How can you breathe with those things?

So the bird flu has reared it’s very ugly head again in China.  Apparently a few cases had also been reported in Taiwan.  I hope they can contain it this time (or better yet eradicate it) before more lives are affected or worse, lost.  Which brings me to the issue of surgical masks, worn by the Japanese from time to time.  I know it’s not the smoothest of segways, but there you have it.  It’s been a slow day.      

Apparently, the mask has been standard issue here for quite a while.  I thought it had only become prominent amongst the Japanese in the last decade or so, in response to the first bird flu scare, followed by SARS and the swine flu, several years ago.  However, when I spoke with one of my Japanese colleagues about it, she told me that as a student (which would have been over 40 years ago), she remembers, that she and her classmates had to wear masks, when they weren’t feeling well and also when interacting with others who were operating under the same conditions. 

So the mask, as you can see is well established here in Japan and seemingly not going anywhere anytime soon.  From pre-schooler to pensioner, the mask is worn by all.  In my opinion it’s right up there with the Kimono.  Not as a national costume of course, but as an item that clearly identifies Japanese people, to foreigners.  I don’t know if it’s as prevalent in other parts of Asia, but whenever I think of masks worn in public, I’m thinking only of Japan.    If you’re boarding a flight from an overseas port (which I have), and half the passengers are wearing masks (which I’ve seen), it’s more than likely that you’re bound for Tokyo.

I confess I’ve never worn a mask.  As far as I know there is no scientific evidence to support that wearing a mask is effective in keeping germs at bay or that it prevents others from catching whatever it is that you have. 

Of course that isn’t the real reason for my refusal to don a mask.  I would look absolutely ridiculous with half my face obscured looking as if I was paying some morbidly strange homage to the late Michael Jackson.   Incidentally, I also possess the kind of vanity that Narcissus himself would’ve beamed at (if he ever managed to tear himself away from his own reflection of course).  I’ve never been a follower of fashion but the mask is not really the ‘look’ I’m going for.   

I haven’t had the misfortune of being sick in Japan, but I would much rather apply Vicks to my nasal passages than have them sealed off completely with a piece of disposable cloth.   I had noticed during winter time that my work colleagues were more wary of me than usual.  I suppose it seems rather odd to them to see my face, completely exposed, all the damn time.   As if I could wipe them out with one misdirected sneeze.  Surely not. 

I do not believe that ‘Germaphobia’ is an affliction that Japan suffers from.  Prevention rather than cure seems to be the prevailing attitude here.  And if there’s something to be gained by wearing a mask, however small, (even if it is purely psychological), I suppose the Japanese are willing to pursue it. 

I remember a gangly looking boy at Junior High School last year, would always wear a mask, as if it was part of the school uniform.  He never went anywhere without it.  To me he will always be the half-faced kid with the floppy hair.  Sometimes his fringe grew so long, you couldn’t see his eyes either!

I was talking one day with the School Clerk about it, as I was concerned for him, thinking him to be a poor, sickly creature.  She laughed and said that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.  He suffers from a case of ‘bad teeth’, is all.  Safe from prying eyes he managed to keep them well hidden behind the mask (for almost three years!).  Thankfully for the image obsessed teenager, the mask is a versatile accessory. 

One day, in the middle of winter, I was running late to class.  The Japanese with the utmost respect are freakishly punctual.  Ask anyone who has ever caught a train in this country.  The integrity of the Japanese Railway System is nothing short of outstanding.  The railway timetable is not a guide.  It is gospel, and woe to unbelievers who think otherwise.  Trains run ON TIME, EVERY TIME.  How this massive network of squiggly colourful lines, manages to successfully transport millions of people to their destinations and back again, each day, and on time, defies logic.  Or at least the kind I’m used to. 

So anyway, as I was saying, I was running late to class.  I slowed down as I reached the last classroom at the end of the corridor, and as the bell sounded, I slid the door back and slipped into the room.  The students are already standing behind their desks, and the teacher simply smiles my way and instructs the students to greet me.  At this point I’m extremely embarrassed and a little out of breath.  I avoid looking directly at the students and fumble through a weak apology for my tardiness.  I know that the students don’t understand what I’m saying, but it’s poor form to not say anything, even when your audience has absolutely no idea what’s coming out of your mouth.  The teacher instructs them to sit down, and I try to get myself into some kind of order before the lesson begins. 

Today, the students are about to sit a spelling test.  The teacher presents me with a list of 10 words, that she has asked me to repeat three times.  I peruse the list quickly, and nod to her in acknowledgement.  The students patiently wait for me to begin.   Their notebooks are open to a fresh page, pencils are sharpened and erasers are on standby. 

