but even for our relatives. It was a kind of hobby on his part. Once, the night before he was to leave for Tokyo, he summoned all the children to the parlor and smilingly asked us what present we would like this time, carefully noting each child's reply in a little book. It was most unusual for Father to behave so affectionately with the children. "How about you, Yozo?" he asked, but I could only stammer uncertainly. Whenever I was asked what I wanted my first impulse was to answer "Nothing." The thought went through my mind that it didn't make any difference, that nothing was going to make me happy. At the same time I was congenitally unable to refuse anything offered to me by another person, no matter how little it might suit my tastes. When I hated something, I could not pronounce the words, "I don't like it." When I liked something I tasted it hesitantly, furtively, as though it were extremely bitter. In either case I was torn by unspeakable fear. In other words, I hadn't the strength even to choose between two alternatives. In this fact, I believe, lay one of the characteristics which in later years was to develop into a major cause of my "life of shame." I remained silent, fidgeting. My father lost a little of his good humor. "Will it be a book for you? Or how about a mask for the New Year lion dance? They sell them now in children's sizes. Wouldn't you like one?" The fatal words "wouldn't you like one?" made it quite impossible for me to answer. I couldn't even think of any suitably clownish response. The jester had completely failed. "A book would be best, I suppose," my brother said seriously. "Oh?" The pleasure drained from my father's face. He snapped his
