As we arrived at Numazu Interchange, he got off the car and told me to remain in the car. I started to regret what I have initiated. Now it seemed not at all a good idea for a woman to hitch. I thought I knew the risks of hitchhiking, but being picked up by a yakuza was beyond my expectations. In an instant, everything seemed to be out of my control. I worried what would come next.
After a while, he came back and said to me.
” I found a guy who goes to Nagoya. Is that good?”

He took me to this guy who was standing next to a huge truck. Yakuza introduced me to the driver who looked in his 30s.
“Okay, so, this is my sister-in-law. As I told you, I can’t send her to Osaka since I’ve got other things to do here. So please send her to Nagoya. In Nagoya Interchange she will find somebody else.”

The truck driver looked clearly annoyed by the situation, but he nodded.
“It is obvious, but”, yakuza changed his voice to a threatening tone. “You are not going to lay a finger on her. You know what is going to happen if you do that. Understand?”
The driver nodded again.
“Thanks. Okay, then you’ll have a good trip.” Yakuza said, and turned back to his car.
“Thank you, mister, I cannot appreciate you more!” I said to him.
“Remember, not all yakuzas are bad.” He gave me a wry grin and walked away.

The truck driver tossed his cigarette and asked me.
“Ready to go?”
I said yes, and he opened the door of the navigation seat. The truck was so tall that I had to climb up the small ladder next to the door to get on. The inside of the truck was heavily decorated with all of the miscellaneous goods: Tiny mascots, amulets, keepsakes, gadgets, keychains, and so on. Among them, I spotted some photos of him and apparent his kids. The driver shut the door and started the car.

“Why are you going to Osaka?” He asked me. At first, I couldn’t understand what he was talking, because of his strong accent from Northeastern Kanto region.
“Uh, I’m originally from there.” I finally figured out what he has just asked, and answered.
“Really. You don’t sound Osakan.”
“I’ve been living in Tokyo for four years and I’ve lost my accent,” I said.
“I see. I have never moved. I don’t like moving. Driving is enough for me.”

The driver kept talking. He talked about his job, his family, and horse races which is his enthusiasm.
“I like horse races. I used to dream of becoming a jockey.”
“Why did you become a truck driver?” I asked. He paused.
“Well, I needed a job. I’ve happened to get my girl pregnant. I had to take a responsibility. That is what men should do, isn’t it?” He said.
“Most of the cases, yes.” I agreed.
“I’ve never really chosen anything. I mean, I didn’t have much choice. I grew up in a rural town in Ibaragi. There are not many jobs.”
“Do you like your job?”
“It’s not like whether I like it or not. It is my job. It’s physically demanding, I have to stay up all night and my circadian rhythm goes crazy. And the company squeezes drivers.” He sniffed. “But I have to feed my family anyway.”

I was single. Listening to his family or experience of settling down was like listening to a Martian’s lifestyle. I tried to imagine my life with a husband and kids in a rural town in Ibaragi. Would I give up my dream for my family someday? Can I drive thousands of miles back and force for years all alone? Or bear most of the nights without having my husband next to me? To me, a life in Mars seemed more imaginable.

When I got off the truck at Nagoya Interchange, there was a hint of fresh morning air in the dark.
“Have a safe trip”, he said.
“Thank you very much, sir. Sorry for causing you a trouble.”
“Don’t mention it. I had fun.” He smirked. “Thanks for keeping me stay up.”