The Nakano Thrift Shop

by Hiromi Kawakami

  ‘I am not interested in selling it,’ the young man said.

  Mr. Nakano peered into the young man’s face with a quizzical look. The customer instantly averted his eyes.

  The man had beautiful skin. Rather than a moustache, he had darkish downy hair growing on his upper lip. He had on what looked like a well-tailored navy suit with a tie in a similar color, knotted neatly. Going by just his clothing, you might think that he was a thirty-something salaryman at the peak of his career, but in fact he was probably quite a bit younger than he appeared.

  ‘We don’t do appraisals here,’ Mr. Nakano said, turning over the bowl. He was staring at its pedestal.

  ‘Would you consider displaying it?’ the young man said.

  ‘Displaying it?’

  ‘Not to sell it but might you just keep it here in the shop?’

  Keep it here, you say? Mr. Nakano said with a laugh. He took a look around the shop. Masayo and I both followed his gaze, a beat behind. Only the young man kept his gaze fixed on the bowl that he had brought with him.

  ‘This doesn’t really fit in with the shoddy items that are jumbled here in this shop, such as it is, does it?’ Mr. Nakano phrased it like so, despite it being his own shop.

  The young man was crestfallen. Mr. Nakano took his half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray and inhaled deeply. For a while, nobody said anything.

  ‘Which antique shop do you usually go to?’ Masayo asked.

  ‘I’ve never been to one,’ the young man replied, flustered.

  ‘So, what about that piece, then?’ Mr. Nakano said. That’s not really the way to speak to a customer, I thought inwardly.

  ‘I got it from someone I know,’ the young man said, seeming even more dejected.

  It sounds like there is more to the story, Masayo said, as if trying to draw him out. The young man raised his head and looked at Masayo imploringly. Tell us about it, Masayo went on.

  Slowly and tentatively, the young man began to tell us the story behind it.

  The bowl had been given to the young man—he said his name was Hagiwara—by his girlfriend at the time. They had dated for three years. They had never intended to marry, they were just having fun together, or so he had thought, while three years went by. But then one day, his boss brought him a marriage proposal. The woman was a good prospect. Hagiwara immediately broke things off with his girlfriend.

  His girlfriend had protested at first, but she seemed to acquiesce, and in the end she asked him to accept a gift as a memento. Had she told him that she wanted a memento of their relationship, he would have understood, but he thought it was strange that she was the one who wanted him to accept a gift. Nevertheless he did so without thinking it through.

  It wasn’t long before the offer of marriage fell apart. The young woman—who happened to be his boss’s niece—eloped with a man with whom she had long been in love. Around the same time, Hagiwara broke his collarbone. He wasn’t even exercising when it happened—all he did was roll over in his sleep and he fractured it. Things at work weren’t going well either: a personnel change in management caused orders to drop off precipitously, and a woman in his department started a rumor that he had sexually harassed her. On top of all that, it was suddenly announced that the building in which he lived was to be demolished, and he was notified of his eviction.

  All of these events occurred after he accepted the bowl as a memento from his ex-girlfriend. That being the case, he thought he had better get back together with her. But when he tried to get in touch, her cellphone number had been changed. The same with her email address. She had moved house, and what was more, apparently she had even changed jobs.

  At a loss, he asked a friend who was interested in fortune telling, who told him that he had to get rid of the bowl. There was a jinx on it, so he couldn’t sell it, but he couldn’t keep it around either. His only option was for someone to borrow it or keep it for him, though that wouldn’t completely dispel the jinx. Still, it would be better than doing nothing.

  Hagiwara relayed this story haltingly to Masayo.

  ‘But if the bowl is really Goryeo celadon, it must have cost a lot. Someone who gives such a gift must be a good person,’ Masayo said when she had listened to the whole story.

  ‘That’s not the problem,’ Mr. Nakano interjected. However, the moment Hagiwara had heard what Masayo said, his cheeks had become tinged with red.

  ‘I know! Why did I ever break up with her?’ Hagiwara said, his eyes downcast.

  That’s right. You should never have left a girl you were comfortable with so easily, Masayo said flatly.

  Is that really the conclusion you reach? I thought as I looked at the young Hagiwara. He was nodding vigorously. Mr. Nakano, for his part, wore a baffled expression. He was most likely thinking about his own ‘triple’ predicament.

