The
most suitable adjective to describe the late Mr. M is “gulllible.” He was one
of my work colleagues at N High School. Although he was 15 years older than I, we
had good chemistry. He loved writing haiku, growing flowers, and reading
Dickens. We often talked with each other in the teachers’ room, at coffee shops,
and on our way back home after school.
One
day he told me about the bitterest experience he had had in his 60 or so years
of life. He was scammed out of 9 million yen by a kind-looking “gentleman.”
About
a month before, he had dropped in at a coffee shop of which he was a regular
customer. Since he and the shop owner were on friendly terms, he complained to him.
“I
have been trying to sell my property for a long time. The price is reasonable,
but it hasn’t been sold. It’s really troublesome.”
Another customer sitting near Mr. M happened
to hear his complaints and approached him.
“Excuse
me, but I am a real estate agent.” He was in his 40s and looked neat and decent
in his suits. He took out his business card out of his wallet and handed it to Mr.
M. It showed his name and his business: a licensed, well-established real
estate dealer.
“I’ve
overheard that you are in trouble in selling your real estate. I have helped a
lot of people who had troubles concerning real estates. I would like to help
you if you don’t mind.”
After
talking with the man for some time, Mr. M thought he was a sincere and reliable
man. So he asked him for help.
The
next Sunday, he took the agent to his estate to show it to him. He measured the
size carefully, staked out the borders, and took pictures.
“Good.
This is a good piece of land,” he said. “Depend upon me. I am sure I can sell
it for you in a week or so.” Mr. M was happy to hear that.
Several
days later, the agent called him saying that he had found a man who wanted to
buy the estate and that he would introduce the prospective buyer to them when
convenient. On that day when the buyer saw the land, he said, “I would like to
buy the land at 13.8 million yen.”
Although
his price was 200,000 yen less than Mr. M’s asking price, he decided to sell it
to him. He was glad that he had at last found a buyer. That day the agent and Mr.
M went to a sushi shop to celebrate the successful deal. After they had had a
merry time over sushi and sake, the dealer insisted on paying the expense
saying, “No, no, it’s MY pleasure to help you.” Mr. M believed the man
completely.
One
morning four days later, or one day before the payment of the money, the dealer
visited Mr. M and asked him to lend him 10 million yen for just half a day because
he had made a big mistake in the stock market. He needed that amount money
urgently to compensate the loss. He said he would return the money with 5
percent of interest first thing in the next morning without fail. He sobbed and
pleaded with him saying he would have to commit suicide without the money.
Although
Mr. M didn’t know much about the stock market, he believed what he said. He was
the type of man who couldn’t reject others’ desperate pleading. Besides, he
thought he would not get his 13.8 million yen from his property sale if the
dealer committed suicide. Mr. M thought, “After all this man helped me and will
surely return the money tomorrow morning.” So, he went to the bank, withdrew 9
million yen, and lent it to him in exchange for his IOU with his seal on it.
The agent thanked Mr. M again and again and assured him that he would return
the money and the interest before noon the next day.
The
next morning the dealer did not appear. Mr. M telephoned him but he got no
answer. He called him again and again but in vain. He telephoned him repeatedly
the day after the next day, without an answer. Mr. M called him on the following
days, but the dealer did not call him let alone visit him. Finally Mr. M
visited his office, but it was a sham. He checked the seal at the city office,
but it was a fake. After painstaking inquiries, he at last found his telephone
number and called him.
“I’ve
had a traffic accident and I’m in critical condition,” he said.
When
Mr. M called him the next time, he said, “My mother is seriously ill. So, don’t
bother me anymore. The fucking money? Why don’t you believe me? Didn’t I say I
would return it? I will surely return it. So, never call me again, Damn Idiot!”
Mr.
M advised me at the end of his story, “Be careful when you deal with real
estate. Swindlers are looking for prey.”
I
think his bitter experience shortened his life. He died at the age of 64.
