty. I wondered which of them chose this. Was it Ted? Leon? Perhaps it was Shane? Maybe it was Jeff. The write up in the book had an NPR program reference. Jeff would be an NPR kind of guy maybe. He was a young American after all. I thought about Bowie for a bit. Music. Fuck I miss it. Listening to anything other than noises made by other people. I have a pretty good music mental catalogue, but my brain felt so fried it was hard to conjure up songs to hear.

I tended to finish books quickly so having a few inside the cell was always good. I could take in the details much more, an effort to distract my brain away from the stress. It churned all the time, worried that I would be locked up for years. It was as though I could feel my brain thinking, I paid attention to it allowing thoughts to overpower me. I would have the word YEARS YEARS YEARS YEARS etched. The conversation I had with my lawyer on the first night, when he read out the charges and the maximum amount of time I could potentially spend. I played back the translator unemotionally relaying the numbers. Up to ten for that charge. Maximum of ten for that charge. This charge would be maybe four or five. I played back my brain adding them all up. I couldn’t fathom what that would mean, but somehow, I knew it meant, I was in trouble. I played back the translator telling me that it would be alright. That, they would just send me home. They will make an example of you and send you home. Don’t worry. He had seen the colour drain out of my face. I felt it, but I wondered what it would’ve looked like. I wished it was as easy as that; to cast my worries aside. They defined me now.

The guard handed me my writing paper, and a pen, and said I could get the other items after I had finished writing. It was so I couldn’t mark any of the books. It was a deterrent from writing messages to other inmates. We weren’t allowed to know anything about the other inmates. In the end we knew so much about each other. In the end we shared mobile numbers and found a way to communicate. If we ever got out, we promised, we would contact each other. We memorised each other’s birthdays, favourite food, family members and lives. What the hell else were we to do.

I started on my letter. I was writing to my lawyer. All of my letters went to him, so I could write in English. I wasn’t allowed to write to my mother in English because the guards couldn’t understand it. If I wanted to write to anyone in English other than my lawyer, I would have to pay for the translation, which would be around one hundred dollars a sheet. The work around was to write to him and in the body of text simply ask him to relay the following message. The guards weren’t allowed to read letters to your legal team. They did anyway. I wrote my letter. It was the same as the last letter I had written. In it I explained how sorry I was, and how ashamed I was and how I must have let my family down. So rapidly this guilt took over. It was as though I had always felt it, and now, finally I had just done something to warrant the feeling. I handed my items back through the bars, and moments later the guard handed me my book, my language book and my dictionary. I took them and moved back to my corner. I had claimed this area, it was the most comfortable, I could lean against the only two wall intersection. Sometimes I would face the corner, so the guards couldn’t see what I was doing. Sometimes I would take one of my tissues and rip them up to use to count the days. I would have to conceal what I was doing though.

The guards yelled through the halls. They announced that it was time to check attendance, as though there would be a chance someone could escape. More control. We obediently moved into the configuration, and I carefully placed my items in front of me. I was in the front row, with 4864 and 4893, because we had the highest numbers. I had four items in total, my Japanese to English dictionary, my language book, my novel and the library book, as well as my face towel and my toilet tissues. It was a lot. Most of the other girls had one or two things. Today’s roll call would be carried out by the male guards. They were on a different floor, and they were a lot stricter. We sat silently, kneeling with our palms up. We could hear the guards work through the floor, calling out all of the inmates’ numbers, with the inmates returning with a hai.

Three male guards stood in front of our cell. The head guard called through all of our numbers, and we yelled out accordingly, not too loudly and not to softly. He didn’t move though. He tapped on the bar and called my number again. Why do you have so many books here? He barked at me. I explained that one was a dictionary, and one was a language book. These were deemed different to fiction books, and under their rules it was allowed. He paused. He told me to make my palms flatter, and to lift my head up so they could see my face. He told me to answer more clearly next time. I simply answered with

Hai.

Thankfully that was the right response and they moved on. All of our breaths had been held it seemed. We all let out a sigh, and the female guards told us to be quiet for a little longer. They looked like they were fearful of the male guards as well. If the roll call didn’t go well, they would be punished. We had passed the test and soon we could move back to our own areas within the cell.

In the beginning 4864 and I kept to ourselves. I was a little afraid of her. But in the end as it would be, we would have spent the most amount of time together. Some of the girls came but soon would go, in our time. We both remained. There was a time when it was only us. It was then she told me that she had cancer. Mouth cancer, that’s why she had false teeth. She constantly played with them; they must have given her discomfort. She explained that it didn’t really matter what happened to her she’d die in prison. At the time I didn’t understand the words she was saying. I recognised cancer (Gan), but every now and then I missed the meaning. I remember the nights she would have night terrors in her sleep. She would cry out. Sounds of regret. She was wrestling through something. I would always just lay awake. I was sleeping less and less. She explained that she was in a gang. Yakuza I suppose. I didn’t want to say that word to her though. Eventually I would learn why she was there. She had stabbed someone, and it was the second time she had been arrested, so it was likely they would lock her up for a while. We talked about the different prison systems. We were currently in a detention house. Most people started here, and when they were found guilty, they would go to prison, outside of Tokyo. It would be a few hours outside. She talked of that prison system. The cells there had a table inside, and the lights weren’t kept on. You would have to work there, labour to earn money to pay for any items you needed. She said it wasn’t as strict there, but it was a lot rougher. I was scared to go. I would be away from Tokyo, so that meant no visitors. She told me about her boyfriend. He was locked up as well. His trial date was one week before hers. But most of all I will never forget the day I said goodbye to her.