  ‘So, Haruo, what if you took this to Sakiko’s shop?’ Masayo asked, her voice noticeably forceful. Mr. Nakano looked from side to side awkwardly.

  That’s right, the Asukado is the right place for something like this, Masayo said, carefully wrapping the Goryeo celadon bowl back up in the newspaper. The young man was watching Masayo’s hands as she did this. Without waiting for a response from Mr. Nakano, Masayo picked up the receiver of the telephone. Asukado, Asukado, she murmured as she dialled the number. Mr. Nakano was looking at her from behind, his mouth half open. Like him, Hagiwara and I were watching Masayo blankly.

  Sakiko came over less than fifteen minutes after receiving Masayo’s call.

  ‘Hello,’ Sakiko said.

  Coming from her, that simple word could sound like either a powerful curse or a benediction. A hex? Or a blessing? I couldn’t tell which it was now.

  ‘This is the client,’ Masayo said, gesturing towards Hagiwara with her chin. Compared to Mr. Nakano, her words were polite, and yet her attitude still wasn’t what would be considered appropriate for addressing a customer.

  Sakiko opened the newspaper bundle. Not surprisingly, her manner of handling the porcelain was much more conscientious than Mr. Nakano’s or Masayo’s.

  ‘This is Goryeo celadon, isn’t it?’ Sakiko said at a glance. Hagiwara nodded.

  ‘With this style of glaze, it’s about three hundred thousand, I would say,’ Sakiko went on.

  ‘No, I don’t want you to buy it,’ Hagiwara said, after which Masayo took over and explained the gist of the story.

  ‘A jinx,’ Sakiko said softly, looking in Mr. Nakano’s direction, after Masayo had finished telling the tale. Mr. Nakano was just standing around stupidly listening to their exchange, rather than withdrawing to the back room as he might have done in a situation like this.

  ‘You know what I mean? You should display it for him at the Asukado,’ Mr. Nakano said. The ‘You know what I mean?’ began in his usual tone, but his voice sounded more timid as the rest tumbled out. Sakiko was regarding Mr. Nakano impassively.

  ‘I wouldn’t be able to take in something with that kind of backstory,’ Sakiko said, her face still expressionless. Hagiwara buried his head in his hands. Well, my goodness—everyone has their grudges, don’t they? It’s not such a big deal, is it? Masayo said brightly. Sakiko, who had shown no reaction to Mr. Nakano’s suggestion, instantly stiffened at Masayo’s words.

  ‘Please keep it for me!’ Hagiwara begged Sakiko earnestly. Sakiko’s expression quickly resumed its impassivity.

  ‘What about in your shop?’ Now Hagiwara was beseeching Mr. Nakano. No way! Mr. Nakano said, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. Hagiwara looked away with distaste. I could have sworn that Hagiwara’s displeasure was directed not at Mr. Nakano’s offhandedness but rather at his cigarette.

  ‘Our shop can borrow it from you for twenty thousand, if that is acceptable,’ Sakiko said softly.

  What do you mean by borrow it? Masayo retorted in a loud voice.

  Well, we can’t buy it, ca
n we? So instead we can borrow it for an extended time, as long as the lending of it doesn’t eventually turn into a sale of any kind—that’s what I have in mind, Sakiko explained, her face still expressionless.

  This conversation was becoming less and less comprehensible. Both Mr. Nakano and Masayo looked similarly confused, but because it was so hard to read Sakiko’s expression, they held their tongues.

  ‘You mean, uh, in other words, you’ll keep it for me, and on top of that, you’ll give me twenty thousand?’ Hagiwara said. So, with that little twenty thousand it becomes like an unredeemed item in a pawnshop, you know, Masayo said in a low voice, but Hagiwara pretended not to hear her. Sakiko ignored her too.

  After all that, Hagiwara wrote out a receipt for the 20,000 yen to the Asukado, and then he left. Without the bowl, of course. The Goryeo celadon was very elegant, about one size smaller than the kind of bowl in a set-lunch restaurant that comes out heaped with a katsu cutlet. It had clearly been passed down from generation to generation, rather than found as part of an excavation, and with only one small chip, it was truly a fine specimen.

