“OK,” I thought, “this is either a brochure for school uniforms or…” I opened it up. Naked girls filled pages. Explicit but censored in that way Japan insists on – no pubic hair ever: the result of people sitting in warehouses spending their unhappy lives airbrushing it out.
I looked at the cover again, it was called Mekiru, and then in English it said, “Make it love.” I checked the date, it was August 2008, that was next month! As in this was the newest edition, not some mangy old magazine a previous guest had left years ago, this was up to the minute cutting edge pornography.
And the strangest thing was that I was pretty sure it hadn’t been there the day before. It was lying under the hotel information booklet – which I had looked through when I arrived.
This was very odd. Had the kindly old cleaner from this morning left me a present? Had she thought, “Oh he’s a young man all alone, I’ll get him something to keep him going.” Or maybe it was all part of the service - perhaps there is a rule among Japanese hoteliers: If you cannot provide Pay For View pornography on the television then you must provide it in literature.
I looked through the stack of magazines and comics on the shelf wondering if there were any more surprises. A comic called, SON OF HITLER, provided a resounding YES to that query.
“What?” I said to Japan.
Yes, it was really SON OF HITLER. See.
I had a flick through, well you would wouldn’t you. It was not pro Nazi stuff, but seemed to be about a young Nazi who was either metaphorically, or really, the son of Hitler. He was getting up to some unpleasant stuff, branding swastikas on captive women chained to his wall, that kind of thing.
The copy I was holding was printed in 1962, it was old, maybe even an antique.
I put it back in its place, next to the pornmag.
And not a Gideon Bible in sight.
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