My head finally comes up, and I have my first proper look at the class.  Blinking several times, I survey the classroom before me.  If there was ever a situation where a ‘double take’ was justified, this would be the moment.  Twenty-five pairs of eyes, staring directly at me.  Twenty-five concentrated looks.  Twenty-five faces seemingly all missing a nose and a mouth.  Twenty-five adolescents, each wearing a frickin’ mask!   

Over the past week, a significant number of children had been absent from school due to illness.  It was winter after all, this was to be expected.  The school had even closed its’ doors for one day, when a third of the students had come down with influenza.  This information however, gave me little comfort. 

I was smack in the middle of Japan's answer to 'The Village of the Damned'.  

The sight of twenty-five masked adolescents staring square at you is a bit unnerving. The girls are each wearing two piece sailor suits, in a shade of black that could easily trigger a bout of depression, complete with double white lines around the wide collar of the top, pleated skirt and white knee high socks. The boys resemble a group of dishevelled, dishonourably discharged naval officers wearing standard black trousers paired with a black stand collared tunic.  The gold buttons are not polished, name tags are pinned carelessly and trousers haven’t been pressed since the first day of school.  However, it’s the blindingly white, menacingly sterile masks adorning each face that has my attention. 

I am convinced that what I’m looking at is an insidious reincarnation of the Von Trapp children.  Could the hills be any less ‘alive with the sound of music’? 

    

Now, I do not subscribe to the gross misconception that all Japanese children look the same.  But today it’s virtually impossible to ignore their dark, sombre uniforms, their jet black hair, pale complexions and of course the white mini hammock hung from ears in lieu of palm trees, stretched across their faces, from cheek to chin!  

I would say each word three times, followed by a brief reprieve while all heads lowered and hands scribbled furiously.  Then suddenly the heads would slowly rise, and the eyes would once again be on me, in anticipation for the next word.  I would pause for about two minutes between each question, to allow the students time to write down their answers.     

Following question eight, I stared down at the list of words perhaps a few seconds longer than I should have.  When I looked up, all twenty five pairs of eyes were boring into my face!  I must have looked startled (or freaked out) because in the next instant, as if by remote control, every single student tilted their head to the left, ALL AT THE SAME TIME!  The mechanical-like movement was executed with calculated precision.  I was both mesmerised and filled with foreboding dread.   My breathing became shallow and I reverted to a childhood habit of comforting myself in times of distress.  I began to cry. 

Suddenly a crackling noise sounded from the intercom as if it had just been switched on.  I looked up pleadingly towards the direction of the static.  The class remained motionless.  With absolutely no control over my breathing or my tears, and feeling faint, I leaned back against the blackboard.  And then, the sweet voice of a small child could be heard flowing out from the intercom overhead.  The message was in Japanese.  No doubt it was not intended for me.  The sweet voice was playful and light-hearted as you would expect from a small child.  However, it clearly did not reflect the situation currently playing out before me.

The students remained in a catatonic state (with the exception of their eyes, of course, which remained locked on me, the reluctant target), no apparent signs of life, nothing to detect any acknowledgement of the message, no reaction to my tears, nothing.    

Now, seemed as good a time as any, to absolve myself of the current situation.  As the message from the sweet voice continued, I decided to exit, stage left and prayed that I could make it to the door before the onset of a massive coronary claimed me. 

I moved away from the blackboard and slowly inched closer to the door.  Twenty-five pairs of eyes tracked my agonisingly slow trek towards freedom.  Then suddenly, the sweet voice stopped as if it instinctively knew that its message had managed to captivate all in the room but one.  I could sense the disapproval of the small child with the sweet voice at my futile attempt to flee.  I came to a complete stand still, terrified at what would happen next.  I was trapped.  The voice returned, dropped now to an audible whisper.  A few sentences more were uttered and then the message ended with two frightfully simple words, where translation was not required.  The small child took a deep breath before its’ sweet voice whispered, ‘She knows’.  I let out a shriek, as the room suddenly lit up behind me.  Slowly turning around, I watched as each student slowly rose from their desks.  A sea of malevolent green eyes glowing fiercely at me!

If there was a large mirror hanging on the back wall, behind the students, I’m sure I would’ve caught my own shocked reflection staring out at nothing but empty desks and chairs!  Or worse still looking into the mirror and seeing the pale little boy from ‘The Grudge’ staring back at me, meowing like a cat!

This is what comes of watching too many Japanese Horror Movies. 

Side Note:  The teacher had faded into the wall when all this took place and could not be relied upon to assist me.

The test was not completed and was rescheduled for later in the week.    

I can appreciate now why the Halloween and Friday the 13^th movie franchises were so popular, no matter how cheesy the storylines became.  Nothing scares you more than a face hidden behind a mask, yeah the one you can’t actually see.