It Was Another World

It was 1964, the year the Olympic Games were to be held in Tokyo in the autumn. I waited impatiently for our school to break up for the summer.

Then, on a Sunday morning, my father shook me out of sleep.

a quay in the early morning

He was standing by my bed, looking down into my eyes with a creel hanging from his shoulder. He was as silent as a ceramic bust set in the front gate of our elementary school. This image still lingered on even now. And, when I was about to raise myself, he put his forefinger to his lips to signal me not to make a sound.

With a creel hanging from each shoulder, my father and I went out quietly. I looked up at the hillside to see the small grove of a shrine emerging out of a morning mist. It was still very quiet around there. No chorus of cicadas was yet to be heard.

My father walked with strides, and I trotted along after him.

It was not easy to keep up with him but exhilarating. Our two shadows faded into each other and sometimes became one in the faint light before daybreak.

The quay in the early morning was another world. It was eerily quiet. Everything seemed to hold its breath. Even seagulls were quiet, some still sleeping on a jetty, and others floating on the water.

Ⓒ2021 by Yoko Kajihara All rights reserved.

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