Crime and Punishment part deux

It was a small, olive green room with a white, scuffed metal table to one side on tired linoleum. One side of the table had a scattering of four chairs, one with some amount of cushioning. The other side had just one chair, positioned furthest from the door. I figured that was for me. Lucky guess.

The interrogation began. The translator started with what I guess my Miranda rights were. "You have the right to not answer any of the questions. You understand? But I think it's in your best interests to answer all the questions. You don't have anything to hide." This guy seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, or the lack there of. He seemed to understand that this was some misunderstanding involving the trash. The older guy who first got me on the other hand was taking this all too seriously. Fujisawa, especially my corner of it, is a little sleepy. I bet this guy has been pining to give a parking ticket all week. I was his big break - foreign criminal element thieves broken, grungy bike covered in trash. These were the only two now in the room.

I guess the older gentleman had troubles with the copier. I kid you not, he had seven xeroxes of my passport. One of the tourist visa, one of the cover, and five of main photo and information page turned at several angles and on several sizes of paper. (Oops, the border got cut off on that one. Lemme turn it. Oh that didn't work. Lets see... Oh! But the paper is too big. Oh, wrong paper tray. Maybe if I turn it again....)

The questions are truly shocking, hard-hitting verbal assaults designed to crack the most unrepenting of criminals. I kid you not, here were the questions, in order:

What is your name?

When were you born?

Where were you born? (Even after spelling N-A-P-A for Napa, California, they still wrote it in katakana as 'Naba')

What is your education history? (meaning, when and from where did you graduate. It took the old guy a couple tries to write 'San Jose State University' even with the English-speaking officer helping him out. They older one had to resort to using a scrap paper to take notes since he made so many errors. He would fill out the official form afterwards. It confused them a bit later when they found out that San Jose wasn't in fact a state.)

What did you do after school? (I took this a little literal, and thought they wanted something like 'after 3:30pm. the chess club would meet in the rec center.' I told them I had two part time jobs. They clarified that they wanted to know what I did after graduation, but later came back to find out my jobs during college.)

What is your purpose in Japan?

When did you arrive? (Ummm, January 10th? I think, but let me check. Can I check my passport? Oh, it says Jan 8th. I came the 8th. (Its nice to know they used the copies of my passport they made. To their credit, they only had one copy of the page with that information).

And now, the hard hitting questions:

Where does your family live?

What is your father's name? (Kenneth became Kenesu)

How old is he?

What does he do for a profession? (I answered in Japanese, but to my suprise, apparently the textbook had it wrong. 'Kangofu' does not mean nurse. It does but can only be used for women. It's nice how textbooks tell you that. My father has gone down in Japanese legal documents as being a female nurse. The translator didn't bother to correct me, and they just afterall, wrote down what I said. For those of you following along with your Japanese studies, it should have been 'kangoshi'. I didn't find out until I told Nana the story.)

And your mother? (Martha became Marasu the atisto)

Other than your parents, how many is it that is in your family? (His wording, not mine. I then had to give age, name, and profession of my sister. It's a good thing that she quit the drug-running business last week.)

Do you understand Japanese? That box got a little "chotto dake" written in.

That was page one. The questions got a little more relavent on the back.

Do you have any property or income while in Japan? You can probably guess this as a big, obvious net for visa condition violators for those on tourist visas.

How do you pay for your stay in Japan? Illicit funding through bike theft, of course. Luckily we already had the two jobs during college part covered. It made the answering faster.

How is your life in Japan? huh? He clarified: How do you stay in Japan? Is your life poor? Normal? I answered normal. I think it was asking if I slept in the bushes while here. Well, not usually but...

The next section was a big box. Some of my answers were yes or no, but the older man was writing in complete sentences.

Did you find the bike next to the park? It was in the trash, but the trash spot was bordering the park, so I gave it a somewhat reserved yes.

Did you take the bike? Umm, yes

Was it locked? nope

How long ago? three weeks

Did you know the owner of the bike? No.

Did a policeman ever stop you with the bike before? No.

Do you feel remorse? What? I found it in the trash! I made him clarify the question several times. He explained that most bikes left around are stolen. They are only thrown out when the junk truck comes around like the ice cream man, asking for appliances and bikes on a loud speaker. I told him that I thought the owner threw it out because it was very old and covered with trash. I feel remorse for taking the bike knowing now what he just told me. I had to repeat twice to make sure that all of that ended up in the document.

