Saru. Monkey. Monkeys. Three words, two languages and it all adds up to confusion when you tell someone that there’s “saru” up ahead. For example, today on my morning walk I was told to “watch out for saru-san,” and I expected that there was a rambunctious, furry fellow up ahead and that I should be careful not to get in Mr. Saru’s way. I did not expect his immediate family and extended relatives.
Truth be told, on the way up I didn’t see another living creature besides myself and the man walking ahead of me. All I could hear was the incredibly genki music accompanied by various Japanese commentators’ expressions of surprise and delight, “ehhh?!?!” “naruhodo…” “sugo~i!!!” rattling out from his headphones.
Half-way up the mountain we were warned by a fellow early morning walker to watch out for “saru-san.” I stayed close to the man with the headphones, who also had a hefty umbrella. ‘Good thing it’s a cloudy day,’ I thought.
We walked on, all the way to the top without a glimpse of Mr. Saru’s tail. I was glad- I certainly did not need a mauling right before school- and after resting for a minute or two, I figured I’d just trot right back down the mountain. No need to bother the old man with the music, who was now washing his face and taking a drink at the village well.
Unfortunately, as I walked back- exactly the way I had come- I turned a corner and there in front of me, where not three minutes ago one could see only a mountain road, some sakura and bamboo, were nearly twenty monkeys. Many were swinging from trees, I saw one little baby run across the grass and across the road. There were monkeys hanging from the net-like retaining wall, and two giant monkeys sitting in the road eating massive bamboo shoots and looking like nothing short of a bulldozer could get them away from their breakfast.
I shot a glance over my shoulder. My protector was no where in sight. Awkward as it is to walk next to an old Japanese guy in silence, I did not want to go it alone; and after a few minutes of waiting I had to make a decision. Should I walk through a pack of monkeys or be late for work? This was not the sort of dilemma I was used to. Bears I had dealt with. Moose and deer I had dealt with. But when those things happened I was dealing with wild animals in the wilderness. This was Wilderness on the Way to Work. Like some terrible game show. Ack, Japan. I decided to go for it.
The only thing that could give me an advantage was a tool. That’s what separates us from the apes, right? I did have an umbrella that day, but it was a retractable one. Too short to give a monkey a proper smack in the head without getting too close- but lo and behold, it made a terrific sound when struck against the guard rail of this lovely mountain road. Even better, this seemed to scare off at least the babies and smaller monkeys as I approached.
Ten meters ahead of me, the monkeys were clearing out- well most of them. As I walked along, banging my umbrella against the rail and probably waking everyone in the tiny mountain village above, monkeys were running left and right, jumping into trees and disappearing into the underbrush. Unfortunately there were still the daddies: two giant monkeys sitting in the middle of the road, completely undisturbed.
Three meters away they still weren’t moving. I was terrified that they would lash out and grab me with their long hairy arms. People have gotten their faces torn off by chimps, who knows what the saru equivalent might me? Luckily, though, I remembered the advice given in the Arashiyama monkey park pamphlet: “Do not stare the monkeys in the eye”. Note taken. I walked within a meter of both giant monkeys, keeping my eyes on the ground and my steps as quiet as possible. I couldn’t tell if they were watching me or not but out of the corner of my eye I could see their long scraggly hair. I could have touched both of them as I passed.
In the end, I guess “not staring them in the eye” was a pretty good idea. I was allowed to pass through their family reunion unharmed, face in tact.
A few minutes later I ran into one of the other old men who often walks that mountain. He told me, “The monkeys are especially scary when you run,” at least, that’s all I could catch from what he was saying. Then he pointed to his umbrella, “that’s why I always bring this.”
A modern, Japanese Roosevelt. Turns out the trick to getting to work on time in rural Japan is simply to speak softly and carry a big stick.
