When Boys’ Day came, on the fifth day of the fifth month, each family set up outside the house a special pole on which was hung a colorful streamer shaped like a fish. Younger Brother, as the only boy in the family, had a streamer twenty feet long. This Nobori, or streamer, signifies “swimming against the current no matter how strong and swift.” It is supposed to inspire boys to be courageous and to overcome all obstacles.
We watched the beautiful, vari-colored streamers waving against the deep May sky. Younger Brother said with satisfaction, “You girls have no such beautiful streamers.” Inside the house was a display of dolls representing house-warriors and heroes of old legends. Younger Brother also had miniature swords and bows and arrows and a set of armor, and he pretended that he was a stout warrior. Many little boys were invited to join him in the festivities, but we girls were not so honored. Consoling ourselves, we sniffed, “In spite of his show of bravery, Little Brother cries very easily when he is upset.”
Nothing exciting ever happened on our quiet street. Not far away, however, was the business section. Here the street was narrow and crowded with small stores. Wedged in between the fish, meat, and vegetable shops were the crowded ugly shacks of the poor.
Here dull-scaled fish were displayed in large open dishes, lifelessly floating in stale water mixed with blood. We held our noses whenever we passed by. The public bathhouse with thick smoke puffing steadily from black chimneys was next to the vegetable store. Frequently we met people with red-shiny faces, coming out with their soap, swinging their wet bath towels cheerfully. The most popular shop was the one which sold sweet potatoes. Here customers were always waiting for the potatoes to be removed from the large round iron oven. When the heavy wooden cover was lifted, thick white steam carried with it the sweet scent of the potatoes, and customers rushed to buy them.
Children played marbles and jacks in the middle of the street. Young girls of ten or eleven carried a little sister or brother tied on their backs. The infants’ pinkish arms and legs flapped, and they pulled their sisters’ hair. Housewives with their sleeves tucked back chatted loudly with one another. Their voices were drowned out by the bell of the bean peddler, who was dressed in long tight cotton trousers and had a towel wound around his head. The sweetened boiled beans he carried in two wooden buckets suspended from either end of a bamboo stick. Between peals of the bell he cried, “Hot steaming beans! Hot steaming beans!”
The tofu, or bean curd, peddler always blew a horn to announce his appearance. He too carried his buckets on a bamboo pole, and tofu floated in the water in the buckets. I was told the story that the man who made tofu took a bath in the same tub every night, and for some time I was unable to eat tofu although I was very fond of it.
A clog repairer, a tinsmith, and an umbrella mender came along the street, each calling his trade in his own noisy fashion. The ragman, by contrast, had a droll and sleepy voice. The large basket on his back accepted everything as merchandise, even old papers and broken bottles.
For children, the really popular vendors were the Ame-uri. These traveled in couples and sold candies and lollipops formed into colored birds and animals. Now one of these chindonya couples came down the street. Bells and drums which they played sounded “Chin don, chin don.” The woman’s outer kimono skirt was tucked up, showing her red petticoat. The man wore white leggings underneath his kimono. Each one balanced a large, shallow wooden washtub filled with candy on his head. The brass rims of the tubs flashed in bright sunshine. Around the rims waved many-colored little flags. Beating drums which hung from their shoulders, the man and woman danced along in perfect step while we children followed excitedly close behind. We were awe-struck that they could balance the tubs on their heads without holding them.
When a crowd of children had gathered, the couple stopped, and the man began, “Welcome, children. Today we have brought a special treat for you. Only a penny each!” He rolled his drum, and the woman started to sing in high-pitched voice. Her make-up showed that at one time she had been a country entertainer. Her partner began to sing with her in his deep voice. High voice and low voice rolled between them like a ball. When their song was finished and a much larger crowd, including many adults, had gathered, the man again beat his drum and announced: “Welcome again! See what I have brought you. With each purchase of candy one of these lovely little flags will be given free.” He pulled out a red flag.
A little girl rushed from the crowd with short hurrying steps, and returned with a flag in her hand and a red lollipop-bird in her mouth. Many more children rushed forward like sparrows. Some tugged at their mothers’ skirts, pleading for pennies; others ran home to see if they could get a penny there. In a few minutes most of the children were busy licking candy and holding flags proudly. The unfortunate ones stood by, greedily chewing their fingers.
Elder Sister and I watched the performance with no thought of purchasing the candy, which we had been taught was unsanitary. In addition, it was bad manners to ask for money, or to buy candy on the street. But secretly I wondered what the candy tasted like.
I memorized the song which the woman sang, and back at home I dramatized it with Younger Brother. I placed a cushion on my head. Younger Brother beat the drum. I sang the song of the tragic experience of a girl who dared to fall in love. Just as we were in the midst of this intense scene, Father arrived home and stood horrified. Hastily I dropped the cushion and made a low bow.
Father said severely, “What is this? Does my little daughter imitate street performers and sing undignified songs?”
After that we were no longer permitted to see the chindonya. I stood at the front gate every afternoon, hoping that sometime they would pass our house, but all I could hear was the familiar sound in the distance, “Chin don, chin don.” They never came along our quiet street.
ONE COLD and dreary winter night I lay awake listening lonesomely to the blind masseur playing a melancholy tune on his flute. Suddenly fire bells rang out clear. I grasped Elder Sister’s hand in terror. We knew that if a fire had started in the crowded section it would spread quickly, destroying completely the inflammable wood and paper houses. We knew that we were safe from its cruel onslaught, but we lay awake most of that night, trembling at the thought of the havoc it was bringing.
After that fear-shadowed night we no longer wanted to sleep in our own bedroom, which was in the far wing of the house. Father slept upstairs, on the opposite side of the house. We asked if we might change to the dining room, since it was in the exact center of the house and we could hear walking and voices if we were there. At first Father would not consent, but our persistent and polite pleading won his permission to change temporarily. The maid declared that our sleeping in the dining room would interfere with the proper serving of breakfast. Finally it was decided that we would eat breakfast in the small room next to the kitchen; and Elder Sister, who usually disliked household tasks, gladly helped each evening with the moving of our bedding from our room to the dining room.
One night while we were sleeping there, I awoke suddenly. Thin light from the living room leaked into the darkness between the sliding screens, and I heard Father talking to someone in a whisper. Then a woman spoke: “I quite understand the way you feel, but it is very difficult for a man to take care of three children alone. They need a mother, ne.*”
My ears pricked up to catch carefully the rest of the conversation which was about us.
Father was silent and the woman continued: “I observed her with her sister’s little children, who are about the same ages as yours, and I found her both able and tender. I therefore thought she would make an ideal mother for your children.”
There was silence for a while; then Father’s voice came hesitatingly through the thin paper wall, “Of course I would like a good mother for my children, but—” He stopped.
Again the woman’s low voice: “I realize you wish time to make a decision, but I am sure that