The pastor waited by the tub. 

The old lady handed me a clipboard with a white sheet of paper clipped on the front. I realized that this sweet lady, who, earlier on had slid into the room with the teacups so quietly, played just as an important role as the pastor and Miyako in the whole ritual.

“Please…your name first. then…others want to remember… Names and relationship, alive or passed…anyone who you want to think of” she said gently, whilst holding out a pen. I could feel my heart going into overdrive. I was sure the pastor and Miyako could hear it; maybe even the locals in the surrounding neighborhood – did they have any idea what went on in the building next to their quaint little homes? It took all the will-power I had to stop myself from saying NO to everything right there and then but the friend in me curtailed the urge.  The pragmatic side of me came through too. I thought I might as well put this experience to good use and put some names down of dear family and friends who’ve passed.

“Samantha Frearson-Tubito”

“Melanie John – dear friend”

“Ruth Frearson – granny”

“Bill Frearson – grandpa”

“Lewis Bassadone – grandpa”

“Juanita Bassadone – grandma”

I handed the pen back to the old lady. The pastor waded into the tub, waist deep in the cold water. By this time it had started to rain. I am usualIy one to not to be afraid to speak up but for some reason I felt ridiculously powerless. I still couldn’t believe that this was happening to me. She pushed me gently down into a kneeling position. I gasped as the icy water saturated my clothes, grabbed onto my skin and seeped all the way to the tops of my shoulders. 

The pastor said my full name “Samanta Fleason-Tubito” A tricky name for most non-English speakers to say at the best of times. Her tongue found it hard to wrap itself around my long name –  I’m sure the icy cold water didn’t help her either. I remember, for a split second, cringing at the sound of her mis-pronunciation. But suddenly my head was under, water in my nose and my eyes. I lost my balance with the shock of being totally submerged that the pastor yanked me up by grabbing the back of the yukata.

I spluttered and splashed and waved my arms under the water to steady myself back onto my knees. 

“Ok desu?” “Daijobu desuka?” asked the pastor, patting me quickly on my shoulders as if to say it’s all ok now. 

She then proceeded to say all the names on the list from the clipboard. One by one. After each name, she’d push me under the water. A baptism of the living and a baptism for the souls. By the last name, I was exhausted. After the final plunge, the older lady pulled me out of the water and guided me to a stool that had been readied for me by the side of the tub. Nose dripping with gunk and shivering with shock and cold, I sat myself down thinking ironically “Thank God for that”.  The old lady draped a warm towel over my shoulders, began to massage them and congratulated me on what had just happened. Miyako was back with us, no longer in trance-mode. Delight was spread all over her face. She clearly approved. I managed to smile meekly back at her, behind the wet curtain of hair. 

I must have looked an awful sight. I probably had mascara running down my face. I remembered thinking what a mess I would look for my dinner…if I ever got there.

I falsely assumed that we had finished. The pastor was still in the tub, but now kneeling at my feet. She began to pour water on them. She briefly explained that the baptism was not complete until the ritual of the washing of the feet….

Oh for the gift of hindsight… If only I had known to mention just the one name…she repeated the ritual six times, as she had done with the baptism. However, this time I had my shoulder tapping friend behind me encouraging me to chant Hallelujah…again.…

Miyako chimed in…. all three of them Hallelujah’d on as the pastor recited my loved one’s names, one after the other. I fell quiet, too tired to follow their lead despite the insistent tapping on my shoulder, encouraging me to chant along with them. I still couldn’t believe that this was really happening.  

Once the washing of the feet was over, my bedraggled self was escorted back to the changing shed, outdoor slippers off, indoor slippers on. The old lady took out a hairdryer from under a pile of laundered towels and handed it to me proudly. My instinct was to bow and thank her but as I was awkwardly changing back into my dry clothes – my fingertips were numb and the cold had seeped into my bones – I felt cheated. “What about a warm bath? body and face moisturizer, mascara?” 

I couldn’t stop my teeth chattering from the cold. My face felt tight and dry and my hair looked like I had run through a hedge backwards. I finger-combed my partly dried hair, patted it down and tweaked it as best as I could, pinched my cheeks to prise some color back in them, and then found my way back to the main building. Slippers off, slippers on and back into the room with the teacups. The old lady was standing in the doorway waiting to usher me in. Miyako and the pastor were both already inside the room. I spotted hot tea and cake at the table which I made a beeline for but was stopped in my tracks simultaneously by the three of them saying in unison

“Ie, ie, chotto matte kudasai.” All six of their arms outstretched waving in the same back and forth movement, asking me to stop and wait.

I was handed a sheet of paper written in Romaji – Japanese language written in Latin script for those who couldn’t read Kanji. I didn’t understand the content and there was no forthcoming explanation. They burst into song and encouraged me to sing along with them. 

