Sachiko sighed impatiently, then looked at me. I shrugged and gave a laugh.
?All right,? said Sachiko. ?Try once more.?
Several more people won prizes. Once a young woman, won a face-compact and the appropriateness of the prize provoked some applause. On seeing Mariko appear for the third time, the man with the handkerchief pulled another of his amusing faces.
?Well, little princess, back again! Still want the basket?, Wouldn?t you prefer that big furry bear??
Mariko said nothing, waiting (or the man to offer her the bowl. When she had picked out a ticket, the man examined it closely, then glanced behind him to where the prizes were exhibited. He scrutinized the ticket once more, then finally gave a nod.
?You haven?t won the basket. But you have won ? a major prize!??
There was laughter and applause all around. The man went to the back of the stall and returned with what looked like a large wooden box.
?For your mother to keep her vegetables in!? he announced ? to the crowd rather than to Mariko ? and for a brief moment held up the prize. Beside me, Sachiko burst into laughter and joined in the applause. A gangway formed to allow Mariko through with her prize.
Sachiko was still laughing as we came away from the crowd. She had laughed so much that small tears had appeared in her eyes; she wiped them away and looked at the box.
?Whatastrange-lookingthing,?she said, passing it to me.
It was the size of an orange box and surprisingly light; the wood was smooth but unvarnished, and on one side were two sliding panels of wire gauze.
?It may come in useful,? I said, sliding open a panel.
?1 won a major prize,? said Mariko.
?Yes, well done,? Sachiko said.
?1 won a kimono once,? Mariko said to me. ?In Tokyo, I won a kimono once.?
Well, you?ve won again? - ?Etsuko, perhaps you could carry my bag. Then I could carry this object home.
?I won a major prize,? said Mariko,
?Yes, you were very good? said her mother, and laughed a little.
We walked away from the kujibiki stand. The street was littered with discarded newspapers and all manner of rubbish,
?The kittens could live in there, couldn?t they?? Mariko said. ?We could put rugs inside it and that could be their house.?
Sachiko looked doubtfully at the box in her arms. ?I?m not sure they?d like it so much.?
?That could be their house. Then when we go to Yasuko-San?s house, we could carry them in there.?
Sachiko smiled tiredly.
?We could, couldn?t we, Mother? We could carry the kittens in there.?
?Yes, I suppose so,? said Sachiko. ?Yes, all right. We?ll carry the kittens in there.?
?So we can keep the kittens then??
?Yes, we can keep the kittens. I?m sure Yasuko-San?s father won?t object.?
Mariko ran a little way ahead, then waited for us to catch up.
?So we won?t have to find homes for them any more??
?No, not now. We?re going to Yasuko-San?s house, so we?ll keep the kittens after all.?
- ?We won?t have to find owners then. We can keep them all. We could take them in the box, couldn?t we, Mother??
?Yes,? said Sachiko. Then she tossed back her head and once more began to laugh.
I often find myself recalling Mariko?s face the way I saw it that evening on the tram going home. She was staring out of the window, her forehead pressed against the glass; a boyish face, caught in the changing lights of the city rattling by outside. Mariko remained silent through out that journey home, and Sachiko and I conversed little. Once, I remember, Sachiko asked:
?Will your husband be angry with you??
?Quite possibly,? I said, with a smile. ?But I did warn
him yesterday I might be late
?It?s been an enjoyable day?
?Yes. Jiro will just have to sit and get angry. I?ve enjoyed today very much.?
?We must do it again, Etsuko,?
?Yes, we must.?
?Remember, won?t you, to come and visit me after I move.?
?Yes, I?ll remember