  Well, then, I guess that’s . . . Sakiko said, holding the bundle, now swathed in a layer of bubble wrap in addition to the newspaper, close to her chest as if it were dear to her.

  Without even looking at Mr. Nakano, Sakiko swiftly left the shop.

  ‘Sakiko sure knows how to do business,’ Mr. Nakano was saying with admiration.

  ‘If only we could have kept it here, instead of calling the Asukado,’ Masayo said, forgetting that she was the one who telephoned Sakiko.

  No way! I don’t want anything to do with any kind of jinx, Mr. Nakano said, sipping tea. We were eating the sugared red beans that I had just brought back from the wagashi confectionery shop in the neighborhood after doing the errands I had been sent out for. Mr. Nakano had brewed the green tea himself; it was sharp and astringent.

  It tastes good, I said. Mr. Nakano paused, blinking weakly, and then he said, You’re kind, Hitomi, it means a lot to me.

  ‘If you keep doing such bad things, nobody’s going to be kind to you any more,’ Masayo said bluntly. Mr. Nakano didn’t reply, he just seemed to be staring off into the distance as he sipped his tea.

  There were a lot of pickups that week, so Takeo and I hardly saw each other. With at least three pickups per day, it was probably past eight o’clock when Takeo got back each night.

  I was sent out to do errands again on the weekend. As I was getting ready to go, I checked my wallet to see how much money I had left, when Mr. Nakano came over. Don’t worry, don’t worry, we’ll go together in the car, so you don’t need the train fare, and I’ll treat you to a meal too, he said. It’s not the bank today, you know, I thought I’d take you along with me to the market.

  The market he mentioned was an auction for other merchants; they dealt in all sorts of items, running the gamut from very affordable to very expensive. According to Mr. Nakano, that afternoon’s auction promised to be ‘pretty good stuff,’ and so he had decided to bring me along instead of Takeo.

  ‘How come? What’s wrong with Takeo?’ I asked.

  Mr. Nakano chuckled. ‘In a place like that, it just seems more festive to have a girl along, you know?’ he said. What kind of an answer is that? There’s nothing festive about the auction, Masayo chimed in, but Mr. Nakano just kept chuckling.

  It was only after the auction had started that I learned the real reason why Mr. Nakano had brought me along. I thought I sensed someone at the front staring fixedly at us; across the hall from where we were, there was Sakiko.

  When a jar came up for sale, Sakiko put in a bid but soon dropped out, and she didn’t participate in the rest of the auction. On our side, Mr. Nakano had called out his bid loudly when an old clock came up for sale. A request from a regular customer, Mr. Nakano told me during a break in the auction.

  ‘Sakiko seems very reserved,’ I whispered to Mr. Nakano.

  Mr. Nakano shook his head. ‘It’s just that she doesn’t see anything she likes here today. She’s known for not backing down when she gets her mind set on something,’ he whispered back.

  The auction went on for about two hours before it finally broke up. As several of the antique dealers started moving towards the entrance, Mr. Nakano said to me, ‘Hitomi, you get on well with Sakiko, right?’

  Well enough, I guess, I replied, but Mr. Nakano wasn’t listening to me. You know what I mean? Do me a favor, Hitomi. See if Sakiko will have something to eat with us.

  I understand, I replied reluctantly. Mr. Nakano smiled broadly. I’d heard the phrase ‘a boyish grin,’ but Mr. Nakano’s grin was decidedly middle-aged. There was something scruffy about it. And yet, at the same time, it was also a winning smile. I suppose it’s the kind of smile that women, as they age, can’t resist, I thought to myself as I walked slowly over towards Sakiko, who was lingering by the entrance.

  We got a bite to eat. I don’t drink saké, Sakiko had said coolly, and we couldn’t very well go against such a pronouncement, so we ended up at a nearby chain restaurant. This place is too bright, don’t you think? Mr. Nakano grumbled.

  At first I had thought that they ought to have dinner just the two of them, but I soon realized that Sakiko’s stubbornness was too much for Mr. Nakano to handle by himself. But meanwhile, Mr. Nakano’s mood of abashment spread to me as well, so that by the meal’s end, all three of us had lapsed into a sullen and complete silence.

  ‘All right, I’m going. I’d like to drive you home, Sakiko, though I don’t imagine you’ll accept,’ Mr. Nakano said quietly after he had paid the bill at the register.

