My neighbor, Herbie Naumann, served in Japan with her family in the 1950s and early 1960s as a missionary, artist and teacher. Her four children became thoroughly indoctrinated in the American custom of trick or treating during a three-year furlough home. She tells the following story:
What to do when once again immersed in late 1950s Chiba (prefecture) culture—and so isolated from other foreigners? One could hardly descend upon uninitiated Japanese neighbors, pounding upon their doors with a squealed threat of ‘Trick or Treat.’ The children improvised their garbs and sacks, and just assumed Mom would find a solution. Mom pondered, planned and prepared in secret. She gave the children general rules: ‘First, visit our own home, run twice around the house, and back to our front door again, then do it all another time—and once again—and on like that. And don’t forget to say thanks.’
Image via WikipediaGary, a fierce pirate, already nine, caught on. But not quite sure, the cowboy, bunny and princess just followed older brother’s lead—out back at once and to the front to ring the bell and shout ‘Trick or Treat.’ Mom doled out wax-paper covered cookies. The older two knew what to do — stashing the chocolate chippers in their sacks; Scotty at five and younger Teri, unsure of protocol, happily began to munch. A brief reminder of the rules, ‘Say your thanks—and come again—but first a jog around the house!’ That sent the kids a-racing off.
Mom retreated for a change of garb. The light clicked off. Dark now, but knowing stepping-stones so well, the kids pushed on until they sensed a sighing, sheet enshrouded ghost, its sounds a plaintive whistle. Teri hung back but Gary’s outstretched hand snatched popcorn balls and all was well—with whispered thanks, of course. The boys had grasped the game and Teri chugged along as ‘round about they went.
The genkan (entryway) light shone now upon a Chinese gal, her slit eyes formed by scotch taped strips. Towel-wrapped hair with coolie hat atop, she sing-sang sounds and bowed. Her gifts were mochi (special) rice cakes stuffed with sweet bean paste. Great cheers on that — then another round.
The next—-a panther, dark with whiskered mask of painted cardboard, body all in black, its wired, ropey tail twirled menacingly wild. The beastie snarled and mewed and proffered tiny fabric creatures—tiger, lion, leopard and an elephant—'cause sis loved pachyderms. The hissing hostess cat shooed on those beggars, mock fear perhaps concealed, they quickly ran away.
This time it was their mom again, well, sort of but not really. She staggered to the open door, the genkan flowers tossed about in disarray, her hair stringed out all over, and eyelids hanging lazily half shut, glasses on askew, slurred words a drunken babble, and in her wav'ring arm a two-quart bottle half filled with murky, raging liquor—or so it seemed—that surging soy sauce shoyu Kikkoman. The prizes: little ten-yen boxes of Morinaga caramel chews. Her ‘meanor was off-track; it made the children query with their eyes and Teri shook a bit. But, chews are good—and soul reviving too!
A sober Nippon matron took her spot, wearing blue and white yukata (kimono) tied by simple obi sash, trim tabi (divided toe) socks upon her feet. In deference she bowed, her dialect correct in formal Tokyo ben (dialect), hair pulled back and held in place by chopsticks. She bowed again and offered each a treasured piece of manjyu (sweet bean paste) gel. Oishii (delicious). Yum! The children bowed and said, ‘Domo (thanks).’
Relieved, they raced on to the next to find a cackling witch, her face soft sculpture mien—long spindly, bumpy nose, eyes sunk amid the colors, creases, cracks. Gaping holes of black appeared amidst her teeth and matted strings of hair hung from a brimmed and pointed hat. It all cried out — ‘Oh, black, black sense of doom.’ She muttered names of Gretel, Hansel too, and smacked her lips and handed out fat kids of gingerbread. Put off, the siblings shrieked — and streaked away.
Next time around they snuck up to the house to be their own surprise. Scott pried the door and cowboy Rex emboldened, drew his gun and shot ——and then they saw that Mom was waiting there. Suddenly she gasped and clutched her belly, moaned, fell hard upon the floor—and just lay still and quiet. Too real, too real! They gulped and ran fast far away until they panted, stopping by the sandbox out in back. Teri wailed that Mom was dead and even Scotty thought it so and maybe they had killed her. But older Rex knew the gun to be a toy and Gary laughed, took upper hand and said, ‘It’s all a joke. We must go back. Mom’s prob’bly laughing too.’
And there was Mom, upright and in her usual clothes, smiling, yes, with paper bags of oishii sweetened beans—both white and black and red and brown and tan. She received their thanks and then she asked about their night, how it had been and what they’d seen and done and also goodies they’d amassed. Scott and Teri glowed and spread their loot upon some waiting plates but Gary said, ‘Oh, Mom...,’ while Rex
just grinned. And all five beamed.
Herbie tells me that a friend’s daughter who teaches in Japan now has Halloween parties and her Japanese friends love dressing up. We really do live in a globally interconnected world.
Image via Wikipedia
