“I could not go home without you. So I waited for you. But isn’t it a shame for teacher to punish you without your deserving it?” she said.
“We did not want to let Takeda suffer alone, you know.”
My answer was a surprise even to me. Of course, I did not think to the contrary, but I was not impressed with the significance of it till I put it into words and—to her. It came as a new thought to me. Our hearts became light, the thing was forgotten, and only the prospect of the fine time we should have that golden afternoon in late summer occupied our minds.
“Come along,” I said. “Let’s go to the field!”
And we hastened on briskly, and, throwing our things into our houses on the way, went to the field, green with cool, cushion-like grass. About a dozen boys and girls were already waiting for us, and we just jumped among them.
“What shall we play?” said one.
“Let’s have Kotoro-kotoro,” suggested another.
“That’s fun!” all shouted.
To play the game, we must first select from the boys one “chief” to protect his “sons and daughters,” and one “imp” to catch them. The boys stand in a circle and are ready to say “Jan-ken-pon,” and to hammer with their fists. At “pon” you make one of three shapes with your hand. When your hand is spread, that denotes a sheet of paper; when two fingers only are stretched, that means a pair of scissors; and when your hand is held closed, it signifies a stone. A sheet of paper can be cut by scissors, but the latter is ineffectual on a stone. But a stone can be wrapped by a sheet of paper. Hence, each one can defeat one of the rest, but is conquered by the other. To simplify the matter, you can use only two of the three shapes. The one who wins at first is to be the chief, the one who is ultimately defeated, the imp. So we began: “Jan-ken-pon!”
Only three won. Then those three tried again.