I WAS A BULLIED BOY

　　When I was a 7th or 8th grader, I was being bullied by this big boy named Y. Since my house and his were near, we always went back home together, though I did not like to do so.
　　I do not remember exactly what kind of things he did to me, but I still remember that he often said to me, “Hei, ikkan-matsu, wait for me.” “Ikkan-matu” was the nickname he had tagged me with. “Ikkan” means “one Kan” or 3.75 kilograms, Kan being a Japanese weight unit. My name is Matsuoka, So he joined “one Kan” and “Matsu” and coined a nickname, Ikkan-matsu.” He meant I was so small and such a feeble-looking boy, I was not able to carry even one Kan miso. (My father sold miso or soybean paste and shoyu or soy sauce for living. I helped him carry miso.)
　　I remember I had to carry Y’s bags on our way home. Sometimes he jumped on me, held on to my head with one hand and rubbed my head with an eraser with his other hand. In those days boys’ heads were usually clean-shaven. So, if your head was rubbed by an eraser, it was painful. He rubbed and rubbed my head laughing. 　　　　
　　Around seven o’clock one evening I told my mother that I did not want to go to school because of Y’s bullying. She immediately took me to Mr. Ohashi, my homeroom teacher’s house.
  　　The next day after school, Y and I were just about to leave the classroom, Mr. Ohashi called Y over and told him to stop bullying me. I watched him being scolded. His head was drooping and seemed to be listening to him. Soon, Y was allowed to go home. I had been, as usual, waiting for him. He looked at me in a queer, embarrassed way for a second. We went home without speaking anything at all. He did not bully me on the way home.
　　Fifty years later, when I (and Y) became 60 years old, an alumni reunion was held in my home town of Ogaki. About 70 people gathered together. Some came from Hiroshima, Osaka, and Tokyo. I was wondering there, but there were too many people for me to spot him. After a while, the master of ceremony called attention, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am glad to introduce Mr. Y now. He came here all the way from Tokyo. I am happy to announce to you that he has recently awarded a medal of honor by the government. Mr. Y, please.”
   　　After the applause, Y walked onto the stage, stood in front of the microphone, and began to talk about how he had won the medal. 　　I could not believe my eyes. Such a bully, a medal? 　　After his speech, he returned to his table. I made up my mind, went to his table, and said to him, “My name is Matsuoka. Do you remember me?”
　　He said, “I think so.”
 　　I told him how he had bullied me; how my mother had asked Mr. Ohashi to tell him to stop bullying me; and how Mr. Ohashi one day had scolded Y.
　　After listening to me for a while, he said, “I don’t remember bullying you.”

NEARLY FATAL ON A PLANE

　　About 10 years ago, my wife and I were in a plane bound for Sydney. Our seats were separated by the aisle. The plane was scheduled to land at the Cairns Airport first and then to fly on to Sydney.

After three hours or so had passed after taking off, a flight attendant came to me and said, “Excuse me, but your wife fainted and is lying down on the floor in front of the toilet.”

Surprised, I rushed through the aisle and found my wife lying on her back. Her cheeks and lips were pale. She looked as if she had been struck by lightning. She was trembling and gasping for air. Her eyes were closed. When I called her name, she half opened her eyes, but they were white. When I slapped her cheek, her consciousness seemed to return to her.

“I am cold,” she said.

I took off my coat and put it on her and asked the attendant for some blankets. I tried to sit her up with my arms, but when she sat up halfway, she swooned and her eyes turned white. She looked llike she was in pain. I gave up trying to sit her upright.

It would take three more hours before the plane reached the Cairns Airport. After a while, the flight attendant came back with blankets and said:

“I am sorry to say, but all the seats, including the first class ones, are full. So we cannot arrange three seats where she can lie down.”

That meant that my wife had to stay lying down on the cold floor for three more hours. The flight attendant covered her with the blankets, took off her uniform coat, and put it on them. The passengers near us looked anxious. I felt sorry for them to have ruined their pleasant flight.

My wife’s face continued to be pale. Sometimes she looked unconscious. Whenever I called her name, she seemed to have heard me and tried to open her eyes but whenever they opened, they were white. I thought she might die before the plane reached Cairns. The scene of her funeral ran through my mind.

I sat beside her doing nothing but only watching her for the next three hours. At long last, the plane was nearing the airport. All the passengers had to fasten their seat belts, but my wife could not even sit up. If she had to be fastened with a seat belt, she must lie on three consecutive seats, but there was no empty seat. The plane was coming near the airport. The fasten-your-seat-belt announcement was heard. Then the attendant told the three passengers nearest my wife to move to the special seats on which the flight attendants sat during taking offs and landings. They emptied their seats. Two attendants and I moved my wife’s body to the seats and lay her on her back. The attendant fastened her body with the three seat belts. I returned to my seat and fastened the belt.

The plane landed and passengers began to get out of the plane through the front door. A custom officer and a doctor came to us. I showed our passports to him. The flight attendant then brought a wheel chair and managed to sit my wife on it though she hated to do so. They quickly pushed the chair through the aisle to the back door. I grabbed the baggage and followed it.

When the door opened, I saw in front of me a large iron plate about 1.5 square meters in the dark night. I thought it was used for cargo. They pushed the wheel chair onto the plate and I stepped onto it. It began to lower gradually until it stopped before an ambulance. She was carried into it. I sat at the front passenger seat. The vehicle ran with the headlights illuminating the countryside road and the siren blaring in the Cairn’s night.

Later in the hospital, my wife said that although she was a poor drinker she had drunk a bottle of wine in the plane to go to sleep as soon as possible because the neighboring young couple had been too intimate.

(I thank everyone who helped my wife, including the airline company, the pilot, the flight attendants, the three passengers, the airport staff, the ambulance crew, and the hospital staff).