Category:

PROLOGUE

Three years after the end of the war, a baby girl was born in a small village in Akita Prefecture. She had two older brothers who were later joined by a younger brother and sister. Being from a farming family, although not well-off, they grew up healthy and vigorous.

Many of the girl's contemporaries were sent off to find work in the city after graduating junior high school, as soon as they could. She, however, continued on to the local high school. When she graduated, she found a job at a textile mill in Chiba, on the out-skirts of Tokyo. She told her family that she wanted to help them financially when, in fact, she just wanted to put the poverty and hardships of country life behind her. Hosting the 1964 Olympics had endowed Greater Tokyo with an irresistible luster in her eyes. Unfortunately, her textile mill was out in the suburbs and both it and the all-female dormitory next to it were surrounded by nothing but fields and rice paddies. Still, on her day off, she would head into Tokyo. Parading in her miniskirt through the lively parts of town—that simply did not exist where she came from—was an exhilarating experience.

Life was fun and the time rushed by. She almost never went back to her hometown. The first year she went home for New Year and for the Obon summer holiday. She found it dreadfully dull and she was disgusted by the way her siblings would shamelessly try to squeeze her for money. She gradually started making up excuses to not go back.

In this way, around two years passed. She'd gotten used to life in the big city and learned to have fun in all sorts of ways. And now that she was over twenty, she was allowed to drink.

It was a Sunday when it happened. She was looking into the display window of a boutique not far from Ginza when a shadowy figure came up behind her. She was just about to turn around when her handbag was grabbed and torn off her. She yelled but it was too late. The man had already run off. A purse snatcher!

Yelling "Thief!" she launched herself in pursuit. In her high heels, she was barely able to run. The other people in the street did not seem to grasp what had happened.

She stopped and stood frozen to the spot, overcome with the shock of it, before sinking down into a squatting position. She felt demoralized. Her brain was a blank. She had no idea what to do. Her wallet was in the bag. She wouldn't even be able to get back home.

She noticed a shadow on the sidewalk followed by a pair of black leather shoes. She looked up. A man in a rather flashy shirt open at the neck was standing there. He was young but probably older than she was, she reckoned.

"This yours, miss?"

She caught her breath when she saw what he had in his hands. It was the bag that had been snatched just a moment or two ago! She pulled herself hastily to her feet and took it. She opened it. Her wallet was still there!

"I let the fellow go. Handing him over to the police is more trouble than it's worth. You got your stuff back, and that's what counts, right, miss?"

"You...you ran after him and caught him?"

"Nah. I was just walking along minding my own business when the guy comes charging across the street. He was holding a woman's handbag. Right away I was like, 'This guy's got to be a purse snatcher.' I just stuck out my leg and—crash--down he goes. He dropped the bag and was too stunned to pick it up again. He just took off, so I picked it up and was walking this way, wondering who it belonged to, when I saw you."

"Thank you. You saved my life." She bowed deeply to show her gratitude.

"You need to be careful. There's bag snatchers on bicycles and motorbikes too." The man was already moving off as he said this, but spotting a hole-in-the-wall tobacconist a few meters away, he stopped at the counter. "A pack of Highlights," she heard him say.

The girl dashed up to him, pulling her wallet out of her bag as she did so. "Look...Let me pay for those."

"What? Why?" There was an expression of surprise on the man's face.

"It's my way of saying thank you. It's the least I can do."

"You don't need to."

"I can't help it. It's something my parents drilled into me: if somebody does you a good turn, you've got to show them you're grateful." She turned and looked at the old woman behind the counter. "How much for the Highlights?"

"Seventy yen," she said.

The younger woman hesitated. Was that too little to properly express her thanks?