The boy continued to sob.
In Japanese cities, much more so than in England, the restaurant owners, the teahouse proprietors, the shopkeepers all seem to will the darkness to fall; long before the daylight has faded, lanterns appear in the windows, lighted signs above doorways. Nagasaki was already full of the colours of night-time as we came back out into the street that evening; we had left Inasa in the late afternoon and had been eating supper on the restaurant floor of the Hamaya department store. Afterwards, reluctant to end the day, we found ourselves strolling through the side streets, in little hurry to reach the tram depot. In those days, I remember it had become the vogue for young couples to be seen in public holding hands something Jiro and I had never done ? and as we walked we saw many such couples seeking their evening?s entertainment. The sky, as often on those summer evenings, had become a pale purple colour. Many of the stalls sold fish, and at that time of the evening, when the fishing boats were coming into the harbour, one would often see men pushing their way through the crowded side streets, carrying on their shoulders baskets heavy with freshly caught fish. It was in one such sidestreet, filled with litter and casually strolling people, that we came across the kujibiki stand. Since it was never my habit to indulge in kujibiki and since it has no equivalents here in England ? except perhaps in fairgrounds ? I might well have forgotten the existence of such a thing were it not for my memory of that particular evening.
We stood at the back of the crowd and watched. A woman was holding up a young boy of around two or three; upon the platform, a man with a handkerchief tied around his head was stooping forward with the bowl so the child could reach. The boy managed to pick out a ticket, but did not seem to know what to do with it. He held it in his hand
and looked emptily at the amused faces all around him. The r man with the handkerchief bent lower and made some remark to the child which caused the people round about to
fr laugh. In the end, the mother lowered her child, took the
J ticket from him, and handed it to the man. The ticket won a
lipstick, which the woman accepted with a laugh.
Mariko was standing on her tip-toes, trying to see the prizes displayed at the back of the stall. Suddenly she turned to Sachiko and said: ?I want to buy a ticket.?
?It?s rather a waste of money, Mariko.?
?1 want to buy a ticket.? There was a curious urgency in her manner. ?I want to try the kujibiki.?
?Here you are, Mariko-San.? I offered her a coin.
She turned to me, a little surprised. Then she took the coin and pushed her way through to the front of the crowd.
A few more contestants tried their luck; a woman won a
? piece of candy, a middle-aged man won a rubber ball. Then came Mariko?s turn.
?Now, little princess,? ? the man shook the bowl with deliberation ? ?close your eyes and think hard about that big bear over there.?
?1 don?t want the bear,? said Mariko.
The man made a face and the people laughed. ?You don?t want that big furry bear? Well, well, little princess, what is it you want then??
Mariko pointed to the back of the stall. ?That basket,? she said.
?The basket?? The man shrugged. ?All right, princess, close your eyes tight and think about your basket. Ready?? Mariko?s ticket won a flowerpot. She came back to where we were standing and handed me her prize.
?Don?t you want it?? l asked. You won it.?
?I wanted the basket. The kittens need a basket of their own now.?
?Well, never mind.?
Mariko turned to her mother. ?I want to try once more.? Sachiko sighed. ?It?s getting late now.?
?I want to try. Just once more.?
Again, she pushed her way to the platform. As we waited, Sachiko turned to me and said:
?It?s funny, but I had a quite different impression of her. Your friend, Mrs. Fujiwara, I mean.?
Oh??
Sachiko leaned her head to see past the spectators. ?NO, Etsuko,? she said, ?I?m afraid I never saw her in quite the way you do, Your friend struck me as a woman with nothing left in her life.?
?But that?s not true,?? I said.
?Oh? And what does she have to look forward to, Etsuko? What does she have to live for??
?She has her shop. It?s nothing grand, but it means a lot to her.?
?Her shop??
?And she has her son. Her son has a very promising Career.
Sachiko was looking again towards the stall. ?Yes, I suppose so,? she said, with a tired smile. ?I suppose she has her son.?
This time Mariko won a pencil, and came back to us with a sullen expression. We started to go, but Mariko was still looking towards the Kujibiki stand.
?Come on,? Sachiko said. ?Etsuko-San needs to be getting home now.?
?I want to try once more. Just once more.?
