The Nakano Thrift Shop

by Hiromi Kawakami

  I am not, I said nervously, looking back at Sakiko. Mr. Nakano and I both stared at her.

  The two of us, we both resemble something, I thought to myself. I’ve got it—we’re like chicks waiting to be fed.

  ‘Look! They’re already all lined up,’ Sakiko cried out softly, without looking at either Mr. Nakano or me. Two of the dice in the bowl were showing threes. The other one was face up on the side of the five.

  ‘Okay, it’s your turn next,’ Sakiko said, putting the dice in Mr. Nakano’s hand. Her voice was gentle but unyielding.

  Seemingly against his will, Mr. Nakano rolled the dice. Sakiko had thrown them decisively from above, but Mr. Nakano put his hand almost on the edge of the bowl and, rather than throwing them, it was more like he placed them inside with a gentle toss.

  The dice tumbled with a dull roll. Two of them fell to the bottom of the bowl, but the other one leapt off the edge of the bowl with a rather irresolute motion.

  ‘Tinkle tinkle!’ Sakiko cried out this time. She laughed out loud. Mr. Nakano had a sulky look on his face. Sakiko’s laughter echoed around the dimly lit Asukado. Overwhelmed, I could do nothing but stand there stiffly.

  ‘Tell me, why are we playing Chinchirorin?’ Mr. Nakano said in a murmur.

  ‘It’s a bet,’ Sakiko replied.

  ‘What? You know I don’t have any money!’ Mr. Nakano said.

  ‘It’s not for money.’

  ‘Um, do I have to bet something too?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, no, Hitomi, you don’t need to worry.’

  Okay, now Hitomi rolls. Sakiko picked up the dice that had fallen outside the bowl along with the two that were inside and placed them all in the palm of my hand. Sakiko’s hand was terribly cold.

  Okay, she said again, as if egging me on. I shut my eyes and flung the dice.

  There was a pinging sound as the dice spun along the wall of the bowl. The first one stopped and showed a one. The other two soon stopped, and I looked to see they both had fallen on the same side—ones.

  ‘Snake eyes!’ Mr. Nakano’s murmur sounded subdued as he exhaled.

  Hitomi wins, Sakiko said. I see, I nodded, still clueless. Sakiko fell silent for a while. And as long as Sakiko wasn’t saying anything, neither were Mr. Nakano or I.

  ‘I guess that’s it,’ Sakiko declared abruptly after about five whole minutes had passed.

  Eh? Mr. Nakano said. I stole a glance at Sakiko’s face and was surprised to see that she was smiling. Even a little bit with her eyes.

  That was a narrow escape, Haruo, Sakiko murmured.

  Eh? What do you mean? Mr.. Nakano asked in reply, but Sakiko didn’t say anything more.

  Then we just got back in the truck and returned to the Nakano shop. Mr.. Nakano offered to take me home, but I felt like walking a bit. Maybe I thought I might run into Takeo on the street like before. For some reason, I had an intense desire to see him. I felt as though even now, we could still manage to make up with each other. Although I had no reason to think so.

  I didn’t see Takeo. A narrow escape—Sakiko’s phrase—kept running through my mind as I walked the streets to my apartment. Soon it would be winter. The air seemed to grow clearer, the later at night it was. A narrow escape, I murmured, quickening my pace.

  Say, say, Hitomi, well done! Masayo said to me one day about two weeks later.

  I hear you saved Haruo by the skin of his teeth! Masayo laughed. What are you talking about? I asked. Come now, I heard about what happened that night from our dear Sakiko, Masayo replied. At some point Sakiko has gone from just plain Sakiko to ‘our dear Sakiko.’

  According to what Masayo told me, Sakiko had entrusted the fate of her relationship with Mr.. Nakano to the dice that night.

  ‘Her bet?’ I murmured.

  ‘That’s right, her bet!’ Masayo nodded effusively.

  If Sakiko won, they would break up. If Mr. Nakano won, they would stay together. And if I won, she would wait and see.

  ‘But in the end, you won, didn’t you, Hitomi?’ Masayo peered into my face as she confirmed this.

  I don’t even know how to play Chinchirorin, I replied. Masayo laughed again.

