Like a Banshee
- Apr 17
- 4 min read
My "When East Marries West" humor column enjoyed a 17-year run in The Japan Times .
During those years, some of the reoccurring motifs I applied included settings such as: two friends joking over drinks; husband and wife silly wordplay; language pratfalls; family and friends tangled up in culture; and many others.
The column below is of the husband-wife variety. To see another such column, click to last year's July 26th post, entitled, "A Sound Bite of Married Life."
If you are wondering how much is fact and how much is fiction, please note I am fond of fiction.
That said, each and every column is indeed "based" on an actual occurrence.
With the truth in this particular case flowing from a noisy tea kettle and the simile that followed.
The newspaper's title is below. My own title, much simpler, is...
"Like a Banshee."
Simile-ing With You, Not at You
Aug 7, 2010
"Hey… Get that!"
A simple husband-to-wife request in what had been the hush of a peaceful weekend morning.
"Get what?" she said.
"What do you mean, 'Get what!?'"
For at that moment our tea kettle was foaming at its metal mouth and peeping a tune so shrill it could both wake the dead and make them regret the experience.
A screech I found I could only illustrate by adding a particular emphasis – by declaring that our about-to-burst kettle was…
"Screaming like a banshee!" Expletive omitted.
Words that struck my Japanese wife like a magic spell. She froze — with one hand but inches from the gas — and turned her head. Her eyes sparkled with an enchanted twinkle. A glow that announced she had entered…
English Lesson Land.
Sort of like Disneyland, only without the lines and entrance fee. With her free guide being not a mouse, but me.
"What was that?"
"Turn off the gas!" More expletives omitted.
"No. Say what you just said again."
So I repeated the expletives — with higher volume.
Not what she was after. But she flipped the switch and our kettle panted with relief.
"A par three? A birch tree? A bumblebee? What was it?"
"Banshee. 'Like a banshee.'"
She was smitten.
"Oh, how lovely! And what is a banshee? A kind of bird perhaps, like a nightingale?"
"Almost correct. A banshee is a ghost, an Irish ghost, a woman."
"…Oh."
"So if the nightingale was dead and from Ireland and female, you might be right."
"And these female ghosts scream?"
"All the time."
"At Irish men, I bet."
My Irish blood — several generations removed — warmed.
"Of course not. Irish men, and their descendants, are all noble and pure to a fault."
"Then why not say, 'Screaming like a Canadian ghost'? Or a Swedish ghost?"
"We just don't."
"Or an Italian ghost? Or a French ghost? Or a Polish ghost…"
"Okay, okay. Banshees come from Ireland. Or maybe Scotland. That's the only reason. And they hang around your window and give a scream when someone's gonna die."
"…Oh. Like a train announcement then? 'Now departing for Yokohama…'"
"No — it's a kind of warning. Or a prediction. Anyway, it's scary. You have a ghost that cries, don't you? Like her."
"You mean Oiwa-san?"
"Yeah, Oiwa-san."
She wrinkled her nose. "Oiwa-san is not a ghost; she's a monster — obake."
"Close enough."
"No, we Japanese never confuse ghosts and monsters. It's unheard of. That would be like mixing pigs and bananas."
"C'mon. Ghosts, monsters — they're both from the same creepy box."
"And pigs and bananas can both be eaten. But they're not the same."
Somehow this logic threw me. She had scored and spoke quick to maintain her momentum.
"And when Oiwa-san cries it is truly scary. But a scream isn't scary at all."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it isn't."
To prove her point, she stepped to me and screamed.
And this morning had been peaceful?
"See. You weren't scared even a little. And — please — don't tell me it would have been different if I was dead. Or Irish."
How did we get here? I remembered… the kettle.
"Right," she said. "And were you scared by the kettle? Not one bit. Yet it screamed, didn't it? But if it would have sat there and wept, you would have been petrified."
She glowed in victory. I saw but one way out — appeasement.
"You're right. I suppose the expression 'like a banshee' is better used with something intense, like a kettle whistle."
"…Oh." She blinked. And added, "...I see."
"You can use it like that."
Her thirst for English slaked, the quiet of morning returned — temporarily.
I heard her shuffling about in the kitchen. She sipped long at her teacup. After a full swallow and soulful exhale, she spoke…
"Here I am... Drinking tea like a banshee."
I buried my face in my hands.
Then a few minutes later, with an "intense" flutter of newsprint…
"And now I'm reading the paper, just like a banshee."
To be followed by:
"And I can hardly wait till tonight. When I’ll brush my teeth like a banshee. And then I'll bathe like a banshee."
"Wait, wait," I told her. "Something's missing. I think it's an element of noise."
"You mean I need to splash around? I can do that."
"Maybe you should just forget it."
"It's too fun. I have to use it. And I want to use it now."
But with a second language, it is not always safe to handle uncommon expressions. The communicative ice is too thin and cracks easily. I suggested she let it go.
"We don't want to offend the Irish, do we? Or their ghosts."
Now she was crestfallen. She moped about until I could find a workable solution. Which was…
To refill our kettle and stick it back across the flame.
She stood by the stove with her eyes ablaze.
"You promise you'll let ME say it? And not you?"
I promised, I promised. She could banshee away to her heart’s delight.
All I would add were the expletives.
© Thomas Noah Wood
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