  Sakiko had been scowling at him but, contrary to expectations, she replied, ‘Take me with you.’

  Instantly, he broke into a broad smile. The same scruffy, middle-aged yet winning smile from before. Sakiko averted her gaze.

  It was quiet inside the truck as well. Mr. Nakano sat in the driver’s seat, Sakiko sat on the opposite side, and I sat in the middle, like a child stuck between two parents. Mr. Nakano turned the radio on, but he quickly turned it off again.

  It was not long before we arrived at the Asukado. Sakiko slipped out of the truck and started to head around to the back door, but suddenly she stopped and spun around.

  ‘Come in for a minute.’ Her tone was calm but left no room for debate. All right, Mr. Nakano said as he and I lumbered out of the truck.

  Inside the Asukado, the air was clear. Outside, it was just another crisp night, but in the shop the air felt cool and dry, like there was a bit more oxygen in it.

  ‘You’ve put grasses in the jar,’ I said, and Sakiko’s expression relaxed. The area beneath her eyes was plump and full.

  Sakiko opened a built-in cabinet below a display case and took out an item bundled in bubble wrap. The bowl she took from Hagiwara for 20,000 yen. It had been rewrapped even more carefully than when she took it from the Nakano shop the other day.

  Without saying a word, Sakiko opened the bundle and, moving aside an antique plate with a design of swimming fish and an off-white, rough ceramic saké cup, she placed Hagiwara’s bowl in the center.

  Sakiko narrowed her eyes and contemplated the bowl for a moment. Seeing it here in the Asukado, the piece looks even better, Mr. Nakano said in a low voice, but Sakiko ignored him. She leaned over the cabinet once again and took out a small paulownia wood box wrapped in a cloth.

  ‘Are there magatama beads or something in there?’ Mr. Nakano whispered again, but this too was ignored. Sakiko adroitly opened the paulownia box. Inside, there were three cubes set on top of fluffy cotton.

  ‘Dice?’ Mr. Nakano said, peering timidly—well, timidly for Mr. Nakano—into the box. I too could not help but peek inside. They were opalescent yellowish dice, their corners slightly worn. Are these very old? I asked, and Sakiko leaned her head to the side. Hmm. I think they’re from the late Edo period—the early- to mid
-nineteenth century or so.

  Sakiko set the dice beside the bowl. The three dice were scattered randomly, in an arrangement that, if you were to take a photo, would definitely be considered ‘artistic.’

  ‘Let’s play Chinchirorin!’ Sakiko said.

  Huh? Mr. Nakano retorted. Huh? I murmured, mimicking him. Sakiko smiled brightly. It had been a long time since I had seen Sakiko’s smile. And yet, she was not smiling with her eyes.

  Chinchirorin, Sakiko repeated once more, and the moment she said the word, the air inside the Asukado became noticeably more taut and strained. Mr. Nakano and I shivered.

  I’ll be the parent. You and Hitomi, you’re the children, Sakiko said calmly. When she said ‘you’ to Mr. Nakano, there was the slightest hint of sweetness in her voice. As if maybe she didn’t intend for it to sound sweet, but it came out that way from habit.

  ‘Chinchirorin—I’ve never I started to say. Again Sakiko smiled brightly (though not with her eyes). It’s easy—you just roll the dice three times, she said, covering them with her hand. Mr. Nakano didn’t say anything.

  ‘If I roll a four, five, or a six, then the parent automatically wins,’ Sakiko said, holding the dice in her delicate palm and throwing them into the bowl.

  ‘Oh!’ Mr. Nakano exclaimed.

  ‘What?’ Sakiko asked as she looked up at him. The area beneath her eyes seemed puffy, so that looking at her from above, her expression appeared relaxed.

  ‘You don’t think it will crack?’ Mr. Nakano said, pointing at the bowl. ‘Isn’t there something else we could use?’

  ‘I paid twenty thousand to keep the bowl, it’s fine,’ Sakiko said flatly.

  ‘But it’d be a shame.’

  ‘It will be fine as long as we take care when we roll the dice.’

  Sakiko shifted the brunt of her argument towards me. ‘Hitomi, don’t you think you’re perfectly capable of taking care?’