  That same week, Sakiko stopped by the Nakano shop. Since Mr. Nakano wasn’t there, Sakiko simply handed a small parcel to Masayo, and then she hurriedly went to leave.

  ‘Thanks for the other day,’ Sakiko said, turning around just as she was going. It appeared that this was directed at me. Flustered, I tried to deflect it, and Sakiko smiled. Her eyes still didn’t seem to smile, though.

  I walked Sakiko to the door, and once we were in front of the shop, she stared at the typewriter displayed there without really seeing it.

  ‘Um,’ I began to speak. ‘Can you ever forgive Mr. Nakano?’

  What? Sakiko said. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, out of the blue, I said. Sakiko shook her head. It’s okay.

  ‘I can’t forgive him,’ Sakiko said calmly after a moment.

  B-but you still won’t break up with him? I asked. Sakiko held her tongue again.

  Then she said, ‘That’s a separate thing,’ in a measured tone.

  And she spun around, turning her back to me. I kept watching as her figure receded into the distance, growing smaller and smaller. It reminded me a little of how surprisingly pleased she had been when the dice had all lined up.

  Takeo the fool, I murmured and squeezed my eyes shut. After a moment, when I opened them again, I could no longer see Sakiko’s figure.

  APPLES

  I let him get away!’ Masayo said.

  Takeo was just bringing in the load from the pickups while Mr. Nakano was coming and going in and out of the back door, and I was in the middle of counting change at the register, so at first I wasn’t quite able to catch what she was talking about.

  The customer left and Takeo, ambiguous as ever—lately I had even stopped phoning him, but actually in the shop we are back on normal speaking terms—had rushed off, and Mr. Nakano had just sat down heavily in a chair while mopping the sweat off his brow with the towel that was slung around his neck.

  Masayo murmured it again. ‘I let Maruyama get away!’

  What? I looked up at the same time that Mr. Nakano let out an expression of surprise in a strangely cheerful voice, only to see Masayo lower the tips of her brows with a troubled look.

  ‘Is it about money?’ Mr. Nakano asked as soon as he realized what Masayo had said.

  This was before Masayo had uttered even a single word of explanation—about when Maruyama had gone, or what had caused him to run off, or what she meant by him getting away in the first place.

  ‘That’s not it,’ Masayo replied sharply, arching her lovely eyebrows, but only briefly, for they soon drooped again as if from exhaustion.

  This was not the usual Masayo. She seemed completely lacking in vigor. Mr. Nakano’s mouth was open at an odd angle. Masayo slowly sat down in a chair, her brows still sagging. Mr. Nakano started to say something but gave up and instead took off his brown pom-pom hat. Then he put it back on again.

  The three of us sat there as if petrified until, unable to stand it any longer, I stood up awkwardly and sidestepped my way towards the back room. The shop was chock-full with the load that Takeo had just brought inside, so it was impossible to walk in a straight line.

  ‘Oh, dear. Where are you going, Hitomi?’ Masayo asked in a forlorn tone. I had never seen her this way.

  Just to the bathroom, I replied. Masayo sighed.

  ‘Me too, I’m just going to do the same,’ Mr. Nakano said rapidly, as if not allowing room for debate. He opened the front door with a clatter and went out, moving in a similarly awkward manner.

  Until the beginning of autumn we would leave the glass door open, but once November was past, it remained tightly shut. Going from being wide open to suddenly closed, at first it felt somewhat c
old and formal.

  ‘We always close it when winter comes around, and open it when spring arrives, but for some reason this year it seems awfully sad, doesn’t it?’ Come to think of it, Masayo had said this just the other day.

  For a moment, it had struck me that this sounded rather faint-hearted for Masayo, but otherwise I had hardly taken any notice at the time.

  In order to make it clear that we were doing business even though the door was closed, Mr. Nakano had recently hung from the eaves a piece of cardboard on which he had written, WE’RE OPEN.

  ‘Why does Haruo seem to insist on lowering the tone of his shop?’ That was what Sakiko had said last week when she saw the cardboard sign. She had dropped in, saying that she happened to have some business that brought her nearby. Lately Sakiko had been showing up at the Nakano shop more often. It goes without saying that I didn’t have the slightest idea what that implied about the state of her relationship with Mr. Nakano.

