And then he was there: Our hero stood at the far end of the crosswalk. The bandage across his chin shone in the night, a white beacon of hope. He was expressionless, but something inside told me that this was the calm before the storm.
When the crossing light turned green, he strode toward us. And once he was at our side, he said, in the tiniest whisper:
Eejanaika.
Ido quietly responded in kind.
Eejanaika.
I joined in, too.
Eejanaika.
And then Shikama said it again, the tiniest bit louder, this time directing his voice at a male student about to pass by. The student continued walking, at first appearing to ignore us. But under Shikama’s oddly intense gaze, he, too, blurted it out, ever so softly:
Eejanaika.
Shikama repeated the refrain, and the student again echoed, this time breaking out into a wide grin.
Eejanaika.
Eejanaika.
It was a chant now. Our voices were still little more than whispers, but the four of us were all saying it, rhythmically in turn. Shikama began to stare in the eyes of passersby as he repeated our cry. Some were appalled by our apparent lunacy. But every few attempts, Shikama would get a response back. A young man with bleached hair was standing on the sidewalk nearby, handing out advertisement-laden packets of tissues. He grinned, seeming to enjoy the show, and then decided to join in:
Eejanaika.
Each time he handed out a packet, he repeated the call. A small group of high school girls laughed as they accepted the tissues and echoed back:
Eejanaika.
And now that the girls had joined in, everyone on the sidewalk was looking on in curiosity.
Eejanaika.
Eejanaika.
Eejanaika.
The restless evening atmosphere proved the perfect medium; our battle cry was readily taken up and soon permeated the entire street corner. A middle-aged man in a suit regarded us in horror and tried to rush by, but several women loitering near a storefront barred his way. They stared at him, proclaiming:
Eejanaika!
To which the terrified man, unsure what else to do, responded:
Eejanaika!
A group of three middle-aged women began yelling for all they were worth into the night.
Eejanaika!
Eejanaika!
A curiously high-spirited group of men barreled onto the scene, eager to get in on the fun.
Eejanaika!
Eejanaika!
Eejanaika!
Numerous couples walking hand in hand paused on the sidewalk to join us.
Eejanaika!
Eejanaika!
Eejanaika!
Eejanaika!
Eejanaika!
Within five minutes, it was no longer possible to tell who was shouting or from what direction the latest cry had come. The whole street was erupting with our chant.
At times, truth is indeed stranger than fiction.
I looked over at Shikama. He was bathed in the vibrant light of a nearby storefront. He smiled back at me and said:
Eejanaika.
The mass of people around us began to churn and seethe. I looked up and saw a massive black shadow headed toward us, cutting its way through the crowd. As it drew nearer, I saw that it was a man, face obscured by a bristly mess of beard. The sea of humanity parted, and Takayabu broke through, exclaiming:
Eejanaika!
✦ ✦ ✦
It would be difficult to accurately describe how our homegrown uprising proceeded from there. It had ballooned into something far too large for its entirety to be grasped from any one location. The crowd pulsated like surging waves, writhing around me. It felt like the height of the Gion Festival.
From what I could tell, the riots were proceeding outward, up and down every adjacent street, with Shijo Kawaramachi at the epicenter. Shouts of “Eejanaika!” reverberated throughout the sky, blowing Christmas Eve out of the city altogether. The crowd undulated, hundreds of voices turning the unanimous refrain into one joyous roar. Every face I caught sight of in the light of the city’s streetlights was entranced, cheeks red, spirits high.
I wouldn’t know it until long after the fact, but word of the uprising spread quickly: Youths from all over were jumping aboard the Keihan and Hankyu train lines, pouring into Shijo Kawaramachi to be a part of this bizarre new movement. The city even mobilized its police forces.
Hardly a soul among that ever-expanding riot knew the truth—that the spark that ignited their fervor was just a single, unassuming word haphazardly chosen by our eccentric leader.
Eejanaika.
But alas, such is the way of the world.
✦ ✦ ✦
Soon I, too, was being pushed to and fro by the human waves stirred by our cheer. Shikama had climbed atop the handrail that runs along Kawaramachi Street, from where he continued to shout, “Eejanaika!”
Ido was buried somewhere in the crowd—I knew not where. Takayabu had remained visible above the crowd for some time, a steadfast precipice in the violent sea. But eventually, I lost sight of him, too.
With a great deal of exertion, I managed to pull free of the crowd and scramble atop the handrail with Shikama. I wobbled there precariously. My new vantage point revealed a hint of how our movement had grown, and my breath caught in my throat. The crowd had spilled out onto the roadway, its rising chant now punctuated by the occasional blare of an automobile horn.
I spotted someone on the other side of the street that I thought might be Yushima, but he vanished before I could be certain. Whoever it was, he’d been chanting along, all but crying at the top of his lungs.
Eejanaika!
Eejanaika!
The sea of people continued to writhe, completely consumed by their own chanting. I scanned the crowd again, this time catching a glimpse of Mizuo. Her tiny form wove and wavered as she was jostled—Eejanaika!—by the crowd. Close behind her—Eejanaika!—was Endou. He was trying to keep up, but—Eejanaika! Eejanaika!—the unpredictable currents stymied his efforts. The man’s frustration—Eejanaika!—was palpable. Suddenly, he—Eejanaika!—looked up. His eyes met mine—Eejanaika!—and he glared at me with unmistakable hatred. I—Eejanaika!—glared back.
Mizuo was ducking—Eejanaika!—and squeezing her way among the countless—Eejanaika!—bodies. She passed right in front of me—Eejanaika!—but did not seem to notice. She boldly pushed on, searching—Eejanaika!—scouring the clamor—Eejanaika!—looking for a way out.
“Mizuo!” I called—Eejanaika!—from my spot up on the handrail.
The endless cries—Eejanaika!—drowned my voice. I knew there was no way she’d—Eejanaika!—heard me. I saw her continue to push, rocking to and fro—Eejanaika!—like a lonely buoy among cruel ocean waves. Her short—Eejanaika!—clean-cut hair bobbed in and out of view. I could no longer—Eejanaika!—see Endou. Not that I cared what happened to him. I would have been perfectly happy for him to vanish among the chaos.
Ignoring a surge of guilt for abandoning Shikama’s cause, I plunged down from the handrail, pushing my way through the bodies in the direction Mizuo had been carried off. I thought I heard Shikama yelling after me: a long, drawn-out “Heeeey!”
I was immediately enveloped by the crowd—Eejanaika! Eejanaika! Eejanaika!—and their cries. I was trying my damnedest to get through, frantically shoving my way forward. The sea of people pushed back on all sides—Eejanaika! Eejanaika!—threatening to crush me.
My anger began to boil, and I shouted, “Shut up! Enough with the Eejanaika!”
I wrenched several bodies aside and was about to push past a young woman with bleached hair—Eejanaika!—flinging her head about in the throes of ecstasy. As I scrambled near, the back of her skull—Eejanaika!—slammed into my nose, and my vision momentarily went white. My hand shot up to one side of the bleached head—Eejanaika!—to shove it aside. I punched the face of a frenzied man who kept leaning in on me. All the while, I scanned for Mizuo—Eejanaika!— straining to see above the heads around me. Eejanaika! Eejanaika! Eejanaika! I was agitated. Eejanaika! I was livid. Eejanaika! I shouted—Eejanaika!—for all I was worth.
“You wanna know why the hell not?! Because it matters!”