People with tatoos not welcome at this onsen. Photo by Phil Skipper.

Before I came to Japan, I had always associated bath houses with one thing: gay men. Gay, naked men prancing around lathering each other up in soap. Once I arrived in Japan, I naturally had no interest in visiting any of the bath houses, called onsen , that are commonplace. However, after several weeks of urging from both foreigner and Japanese friends, I decided to take the plunge.

Homophobia be damned, I was determined to see what was so great about bath houses. Only there was one problem. Tatoos. When I was twenty, I had a large Celtic design tatooed onto my right bicep. Two years later, I had another Celtic design tatooed onto my left calf. When I approached the doors of the onsen near my apartnent, I saw a large sign written in English: NO TATOO. I went to three more bath houses. None of them had signs. Not wishing to cause a scene, I asked at the front desk, "Tatoo ok desu ka?". At all three onsens, I was given the same response: the clerks criss-crossed their arms to make an X. No. Sorry. Dame.

 After an hour on my bicycle of trying to find a tatoo-friendly bath house, I finally found a place that was ok with my body art. The elderly lady behind the counter gave me an amused look as she took my four hundred yen. I went into the change room. Tatami mats covered the floors, lockers lined the walls with the exception being one wall that had sinks and mirrors. Luckily, it was empty. I found a locker and began to strip. The door to the bathing room slid open. A naked man strolled into the change room. His shoulders and chest were covered with an intricate Japanese style tatoo. He noticed me looking and nodded at me. I nodded back before looking away. I put my clothes into my locker, locked it, and covered my balls with a small, white bath towel. I slid open the door to the bath and walked into the humid room. Everything seemed to be made of tiles. To the right were several bathing stations set low to the floor. In front of each one was a small plastic seat, a plastic basin and a container each of shampoo and body soap. To the left was a large bathtub. A door on the far wall led to the outside, another led to a sauna. There wasn't another soul in sight. I sat down in front of one of the bathing stations. I turned on the tap and rinsed off my body and hair. I was in the middle of shampooing my hair when the door to the sauna opened. Two sweat soaked men walked out. One was lean and wiry with bleach blonde hair. The other was heavy set with a huge gut and clean shaven skull. He looked like a bald Sumo wrestler. Both of their arms were draped in ornate, Japanese style tatoos. The fat one noticed me looking at them. I turned my attention back to my shampooing.

"Oh! Gaijin-san!" the fat one muttered. The two of them came to where I was sitting. They sat down on opposite sides of me. The banjo tune from Deliverance began to play in my head. "Hello." he said, with an awkward accent.

"Hello." I said, nodding my head as I tried to rinse the shampoo out of my scalp.

"You speak English?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I speak very little." he said, holding up his index finger and thumb close to each other. "Country?"

"Canada." I replied.

"Oh! Aurora?"

"Excuse me?"

"You see aurora?"

I looked at him with a blank face. He turned to the skinny guy and machine gunned something in Japanese to him.

"The Boss wants to know if you've seen....what's it called.....the Northern Lights." the wiry guy said, with perfect pronunciation.

I turned to the Boss. "Yes. Many times. Very pretty."

"Good, good. Nihongo ok desu ka ?" Do you speak Japanese?

"Very little." I replied. The Boss barked something at the wiry guy.

"The Boss wants to know what your job is."

"English teacher. Eigo no sense i."

"Oh! Sugoi! Good Japanese." the Boss said.

"What do you do?" I asked, realizing the minute it left my mouth I looked like a rube for asking. The wiry guy translated into Japanese for the Boss. They both began chuckling.

"We're in the....loan business." the wiry guy said with a grin, exposing a mouth full of crooked teeth. The Boss stood up. His pecker was mere centimeters from my face, so I kept my head straight forward. He barked at the wiry guy, who stood up.

"We're going to the bath outside. The Boss wants you to come with us."

"Ok." I hadn't used any soap yet, but I wasn't about to start arguing. I followed behind them. The Boss was directly in front of me. He had an enormous tiger tatooed onto his back. We went outside, and stepped into the crisp autumn afternoon. There was a large bath, with water cascading down from a rock sculpture. Steam was rising from the water. We all stepped in. The Boss on my right, the skinny guy on my left.

"Do you like Beatles?" the Boss asked.

"The Beatles?"

"Yes."

"John, Paul, George and Ringo?"

" Hai . Yes, yes."

"Yeah. They're ok."

He pointed to his nose. "I very like. Very like." he turned to the skinny guy and spit out some Japanese.

"He wants me to tell you that he just recently paid a lot of money for an autographed photo of John Lennon. He bought it at an auction in London. It's his most prized possession."

I looked at the Boss. He was beaming like a child.

"Yes." he said. "Beatles very nice music." He stood up, took a few steps in the steaming water before turning to face us, stark naked. He closed his eyes and began singing:

Ruv-ree Ruv-ree Mee-tah Mai-doh,

Ruv-ree Ruv-ree Mee-tah Mai-doh.

Ruv-ree Rita, Mee-tah Mai-doh!

Way-uh wud I be wish out you?

He stopped and looked at us with a huge grin. His smile seemed to shine from all the silver false teeth in his mouth. The skinny one began applauding. I followed suit. The Boss gave a slight bow.

"Beatles are very nice music." he said.

The three of us eventually made our way back to the changing room. As luck would have it, their lockers were right next to mine. The Boss was humming I Am the Walrus, as we changed our clothes .

"Do you have a business card?" the wiry one asked.

"No, I don't. Why?"

"The Boss wants you to teach him English. He'll pay you very well."

"Well...I...."

"I should tell you that the last guy who told the Boss 'no' for an answer ended up with both of his legs broken. "

I gave him my cell phone number. He immediately phoned me to make sure I was on the level.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." the wiry guy responded.

"What's with the Beatles?"

The skinny guy looked at the Boss who was in front of a mirror, brushing his teeth, still humming I Am the Walrus . "He was in a car accident. Ever since then, he's been obsessed with the Beatles."

"Did he like the Beatles before the car accident?"

"Not at all."

"All right. One more thing. You speak fluent English. Why don't you teach him?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "The Boss says that Japanese people can't teach English. Even though I was born and raised in California."

The three of us made our way outside. They were decked out in black suits. I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that proclaimed: Canada Kicks Ass. As he clasped my hand, the Boss looked me in the eye and sang me this:

And in the en-doh,

the ruv you tay-kuh,

is eekwah to the ruv

you may-kuh.

They slipped into a black Benz, parked illegally in front of the bath house, and sped off. I took off on my bicycle, bound for the supermarket.

I lived in Japan for three years. I never saw the Boss again.