  Right? Sakiko sought consensus from Masayo. But Masayo gave only a half-hearted reply. At that point, I had yet to notice that Masayo was not herself.

  At first, the words WE’RE OPEN were only written on one side of the cardboard. Mr. Nakano had carefully outlined each letter, drawn with a thick green Magic Marker, in black. What do you think of this? Pretty artistic, isn’t it? Mr. Nakano had said, as he happily passed a string through the hole he had punched in the cardboard.

  When Sakiko disparaged his efforts, Mr. Nakano had indignantly taken the cardboard down from the eaves and flung it beside the register. I thought he had abandoned it there, but then he stormed into the back room, still cross, and emerged carrying a six-pack of thick Magic Markers.

  Turning over the sign, he wrote out the words, WE’RE OPEN, in yellow letters. This time the words were even more ragged than the green lettering on the front. Next, he took the cap off the red Magic Marker and sloppily outlined the yellow, and as soon as he was finished, he marched back out to the eaves and hung it up again.

  Sakiko watched the entire process with a resigned look but when, with a pout, Mr. Nakano asked what she thought, she burst into laughter.

  After a cup of tea Sakiko left the shop, saying to Mr. Nakano, It’s beyond me. He watched her depart, his hands on his hips in a triumphant manner. Just as she passed the eaves, Sakiko flicked the lower part of the cardboard with her finger. The sign swung back and forth two or three times and then was still.

  ‘In any case, five hundred thousand, definitely,’ the man said.

  It was early in the afternoon, and Masayo had just gone out to have lunch. Usually she brought her own bento lunch, or she would whip up some ramen or fried rice in the back, but for the past week—since she had told us about letting Maruyama get away—she had taken her meal elsewhere every day.

  Yesterday, trying to make small talk, I had asked her, Where do you usually go for lunch? Masayo had tilted her head and said apathetically, Hmm, what is that place again . . . before falling silent. Unsure of how to go from there, I had hurriedly wiped the register with a dry cloth.

  ‘Five hundred thousand,’ Mr. Nakano parroted the man’s words in a murmur, with one hand nimbly taking the brass lighter that the man had pulled out importantly from his bag.

  ‘Oh!’ the man exclaimed. ‘Don’t handle it so roughly!’

  I’m sorry, Mr. Nakano said, raising his other hand in a gesture of apology. The lighter itself wasn’t really pocket-sized or portable; it was a short, fat, cylindrical design, meant to be kept on a table top.

  ‘The burner is shaped like a pistol, isn’t it?’ Mr. Nakano said as he stared at it.

  ‘You have a very good eye,’ the man replied proudly.

  The part that stuck out like a rod from the body of the cylinder was in the shape of the barrel of a child’s toy pistol. There they were, putting on airs and playing out their roles, Mr. Nakano with his ‘isn’t it?’ and the man replying with his ‘you have a very good eye’—and yet even I could see at a glance what it was.

  The customer explained that his uncle had served as an ambassador and been posted to Texas, where a local big shot had given him the lighter. It was from the pioneer days, he said.

  ‘And, you say it’s worth five hundred thousand?’ Mr. Nakano asked casually.

  ‘I’ve had it appraised,’ the man replied, as he stuck out his chest.

  ‘Appraised?’

  ‘You know, like on those appraisal shows on television, right?’

  ‘Have you been on television, sir?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I mean, but an acquaintance of mine is close friends with one of the antique dealers who does appear on the show.’

  I see, Mr. Nakano said. We learned from his story that the person who had done the ‘appraisal’ for the man was not actually an official antique dealer, but rather someone who appreciated antiques and had an entrée into that world, and what was more, this ‘friend’ was not actually a friend of the man himself but rather ‘a friend of an acquaintance of one of his relatives.’

  ‘I need a bit of cash, you know,’ the man said as he puffed up his chest again.

  ‘We don’t really do full cash payouts,’ Mr. Nakano spoke slowly.

  ‘I don’t expect your outfit to buy it from me!’ the man quickly responded. You couldn’t tell when he was just sitting there quietly, but when he started to speak, a slight jitteriness seemed to show between the chinks in his confident appearance.

