Eric's Beijing Diary

Last night I had dinner with Linda and Ida. As we were walking to the restaurant for a dinner of boiling fish, we heard a big bang coming from the street. We looked up and saw a boy who looked to be about 12 years old lying on the pavement in the middle of traffic. He tried to get up, but fell back down again. He had obviously been hit by a car.

It was at least partly his fault, because he was crossing, on his bicycle, in the middle of the block instead of going to the corner and using the crosswalk. And traffic was pretty heavy. The scene was upsetting, and I didn't want to leave until I was sure he was alright, but then I saw a cop with a radio, and he was kneeling down and talking to the boy, so it seemed like the situation was being taken care of.

It brought back memories. I was about the same age when I was hit by a car. It was in the city of Akita, in northern Japan. I was riding my bike, pretty much like this kid, when a hit-and-run driver hit me and took off. In my case, although I was bruised, I was able to get up and walk my bike home. As I was going through the alley, a couple of truck drivers caught up with me, and told me that they had written down the license number of the woman who hit me. Perhaps we should have pursued the matter, because leaving the scene like that is certainly a crime, but we decided not to. I say "we," but in fact, I really had no interest in the matter. Never for the smallest fraction of a second did I believe that she had deliberately knocked me over, and I was OK, so I didn't see much point in making an issue of it.

Of course, even though I was alright, a crime had been committed, because what she did was clearly wrong. She knew that she had hit someone, and she should have stopped. But beyond the legal matter, I have thought, since then, of what she must have gone through. Me? I went home and sat in the ofuro to sooth my bruised bones. But I cannot imagine what kind of evening she must have had. Knowing she had run down a kid, and not knowing if he was alright or not. Never being quite sure if she had been discovered, or if someone had reported her to the police. Her heart skipping a beat every time there was a knock on the door. At the time, I really didn't give much thought to what she was going through, but when I look back on it now, I really wish I could have told her that I was OK. How much agony she would have spared herself if she had just stopped to "face the music!"