If you saw a bike in the trash again, would you report it to the police?

The last box, the same question again.

Do you feel remorse for committing this crime? It's Japan, so I think my punishment is feeling remorse, but I wanted it in paper that I thought I was taking trash (which actually is a crime). I repeated my answer for the last time he asked me. The older guy had a look on his face like this was a new response. That got me a little worried.

He filled out the form from his notes and handed it to the translator to read to me. All was as I said, until we got to the big box on the back. "I found the bike near the park," the translator read. What happened to the trash? "I then stole...I then took the bike. This was three weeks ago." I gave a yes, but then made sure that it was take, not stole. He said, "Yes, of course," rather nonchalantly, but then crossed something out on the paper. 'Stole' was indeed written.

The first response to the "Do you feel remorse for your crime?" question was rather bungled. It read, "I did not know whether the bike was stolen and left by the owner." I asked to make sure the 'and' was actually 'or'. I let the rest slide, but at least the last box had what I wanted to say. I had to write my name to state that this document was my statement.

The older man left the room. I started to chat with the translator. It's always good to be friendly. It's always your best defense, and it's especially a good idea if it's the guy translating for you. I tried to talk with him a little before, but we never seemed to get past visa expirations and that I should visit the demarcation line if I go to Korea. It sounded like where a cop would go on a vacation.

I started talking about my neighbor in San Diego who was the head sheriff for Lemon Grove, and the riot gear he kept in his car during the L.A. riots. The conversation moved to crime rates in the U.S., drug related crimes, him seeing the movie 'Traffic', and came to corrupt Mexican police. The other policeman returned with drinks. He said that he can't give drinks before an interrogation, only after, so now we all get to have drinks. "This is a policeman's work," he said jokingly. Mmm, diet Pepsi twist!

We sat around waiting. I guess they were checking on the bike.

My conversation brightened into more mundane things like David Hasslehof, Night Rider, and his vacation to the Bahamas- those were *his* picks of topics. He's the one that used to always watch Night Rider, not me!

The report came back on the bike. They hadn't been able to contact the owner, but it was reported stolen. The English speaking officer informed me that it was now an official crime. I would need to be printed, have my mug shots taken, and be put into the criminal database. After that, I could go.

They then proceeded to take my height, my shoe size, my blood type (I'm scared to know what would happen if I didn't know it off the top of my head), and then an electronic scan of my fingers together, my fingers rolled slowly individually, my palm, and the side of my palm. Ten minutes later, it was photo shoot.

Mind you, I was going to the beach. Luckily I shaved the previous day, but my hair was going in more directions than down. I must have been stunning in my Billabong rashguard, loose jeans with no belt, and my swim trunks poking out from under them.

I collected my fins from the bike, informed that Nana would have to sign a paper corroborating that I lived with her, and thanked the translator for his help.

They dropped me off at 2:48. I grabbed something to eat, got one my legally purchased bicycle, and headed to the beach. The waves were the largest I have ever seen hit Fujisawa - the faces were about six to eight feet. Of course, I still max out at six foot waves, unless I do just a glorified belly flop off the top of the wave. It must have been great at low tide, but it was a super high tide. The current was strong, and I couldn't touch bottom. That translates to treading water in a super strong current. I love wiping out, but when you're panting for breath when you try to catch a wave, then wipe out on a seven footer, you run out of air the second your face hits the water. It was quite a work out, and great fun. I lasted over an hour and just ignored the numb toes. It would have been a great, full day at the beach (with trips home to warm up in the shower before going back), but fate intervened. Oh well. At least I got a story that made Nana crack up for two hours straight. These were her tax dollars at work afte all.

The only problem that might arise is that I'm now in the criminal database. If I show up with any criminal record, there is a good chance that they will deny my work visa. Of course, they eventually make all foreigners get finger printed and put into the data base at one point or another. It's our natural, genetic predisposition to pilferage, you see. When the police came by, Nana asked about the criminal record part. The police (the same two who picked me up, still working 11 hours later) said that since I had sufficient remorse, the paper would just be filed in Fujisawa and never end up in any database. Only my prints would be immortalized.

Now I'm in police documents in both Chigasaki and Fujisawa, and I came withing ten seconds of being in a police report in Fujikawa. I think I better hold back a bit until I get my work visa.