I Never Knew There Was a Word for It - Adam Jacot De Boinod [95]
okinagashi, put and flow: those who climb on a local train at one station, grab bags and coats, cameras and camcorders, and then jump off at the following station
takudasu, kindle and pull out: to drop, as if by mistake, a lit cigarette into a victim’s jacket or open shirt, and then, while the victim is frantically trying to locate the burning butt, come to his aid, helping him unbutton and frisk through jacket, shirt and undershirt, taking the opportunity to lift wallets and other valuables out of pockets and bags
Descending spiders
Nor does this fine vocabulary dry up when describing the activity of Japanese burglars: maemakuri, lifting the skirt from the front, means they enter through the front gates; while shirimakuri, lifting the skirt from behind, describes entry through a gate or fence at the rear of the house. One obvious hazard is the gabinta, the dog, that starts barking or snarling at the intruders (the word literally means ‘this animal has no respect for its superiors’). There is only one way to deal with such an obstacle: inukoro o abuseru, the deadly pork chop, otherwise known as shū tome o kudoku, silencing one’s mother-in-law. Once at the door you confront the mimochi musume, the lock (literally, the pregnant daughter), who must be handled with the softest of touches, unless of course you are in possession of the nezumi, the mice (or master keys).
As for the crooks themselves, they come in all varieties. There is the sagarigumo, or descending spider, the man or woman who braves the slippery tiles of the roof to reach their target; the denshinkasegi, the telegram breadwinners, who get there by shinning up telephone poles; the shinobikomi, thieves who enter crawling; the odorikomi, who enter ‘dancing’, i.e. brash criminals with guns; the mae, or fronts, debonair thieves who simply walk up to the main door; or the super-sly ninkātā , who leaves no trace: the master thief.
There is the ichimaimono, the thief who works alone; and the hikiai, those who pull together, i.e. partners in crime. There are nitchū shi, broad-daylight specialists, and yonashi, night specialists; even miyashi, shrine specialists. There are akisunerai, empty-nest targeters, those who specialize in targeting unattended houses; neshi, sleep specialists, the men who target bedrooms after the loot has been assembled and packed; and even evil tsukeme, literally, touching eyes: thieves who barge into bedrooms to rape sleeping victims.
Radish with glasses
Not content with colourful descriptions of robbers, the Japanese have an extensive vocabulary for cops too: there are the gokiburi, the cockroaches, policemen on motorcycles, who can follow burglars over pavements and through parks; the kazaguruma, the windmill, an officer who circles the streets and alleys, getting closer and closer to the area where the criminals are working; the daikon megane, the radish with glasses, the naive young officer who’s not going to be a problem for the experienced crook; or the more problematic oji, the uncle, the dangerous middle-aged patrolman who knows all the members of the gang by name and is liable to blow the whistle first and ask questions later.
As if that wasn’t enough, policemen on those overcrowded islands can also be described as aobuta (blue pigs), en (monkeys), etekō (apes), karasu (crows), aokarasu (blue crows), itachi (weasels), ahiru (ducks), hayabusa (falcons), ahō dori (idiotic birds, or albatrosses), kē (dogs), barori (Korean for pig), and koyani (cat, from the Korean koyangi). Officers even turn into insects such as hachi (bees), dani (ticks), kumo (spiders), mushi (bugs) and kejirami (pubic lice).
When crimes go wrong
‘Punishment,’ say the Spanish, ‘is a cripple, but it arrives.’ Criminals may get away with it for a while, but in the end justice of some kind generally catches up with them:
chacha (Korean) the disastrous act of each gang member dashing down a different alley
afersata (Amharic, Ethiopia) the custom, when a crime is committed, of rounding up