Japanese Slang (40 page)

“Korea”). Market vendors, baffled as to why these words were turning up in market slang, could only conjecture that the vegetables must have been originally imported
en masse
from Korea.

At a Fish Auction

The market jumps to full action at 5:20 A.M. sharp. A bell tinkles, and there is a stampede of rubber boots over the sloshy cement floor as buyers of every shape and size dodge haulers, carts, and wheelbarrows, racing each other to reach the platform by the gigantic metal fish tanks. When there is a particularly large rush of retailers, such as during festivals or before the New Year, the delighted auctioneers exclaim:

•   
Oi! Ojime kuru zo!
Yo! A big push is coming!

Or more playfully:

•   
Ki o tsuke! Janjan da!
Get ready, it's ding dong!

The buyers charging toward the auction platform are called
zabu,
a name that, according to the market crowd, was inspired by
zabuzabu
(splish splash), the sound of their feet racing through bilgy puddles. The first fish to be hawked at the market, at 5:20, are alive, swimming large and small in their tanks. At 5:30 there is a second rush as the auctioning of boxes of fresh fish
packed on ice begins on another level. Then, within minutes, the whole market is agog. Bells peal, loudspeakers bellow, and sirens blare as sales start up all over the building: the night's catch on the first floor, fresh tuna at ground level, sea urchins and oysters by the fish tanks, and rows upon rows of frozen tuna outside by the docks.

At these auctions only the slickest survive. Selling fish wholesale is called
otosu
(throwing), and buying wholesale is
mukaeru
(welcoming). Day in day out, the same hardline professionals bid against each other with deft maneuvers and slippery bluffs. Newcomers, known as
ichigen
(once seen), do not stand much of a chance. Before they need apply for a license they have to be fluent in the market's
besshari
and study the auctioneers' sales methods, known as
h
gaku
(direction). They have to learn the many little secret hand signals that can mean anything from “yes please, I'll have that large fish over there”, to “at that price, forget it!” The single hardest task for the newcomer is decoding what is known as
tankabai
(curse sale) or
tontonbai
(bang bang sale). This is the impenetrable, droning chant of the auctioneer as he plays on the secret winks and hand gestures of the buying crowd.

Experience has made the bidding retailers distrustful. They have spent the pre-dawn hours peeking into tanks and into
danbe,
the boxes where fresh fish lie on ice. They sniff and eye their favorite fish, tapping their gills, looking deep into their eyes, and glaring at fins and tails. No retailer wants to be caught buying an
aotan
(bruise), a fish that on closer inspection has gone slightly fusty. The gigantic frozen tuna that lie in rows all the way down to the dock are checked by what is called
shippo o kiru
(cut the tail). The retailers walk
from fish to fish flicking their fingers on the skin to evaluate its oiliness, and studying the lines on the exposed meat with flashlights. If blood oozes out in blobs, the technical market term is
azuki ga demasu,
“azuki beans are seeping out.” If a tuna turns out to be wanting, it is labeled
dabo,
an insulting cognomen that came from
dabohaze
(goby) an unattractive, spiny-finned little fish.

The catch of the night is kept fresh in styrofoam boxes that market slang calls
taibako.
A perfectly packed box of herring or mackerel contains twenty-one fish piled in neat tiers, and is called
hitochobo
(dice throw); if you count up all the little dots on a cube they add up to twenty-one. Some market packers will then top up the box with water and ice cubes (a process known as
suihy
,
“water ice”), while others aim for a crisper fish by skipping the water and just packing the fish down with crushed ice (a process known as
j
hy
,
“top ice”). Of all the retailers, those bidding for live fish from the tanks are the wariest. The careful professional asks himself: How alert is that fish over there? How energetic? Does it swim about briskly enough? After all, even the peppiest specimen might well be
aniki
(brother), an elderly fish. If in doubt, the bidder mutters
su ga itta,
“the nest went,” and walks off.

The biggest scandal occurs when a fish dies before everyone's eyes while it is being auctioned. In such calamitous cases the bewildered auctioneer turns to his audience and utters the Buddhist death euphemism:

•   
Agatta!
Its soul has risen!

The auction does not always run smoothly. There is often ill-feeling when one bidder outmaneuvers another and manages to get his hands on a prize specimen. The derailed retailer will furiously describe his predicament as
naki
(crying).

A more serious problem is when two arch-rivals, battling each other for a fish, arrive at a bidding impasse known as
tsuki
(together). The men first bark at each other in heated
besshari
while the auctioneer and the other retailers wait impatiently. If neither of the two will back down, they do a quick
jan ken pon
(paper-scissors-rock game), and the winner takes the fish. In some rare cases, however, opponents will lunge at each other in what is known in the market as
juzu
(Buddhist rosary). Punches fly, other retailers take sides, the auctioneers join in, and the market police come rushing to the scene.

As the pre-dawn auctions draw to a close the bidders race off to their fish stalls. In the Tsukiji market some sixteen hundred stalls clutter around the central shipping platform, known as Shiomachijaya (tea house for the awaiting of the turning tide).

To the vendor, his market spot is his
niwaba
(gar-den place). The most strategic stall sites are called
tenshoba
(heavenly spots). The market commission holds lotteries for locations every three years, but there is still ill-feeling among vendors about who stands where.

As the stalls open, lines of regular clients are waiting impatiently with bundles of yen notes in hand, and the vendors begin hacking away at the fish with their heavy
deba b
ch
cleavers. Every slash of the blade has its
besshari
name:
saku
(sever) means slicing the fish in half through the center bone,
daimy
oroshi
suru
(doing a feudal lord drop) means cutting a fish in half by pressing in the knife point above the gills and cutting towards the tail,
sanmai oroshi suru
(doing a three-piece drop) means cleaving the fish in half through its bone and then slicing it in half again from side to side.

The early customers study the fish greedily, pointing and winking at their favorite specimens, trying to get in their bids for the best chunks. During these first crucial minutes every fish and every fish part is soused with hundreds of market names. A robust tuna is called
kuronbo
(black boy),
gotatsuke
(troublemaker),
uo
(big fish),
shibi
(big tuna),
seinaga
(height long), and
taro
(big Taro).
Yotsu
(“four,” as in forty kilograms) is the run-of-the-mill eighty-pounder. The
metsuke
(overseer),
meguro
(black eye), and
mejika
(doe) are the daintier, younger tuna.