It was here that we lost interest in the park and began asking the students about their lives. “What’s your major?” “Do you live with your parents?” “How long have you been studying English?” While Hugh and Naomichi talked about the declining popularity of sumo wrestling, Student No. 2 and I discussed the majesty of nature. “What wild animals do you have in Tokyo?” I asked.
“Wild animal?”
“Do you have squirrels?”
No response.
I pretended to fill my cheeks with nuts, and the young man said, “Ah, sukaworra!”
I then moved on to snakes and asked if he was afraid of them.
“No. I think that they are very cute.”
Surely, I thought, he’s misunderstood me. “Snake,” I repeated, and I turned my arm into a striking cobra. “Horrible. Dangerous. Snake.”
“No,” he said. “The only thing I am afraid of is moutha.”
“The snake’s mouth?”
“No,” he said, “moutha. I maybe saying it wrong, but moutha. Moutha.”
I was on the verge of faking it when he pulled out an electronic dictionary and typed in the word he was looking for, ga, which translates, strangely enough, to “moth.”
“You’re afraid of moths?”
He nodded yes and winced a little.
“But nobody’s afraid of moths.”
“I am,” he whispered, and he looked behind us, as if afraid that one might be listening.
“Are you afraid of butterflies too?” I asked.
The young man cocked his head.
“Butterfly,”I said, “colorful cousin of the moth. Are you afraid that he too will attack?”
Hugh overheard me saying this and turned around. “What the hell are you two talking about?”
And Student No. 2 said, “The wildness.”