It was evening, around 8pm, we had finished with dinner and had just handed back our toothbrushes, when one of the guards tapped on the bars and told me the prosecutor wanted to see me tomorrow. I would be on the bus in the morning. What did he want I wondered? It just meant I would be woken early, released from the cell, and chained to around 20 other girls in a long line. We would be walked from the cells to the bus, to be chained to the bus. No way out ever. We would travel into Tokyo city to the courthouse and wait in the cells beneath the courtrooms, in handcuffs usually too tight. Ten girls in a room. The room would consist of two benches parallel, facing each other. Five girls on each staring at the other five girls. With a toilet at the back separated by two small swinging doors, covering the toilet bowl only. We tried not to go to the toilet, as it stank, but some girls did anyway.

Day 57.

Girls were called and taken from each cell. Our cell was close to where all of the girls would line up and be chained together ready to walk onto the bus. Swiftly all of the girls were called to the bench, checked and cuffed. They were all tied together with rope and escorted out. I wasn’t called. Did the guard get it wrong? I felt panic. They never made mistakes. Something must have happened. I asked the other girls what it might have meant. We didn’t know. I went up to the bar and asked one of the guards if my number was on the call sheet. It wasn’t and she told me to stop wasting her time. 4864 said not to fret, maybe the bus was too full or something. An hour passed and the cells quieted down. The newspaper was delivered, and we all took turns reading it. I would take a turn looking through it, even though I couldn’t read many kanjis. A guard came up to our cell and called my number.

“Toshirabe!” Let’s go!

I felt my heart go. More investigations? They knew absolutely everything. 4864 saw I was nervous. We had spent almost 50 days together, over a thousand consecutive hours in each other’s company. It will be alright, don’t worry. I collected my face towel and toilet tissues and moved to the front of the cell. The guard opened the door.

I met the prosecutor in the detention building. He had come here, instead of me going to the courthouse. He explained that we had to go through the case one more time. I had to read through the pages and give my deposition that all of my testimony was correct. I obeyed and followed his direction. We slowly went through all of the details. The pain pinged again. He closed the thick folder as we finished. He explained that my lawyer had applied for bail, and that it was up to him to consider it or not. And he had decided that he would accept the bail, and that I would be able to go home today. I burst into tears. He said that he understood it had been a long time, but it wasn’t over. I would have to go to court three times. He explained that the first date would be to hear my defence, the second would be the prosecutions arguments, and the third would be the outcome. My cheeks were wet with tears. He told me to look after myself and to try and have a rest. I thanked him for his kindness, and I promised him that I would be at court. I was handcuffed again and led back to the cells. The guard walked me back to my cell. The girls were each reading their books and the room was quiet. The door slid open, and I stepped in again. They could see I had been crying, and they asked what had happened.

“I’m going home! I blurted out. My bail was accepted!”

We weren’t allowed to hug or anything, but they all congratulated me. We were all happy. I could actually feel happiness. It was warm, and it felt loving. Well done they said! We decided to all order a dessert item at lunch, for an extra fee, as celebration. I was going home! I was going home! I was going home TODAY! I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor with the light burning into my eyes tonight. I didn’t believe it. My mind was racing. The reality that I would be leaving soon was felt all around. We all started to reflect on how much time we had spent here. Life is long I said. 4864 said, well yes, it is long, but it will be short for me. I didn’t know what she meant and asked her to explain.

“Don’t you remember our conversation? I’m dying, so not matter my outcome I know I will die in prison.”

I finally understood what she had been saying all along. It made me feel so terrible for having a chance of freedom. The room fell silent, and we all just went to our thoughts. I moved to the front of the cell. I watched one of the guards move to the locker box and peel off my number from my locker. They opened it and took out my items. I was with 4847, the Obachan (grandma). She nudged me and said it’s actually happening! We had watched so many numbers being written up on the lockers to expect new girls, and we had seen so many girls leave, before us and finally it was my turn.

A guard came up to our cell. It had been only two hours since my meeting with the prosecutor. She unlocked the door and told me to step out. I looked around at all of the girls but stopped at 4864. We had spent so much time together, and now there was no time and no words to say goodbye. I had 4847’s phone number we promised to contact each other, on the outside, 4864 wouldn’t be out. I just said goodbye and was ushered out. I looked back as I was marched out, they were all standing at the front of the cell waving. My eyes met hers. We understood each other. We had had this weird moment in time where our paths had crossed, but just like that they had untangled and went their own way. She smiled and popped her teeth out, like she always did, which made her giggle. I let out a laugh, and then she was gone.