  ‘I heard from a friend of a relative’s friend that your shop has an online auction site,’ he said, speaking even more quickly than before.

  A friend of a relative’s friend? Mr. Nakano repeated, his tone deadpan. I had to admit, the guy certainly had a lot of indirect contacts. I nearly laughed out loud, but I restrained myself.

  While it was true that the Nakano shop was selling some goods on the Internet, the fact was that Mr. Nakano still didn’t maintain the site himself—he had entrusted Mr. Crane, also known as Tokizo, with selling everything for him. But Mr. Nakano didn’t go into those details now.

  ‘So, you want me to sell this lighter in an online auction,’ Mr. Nakano said.

  That’s right. The man nodded. His eyes were swimming a little.

  I see, Mr. Nakano replied, assuming a solemn intonation.

  What’s it gonna be? Will you sell it for me, or not? the man asked impatiently. His back, once erect, was shifting towards a slouch.

  The one who really knew how to deal with this type of customer was Masayo. But I doubted she could have handled him, the way she was now. It made me a little sad to think about. Not sad because I empathized with how she felt—I’m not quite sure why—I just felt vaguely sad, in a general sort of way.

  Mr. Nakano was talking idly with the man. The ineffective air conditioner made a strange hissing sound as it blew out hot air.

  ‘That for sale?’ Takeo asked. He was looking at the lighter, the one that the man’s ‘uncle who had served as an ambassador had been given by a Texan.’

  In the end, Mr. Nakano had accepted the lighter from the man, making sure to remind him, ‘Only because it’s for the online auction, right? But five hundred thousand is probably too much to expect, okay?’

  ‘Takeo, you gonna buy it?’ Mr. Nakano asked in response.

  Takeo was considering it with unexpected seriousness. I stole a glance at his profile. Having to spy on him was annoying, though, so I quickly averted my gaze. Without knowing what exactly I found so irritating about it, I grasped the hem of my dress and fluttered it about with both hands.

  It was the dress that Mr. Nakano had sold me for a discounted 300 yen back on that day of the thunderstorm. The tag said that it was 100 per cent Indian calico, but I doubted that it was pure calico, because after washing it just once the length had shrunk dramatically. Since then I sometimes wore it over jeans in place of an apron when I was in the shop.

 
‘Can I buy it?’ Takeo asked.

  Come to think of it, Takeo might not have ever bought anything from the shop. Mr. Nakano made his eyes big and round as he said, You see how Hitomi takes advantage of the employee discount.

  The employee discount that he mentioned was given purely on the spur of the moment and according to Mr. Nakano’s whims. It wasn’t as if there was a specific set rate. Though I had to admit that I had procured plenty of daily necessities and furniture from the Nakano shop. Things like that yellow stool and this dress, sure, but what I bought most often were baskets. Large ones, small ones, open-weave ones, and tightly woven ones—I bought all sorts and tossed all kinds of things into them. Thanks to these baskets, my apartment was much less messy than it used to be.

  ‘He said it’s worth five hundred thousand yen.’ Mr. Nakano grinned as he said this to Takeo.

  Takeo’s face remained expressionless as he replied, I see.

  Takeo fell silent, so Mr. Nakano didn’t say anything else either. Mr. Nakano glanced over at me with a look that seemed to say, Did I say something wrong? Takeo just stood there, seemingly oblivious of Mr. Nakano’s expression.

  I hate guys like Takeo! I thought to myself. Guys like him are always like this. Even though they hardly ever worry about other people, it’s like they force others to pay attention to them.

  ‘Don’t have five hundred thousand,’ Takeo replied after a while. His cheeks were slightly flushed.

  Mr. Nakano hastily waved his hand in front of his face.

  ‘Well, this is going to be in an online auction, so you could put in a bid for it yourself.’

  Takeo looked at Mr. Nakano blankly.

  ‘You don’t use the Internet?’ Mr. Nakano asked, wagging the palm of his hand again.

  ‘I use it,’ Takeo replied tersely.

  ‘All right, then, I’ll tell you how the auctions work, see. First put in a bid. And if you win, then you don’t even have to pay for shipping!’ Mr. Nakano said, restlessly playing with his hat. It was the same kind of fidgeting as when I was fiddling with the hem of my dress a little while ago.