I’m not sure if it was my imagination but I felt that Miyako had shifted her gaze away from me and was avoiding eye contact. Maybe she realized that she had overstepped a boundary of some sort by then, but I’m not sure. Finally, they finished singing, we sat down and I was offered tea and cake. I breathed in the moment of quiet whilst grateful for the small refreshments. Miyako then piped up

“Sam, thank you for being your wonderful self – you will see that after today everything will be clearer. Jesus has ways of speaking to us and I feel he will speak to you now and you will understand his mysterious ways more and more”

I didn’t want to hear this. I didn’t believe any of it but I had no energy to say anything. I nodded and continued to drink the hot tea in the hope of finding some sort of comfort.  My mind kept drifting back to the cold water and the ordeal I had just gone through. I crushed those thoughts down and thought of my friend and how late I was for her. I thought of getting my phone out to text her but decided to do so when the pastor had gone. I felt angsty to finish things up so started readying myself to stand up, and to make my excuses to leave, but noticed, from the corner of my eye the pastor pulling a book out of her bag. She placed it in front of me.

“James’s Holy Bible” I read to myself. As if this could get any more annoying, I thought.

The pastor opened the book and asked me to find a particular verse and to read it out loud. I could have stood up at this point and made my excuses but in spite of my frustration and the realization that by pleasing one friend I was letting another friend down, I still chose to stay. I found myself reading a passage on baptism of the living and for the dead. Once I’d finished she flipped over a few more pages and indicated a few other verses to read.  That passage was about the cleansing of the feet. Once I had finished reading, the pastor closed the book quietly. She took hold of my hand with her two, patted it whilst nodding her head. Her eyes were closed. The passages I had just read were exactly what had just happened to me. Was that supposed to make me feel something? I remembered thinking.

I was so tired and drained I was devoid of emotion. The only thing that would make me feel better right now was leaving this place, getting back into town and sitting with my friend with a lovely glass of red wine in my hand. My lips puckered at the thought.

I looked up at Miyako and unapologetically mentioned the time. She quietly explained in Japanese to the pastor that we had to leave. I was promptly but proudly handed a card with the name of the church, with my name on it and that day’s date. My baptism date. 

“but you can’t leave here without visiting our church” the pastor spoke up.

I might as well close the circle I thought exasperatingly. So they ushered me into the church, encouraged me to sit again which I did, all the while shouting in my head “ENOUGH ALREADY….I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!”

The pastor, Miyako, and the old lady sat around me, hands folded in their laps, eyes closed and started with the chanting again. I stood up and said that I was sorry and that I really needed to leave at this point. Six eyes looked up at me in shock. I felt chastised and could see the dissapointment in their eyes, so sat straight back down. Out of respect for Miyako, I guess. They finished their praying and it was finally time to leave.

Back in the hallway, I scrambled for my coat, shopping bags, and shoes. I didn’t wasted time tiying up my laces. I was so desperate to get out of there before they roped me into doing anything else. The door shut behind me. I leaned against it, closed my eyes and breathed a long sigh of relief. 

After a moment I looked at Miyako. 

Her gaze had shifted again to the floor, not knowing how I would react now that we were alone. My instinct was to make her feel at ease. In spite of feeling cheated I still saw my dear friend Miyako. She wasn’t a charlatan or a scheming type of person, just someone who had truly wanted me to experience the same joy she felt in her beliefs as she did. 

“Well that was interesting, to say the least!”  but quickly changed the subject. The whole experience was too raw for me. I needed time to process it all. I didn’t want to upset or hurt Miyako by blurting out my current thoughts. 

I whipped my phone out of my pocket and texted my friend that I was sorry that I was running late. I’d be there in 45 minutes and that I’d explain everything when I got there. She pinged a thumbs up within 2 seconds and I instantly felt I could relax.

Almost 3 months have passed since that eventful day and it still conjures up a mixture of emotions. 

In telling the story to friends and family, I have been asked so many questions about why I went through with it. 

The answer is not straightforward. I think that friendship without trust is like a fish without water; it cannot survive.  If you cannot trust your friend, you will always remain reserved with them. Trust takes a lifetime to build and just a few moments to destroy. I trusted Miyako completely when I agreed to her excursion, but it will be difficult for me to be honest and be my true self with her now that that trust has been lost.

In the Japanese culture there is a strong sense of honor and I knew that if I had stopped the ritual at any of the many moments that I wanted to, it would have been a blow to Miyako, she would have lost face in the eyes of her pastor and her community that she cherishes and relies on so much. Simply put, I didn’t want to embarrass her. 

I have been in contact with Miyako since that bizarre day. We have exchanged a few emails. It took me a few months to pluck up the courage and take the next step to tell her about how that day made me feel.  She explained that it was never her intention to make me feel the way she did. She sincerely wanted me to experience what she did. She wanted to introduce me to salvation. Her church’s salvation. I explained that this was her wish and not mine. That it should have been my decision alone to make that call and that not everyone wants to be saved in the eyes of a church they know nothing about. Especially unknowingly.

Friendship can mean different things to different people, but to me, Friendship and Trust go together, hand in hand. I feel that I have enough room in my heart to forgive her and to start again, but it may take some time to re-create the bond that we once had.