When I Was a Boy in Japan

by Sakae Shioya

One by one potted trees were added to his stock,—he could afford to buy only at odd intervals,—and presently shelves were provided for them in the small garden. Morning and evening he attended to them, and with patience as well as with pleasure looked forward to the time when his care would result in a growth of just an inch and a quarter of pine leaves and palm leaves two inches by three in size.

One night an unexpected thing happened. A thief found his way to the garden from the back door and sneaked away with half a dozen of the choice trees. Naturally, my father was distressed, but after a while he was patiently filling the vacancy one by one, of course seeing that the back door should be securely locked every night.

I was going to tell you something about the amusements I had in the evening, but it was mainly due to this love of my father’s for potted trees that I was taken regularly to a local fête, held three times a month. The day for this was fixed; it fell on every day connected with, the number seven; that is, the seventh, the seventeenth, and the twenty-seventh. And as in the calendar, rain or shine, it came and went. Naturally, I had my weather bureau open on that day to see if the evening was all right, for a wet night would be an irretrievable loss. At the police stand they published a forecast in the morning, but that was not to be too much relied on. It sometimes said rain when it was anything but wet, and fine when it was actually drizzling—though in the latter case I rather inclined to believe the report even if it ended in sorrow.

I did not need any formality of asking to be taken; it was a matter of course with me as long as I behaved well. This behaving, however, was peculiar. I had to be waiting for my father outside and follow him when he came out, without saying anything or shouting for delight for a block or so. The reason for this was simple. Mother objected to sending out the younger members of our family in the evening, and especially to such a crowded place where they were liable to be lost. My going there must not attract their attention.

One evening I slipped off with my father in this way. The place where the fête was held was not far away, and after two or three turnings we soon came to the street. At a distance, you might take it for a fire, for the tiny stalls and booths crowding the place were lighted by hundreds of kerosene torches which flared and smoked. The central section of the street was not more than two blocks in length, but it was literally packed with six rows of booths and stalls and with such a concourse of people that there did not seem to be room even to move.

The approach to the scene was marked by some show booths. Hung in front were some wonderful pictures of what was to be seen within: a serpent over thirty feet long, which had lived in some distant part of the country and had actually swallowed two babies; a woman who had a real rubber neck which could be stretched so far that while sitting still her head could wander all over the house; monkeys dressed in old-style costume and giving some theatrical performance, and so on. The entrance fee was a penny, and men stood outside crying the various excellencies of their shows, and when you stopped before one of them and looked at the sign, they would lift the curtain for a second and drop it again, just to whet your curiosity. I naturally wanted very much to look at some of the monstrosities, and watched to see if the inducement would work on my father, but, much to my disappointment, he walked calmly on with his hands in his sleeves.

Now we came in front of the goldfish booths. It was simply fascinating to see such a number of dear little things swimming in wooden tubs, some being hung high in glass globes by the side of helpless turtles enjoying air riding. In the next two or three booths were masses of minute bamboo cages. Most of them were only three inches by two. Here they were selling all sorts of singing insects and fire-worms. And what an orchestra these tiny winged things were! There were bell insects which chirped on “chinkororin, chinkororin,” in staccato, crickets which hummed in sweet undulating “rin—rin—rin,” and katydids which broke in with a cymbal-like “gaja, gaja,” as we say. I watched to see if these things would tempt my father, but no, his face was set on something else ahead.

Now a great part of these enterprising peddlers were gardeners by profession. And out of the six rows of booths in the central portion three were shows of potted flowers and trees. They even had for sale grown-up trees half as tall as a telegraph-pole! As we came to this part my father slackened his pace. Here was something at last which interested him. He took time to examine some of the nice potted trees, and his progress was very slow indeed, somewhat to my annoyance. I would rather have him stop before a candy booth than in these places. After a while, however, he found one tree much to his liking. He was tempted just to ask the price of it.

“Ten dollars, sir,” was the answer.

My father smiled dryly and passed on.