Perhaps it is the fact that I now keep track of the events in my life, but it feels like my life has turned into a series of short stories. And tonight was no different. At 11:00 p.m., just as I was sitting down for dinner with Takumi and Maki-san, I received a troubling phone call from a Chinese friend. She has been complaining about a stalker for the past month or so, and tonight she was especially worried because he was waiting outside the grocery store where she works until late in the evening. I decided to catch the train to Ookayama, where Tokyo Tech's campus is located, so I could help her deal with this guy and hopefully put an end to it.

Takumi came along with me so he could converse with the Japanese police, but in truth we probably didn't look like the most trustworthy people in the world - I was wearing long, black running pants with an un-tucked polo shirt, while Takumi had a do-rag tied around his head and the kind of baggy clothes that always cause elderly woman to give a wide berth when passing. (And yet, the reality of who we are could not be further from the truth: Takumi met with the head of Tokyo's Boston Consulting Group earlier in the day, and he will be meeting executives from Goldman Sachs tomorrow as they all vie for his signature. Me? Well, perhaps I am useless, but I certainly am not dangerous.)

When we reached the Tokyu grocery store she was standing outside the building arguing with a well dressed man sitting placidly on a bench. I was shocked by how normal the guy looked: he was wearing a pair of slacks, a well-ironed white Oxford, and had neatly trimmed hair parted over to the side - hardly the kind of mental image associated with a stalker. In many ways, his appearance and the way he never showed any emotions, despite QianQian's animated arguing, made him all the more disturbing.

The entire conversation took place in Mandarin Chinese, and much of it was spoken too quickly for me, but I was able to catch the gist of what was being said. Basically, QianQian was pleading with the man to stop bothering her because she did not like him and he was scaring her. The man found this strange because he only wanted to get to know her better, as they are both Chinese living in Japan and she is so kind/pretty etc. This angered QianQian even more because their common nationality is the primary reason she has yet to report him to the police: she does not want to cause trouble for another Chinese. Anyway, the conversation went back and forth like this for 15 minutes, and Takumi and I were forced to stand by the entire time. I tried speaking up at one point, but I am nowhere near proficient enough in Mandarin to have an extended conversation and convey everything I am thinking. (Although the guy's face noticeably changed when he realized I could speak in his mother tongue.)

Eventually, she got the guy to leave, and afterward I convinced QianQian that going to the police was in her best interests - at least they would be prepared if this should happen again. Takumi and QianQian spent 30 minutes answering the questions of the police and explaining everything that happened. Stalkers are taken very seriously in Japan because there was once a serious problem with girls being assaulted. After filling out reports and and providing as much background information as possible, the police discussed tactics in case it should happen again: I follow the guy (with my cell phone) while QianQian goes for the police.

It was well past midnight when we finished, so Takumi and I walked QianQian home along Tokyo's dark, quiet evening streets. As a carry-over from the Edo-era (Tokyo was formerly called Edo when it was ruled over by a Shogun, or samurai ruler), many of Tokyo's streets are narrow with minimal lighting and walls on either side - the perfect setting for an attack. It was a 20 minute walk from Ookayama to Senzoku-Ike, which is a beautiful park where I once hosted a HANAMI party. She was very thankful for all our help, but being two WAKAMUSHA (young samurai), we replied it was no problem at all (and so on).

In retrospect, it was a good thing we did not hang around much longer because 90 seconds after reaching Senzoku-Ike train station we caught the last train for the evening. Otherwise, it would have been either a long walk home or a costly taxi ride (a famous saying is that Tokyo meters rise with one's heartbeat).