A gate that has been carelessly left unlocked is baptized chy, a word of Korean pedigree. If the gate is locked, but so flimsily that a swift prod will unhinge it, the looters will murmur marumage (the traditional knotted hairstyle of a married woman—pull one pin out and ornaments and tresses come tumbling down). A gate that is securely locked is called by all-male gangs maekake onna (aproned woman): a man wishing to enter must first rip her apron off. In this case, the lock will either be picked (koburu), wrenched open (shiburu), or blowtorched in a process known as kamaboko (fish paste) and yakikiri (burn cut). lf the lock proves too formidable, then the gang will go for monbarai (gate disposal) or monbarashi (gate dispelling). Gate butts, metal straps, pins, springs, and hinge shutters are snipped and wrenched, and the gate is lifted off its hinges.
Agile clans, however, might simply go for a quick kaburu (scampering over the wall), also known in more theatrical cliques as maku o koeru (getting beyond the stage curtains). While the group's agile youngsters nimbly hoist themselves over barriers of brick or wire, the more weatherworn professionals rely on either their octopus (tako), a rope ladder with iron hooks on top, or the more portable minjaku (knotted rope). These men and women call wall climbing yama ni noboru (climbing the mountain) or yamagoshi (going over the mountain), a term that is frowned upon by criminal women, as it also means violent rape.
When the robbers are on the premises the macho sexual imagery continues. They have had to fiddle with the locks, tinker with the hinges, twiddle the screws, and putter the latches. The gate and wall, they argue, are as difficult to handle as an unyielding woman. Even the most manful of men has to struggle to perform the crucial maemakuri (“lifting the skirt from the front,” meaning the thieves enter through the front gates), or the even more crucial shirimakuri (“lifting the skirt from behind,” as in the gate or fence is at the rear of the house).
• Maemakuri hotondo ichijikan mo kakechimatta ze! It took almost an hour to get those skirts hitched up (to break through those front gates)!
• Anna inakamon' ga shirimakuri dekiru wake n dar! You expect that village yokel to know how to hitch up a skirt from behind (to break through a back gate)?
• Omae yamagoshi no mae ni wa, maemakuri shina yo n! Man! You don't just rape her straight out—you have to hitch up those skirts first! (Don't just climb the wall—try the gates first!)
When visiting one of the better mansions, a looter has to be prepared for what is known in back alleys as a muzukashii (a difficult), the pedigreed guard dog. A beast that starts barking and snarling ferociously is gabinta, a word of Korean descent, meaning “it has no respect for its superiors.” If a “here doggy doggy!” followed by an attempt to pat the animal does not calm it, most thieves will bring out the deadly pork chop. This is known as inukoro o abuseru (injuring the mutt), or more sardonically shtome o kudoku (silencing one's mother-in-law).
A careful rabble of thieves will now take a final outside look at the house. Are there any hidden computerized alarm systems, cameras, or infra-red contraptions (sekigaisen)? Professionals stress the importance of following strict looting procedures with an eye to Japan's brisk technological advances.
The cautioning proverb often quoted outside the targeted homes is:
• Ushi no kuso demo dandan. Even a cow shits plop by plop.
Younger bandits who storm their mansions without the perpetual checking and rechecking of the premises are branded by their elders as parrari (foolish ones). The youngsters throw back at the streetwise cow proverb the classical rejoinder:
• Yjin ni shiro horobizu. A fortress can not be stormed cautiously.
A looter of substance skulks around the house one last time. This final precaution is called “swimming” (oyogu), “sidling” (oyoru), or “flower listening” (kiku no hana). If there is the slightest sign of danger, there is still time to safely abort the mission.
The burglars will have chosen a house amenable to the method of breaking and entering that they prefer. On the streets all these professionals are akisunerai (empty-nest targeters), but when they finally crawl into a yard with widgets, tweezers, and window jiggers in hand, they acquire more specific names.
Some of the more athletic individuals, for instance, are known as agari (ascenders), nobi (climbers), ete (monkeys), and kumo (spiders). They scamper over hedges and walls and onto balconies, usually entering the house from the top floor and working their way down. The thieves' jargon secretly calls its roofs neya (a simple inversion of the standard word for roof, yane), or ten (heaven) and roof windows are called nekoiri (cat entrances). A wall is beka (an inversion of the regular word for wall, kabe), and the thief's standard word for door is tanka (abusive words). When it comes to locks, Japanese thief jargon can spin out endless reels of inspired metaphors. There is the ebi (shrimp): one has to pluck and pull at the shell to break through into its delicate body; the hana (flower), which one can pick (toru); and the eri (collar), a witty mispronunciation of iri (entry). Locks can be roku (pulley), and lock picking rokutsuri (pulley fishing). Some cliques call locks yakuban (turning part), others tsukimushi (attached insects). Some gangs prefer more sensitive expressions such as momiji (maple leaves) and mimochi musume (pregnant daughter); in her delicate condition she must be handled with the softest of touches. Down south, on Osaka's streets, locks are known as aisu (rammable blowholes), kudarimushi (lower insects) or sagarimushi (low-down insects), and further down, in Wakayama city, thieves call locks sanpira and enko.
The most ingenious way to enter a mansion is to march brashly up the garden path. Debonair thieves who simply walk up to the main door are known as mae (fronts). Once on the porch, each has his own method. The aritsuke (ant attachers), kogatana (daggers), sori (benders), and atetsukai (blade users) stand in full view of the street and swiftly slip their metallic contraptions into the locks to jiggle them open. The shippiki-needle tests the lock's sturdiness and its make, while the takehari (bamboo needle) and the gen (bamboo teakettle handle) are used to press down the tumblers. These quick-fingered lock pickers are not above working in full view of the street. A passerby glancing into the garden would see only a tired individual hunched over, fumbling tipsily with his keys.
Front doors that succumb smoothly to the professional's touch are known as tanka ga moroi (the curse words are fragile).
In tougher mansions, where doors are double-and even triple-locked, the kobuya (gnarlers), and the yaburi (breakers) go to work with a hatchet. Their forceful technique is called akebabarashi (opening-place liquidation) or tankahiraki (Curse-word releasing). If the stalwart door still does not yield, then a small high-powered saw, the menoko (child of the eye), is flicked into action. This machine is used by the shibuita hane (board removers) and the kiji (grain wooders), who will saw their way through the body of the door and leave the locked frame standing.
• Komatta na! Akebabarashi no saich ni ate ga dame ni natchimau to wa! Damn! How could my jigger have broken right as I was working that door!
• Tankahiraki no toki ni wa armu ni ki o tsukero yo! Be careful of the alarm when you break down that door!
• Kono menoko de d yatte shigoto shiro'tte yn da yo? How the hell am I supposed to work with this saw?
Doors that are made of a robust metal, with crowbar and iron cross-beam reinforcements, are called tanka akan' (the curse words won't open). The only door specialists who can handle these formidable barricades are the tsuriage (jack screwers) and the tenbin (weighing scales). They do what is known as karahiku (pulling off the husk), in which they zero in on the hinges with drills, wrenches, and blowtorches, and lift out door and frame as a unit.