The Silver Spoon: Memoir of a Boyhood in Japan by Kansuke Naka

Author:Kansuke Naka [Naka, Kansuke]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stone Bridge Press
Published: 2015-10-05T04:00:00+00:00

SHŌ, TSUZUMI: MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS

47

One day, during the hour on ethics, our teacher said, “Today instead of me telling you stories, each of you will tell us a story.”

Pulling up his chair to the brazier and warming his hands over it, he called on some of the more brash or humorous ones to tell stories. Even someone who normally serves excellently as the general of brats on one side or loves to be a comic figure tends to stiffen or become tongue-tied when standing on the platform, with his face exposed to stares from all directions.

The first to be called on was a tall, skinny boy named Tokoro who always served as a “horse.”141

“I’ll tell a story about socks, sir,” he said, his knees trembling.

“A story about socks? Sounds very interesting,” the teacher said encouragingly.

“One sock floated by from over there,” Tokoro stammered, “another floated on from over here, and when they bumped into each other in the middle, they cried out, ‘Sock it to me!’” Thereupon he stepped down in a hurry.

The next one was Yoshizawa, a totally honest fellow whose lower front teeth almost covered his upper front teeth. Giggling for no reason, he said, “I’ll tell a story about spears.”

“This time a story about spears. Sounds interesting, too,” the teacher said.

“One spear floated by from over there, another floated by from over here, and when they clattered into each other in the middle, they cried out, ‘Spare me, sir!’” Yoshizawa said, and stepped down.

All such convenient stories were being exhausted and I was inwardly cringing when, unluckily, my name was called at the very end. I knew any number of stories because of my aunt, but I couldn’t think of a single one that was short and easy to tell. In the end I told a story “about a kappa whose plate dried up.”142 Once I started on it I gained courage and, glancing in O-Kei-chan’s direction from time to time, I finished my story, though in a somewhat halting way. As I bowed to the teacher before returning to my seat, he smiled and gave me a light rap on the head.

“I didn’t expect you to be so cheeky.”

Now it was the girls’ turn, but none of them was willing to step forward, clinging as they did to their desks. So the teacher decided to name them in the order of seating, beginning with the first. Still, no one was willing, some even bursting into tears. Finally he came to the fifth seat, O-Kei-chan, who had evidently made up her mind and obediently stepped up on the platform. Even so, understandably, she was blushing to the nape of her neck and kept looking down.

After a while, though, moving her hands as if she were swimming in a dream, she began to speak, pausing with each phrase. Overcome with anxiety and sympathy, I was so agitated I could barely look her in the face. Nevertheless, as her story progressed her large, clear eyes became steady and alert, her

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