Purotniku-san

Plotnik and his five classmates stand in a line, facing the blackboard, chalk in hand. Mrs. Matsumura says: 'Otona. Otona.'

Plotnik's five classmates nod their heads and begin drawing on the blackboard the two kanji, or Japanese/Chinese characters, that make up the Japanese word 'otona,' which means 'adult.' The first is for 'big,' and the second for 'person.' It's one of the easiest-to-remember combinations.

Plotnik makes a squiggle here, a squiggle there, erases the first with his fist, stares at the smudge, makes another squiggle, erases it with his fist, then draws the first again, stands back, satisfied.

When the six have finished, Mrs. Matsumura says: 'Purotniku-san.'

She walks to the blackboard and draws the correct 'otona' next to the deranged and lopsided snail tracks Plotnik has drawn. When Plotnik sees how Mrs. Matsumura has arranged her strokes, so perfectly and beautifully, he copies her. 'So,' says Mrs. Matsumura, and moves back to her seat. The six students pick up their chalk.

'Kyuujitsu,' she says, 'kyuujitsu.' 'Kyuujitsu' means 'holiday.'

Plotnik's five classmates draw the first kanji and the second kanji for kyuujitsu. Plotnik remembers 'jitsu,' because 'jitsu' is the Chinese pronunciation of the very first kanji they teach you, an easy one, just a box with a line in it. Sometimes it means 'day.' Sometimes it means 'sun.' Sometimes it's pronounced 'nichi.' Sometimes it's pronounced 'hee.' Sometimes it's pronounced 'jitsu.' Plotnik KNOWS 'jitsu.' Plotnik OWNS Jitsu. He draws 'jitsu.'

He forgets about 'kyuu.'

He knows something's wrong. 'kyuu'...'kyuu'...'kyuu' means a million different things. Lots of different words are pronounced 'kyuu.' Which one is...wait! That's right! THIS 'kyuu' is the Chinese pronunciation for 'rest.' Rest plus today equals holiday! Easy! Except...Plotnik cannot remember how to write 'rest' either.

He shakes his head, frustrated with himself. He is 100% certain that 'jitsu' without 'kyuu' will not cut Mrs. Matsumura's mustard. Like his classmates, he lays his chalk in the chalk railing.

'Purotniku-san,' says Mrs. Matsumura.

She walks to the blackboard to write the kanji for 'kyuu' next to Plotnik's kanji for 'jitsu.' Plotnik copies her 'kyuu,' and she says 'so.'

But she's lying. The Japanese are very, very polite. She would never say what she really thinks, and for this, Thank You Jesus.

When Plotnik looks at his 'kyuu' and her 'kyuu' he can see that his 'kyuu' is sick, twisted, squirmy, and, come to think of it, his 'jitsu' ain't so hot either, it doesn't have her crisp, square corners, but looks a little like the international symbol for NO -- a sort of circle with a line through it, but not even that, no, he hasn't even drawn a firm 'no,' he's drawn a flaccid 'like, maybe not.'

But Mrs. Matsumura has moved on. 'Ooame,' she says, pronounced 0-0-a-may, which means 'heavy rain.' Plotnik knows this one, because the kanji for rain actually looks like rain - a little temple with raindrops inside it. He draws it firmly and quickly. But he cannot remember the O-O, even though IT'S THE SAME KANJI HE ALREADY DREW ABOVE FOR 'OTONA.' 'BIG.' 'BIG,' YOU LUMBERING, ATHEROSCLEROTIC, HOPELESSLY WESTERN NUMBNUTS! BIG! DRAW IT! DRAW IT!

He can't remember how to draw it. His brain has siezed up like a twenty year old Mac Plus. Nothing comes. Plotnik stares at the chalk in his hand, then at his five other classmates who have put down their chalk and are waiting for him, then at their correctly drawn 'ooame,' then at his ame-minus-o-o. He sets down his chalk. He bangs his head against the blackboard. Once. Twice. Three times. The four-level class, normally noisy and anarchic, hushes to a whisper.

He hears footsteps behind him. 'Purotniku-san,' says Mrs. Matsumura, in a kind voice, trying very hard not to chuckle, and almost succeeding.