persimmon. I peeled it and offered Sister a section. She ate it, still sobbing, and said, "Have you any interesting books? Lend me something." I chose Soseki's I am a Cat from my bookshelf and handed it to her. "Thanks for the persimmon," Sister said as she left the room, an embarrassed smile on her face. Sister was not the only one—I have often felt that I would find it more complicated, troublesome and unpleasant to ascertain the feelings by which a woman lives than to plumb the innermost thoughts of an earthworm. Long personal experience had taught me that when a woman suddenly bursts into hysterics, the way to restore her spirits is to give her something sweet. Her younger sister, Setchan, would even bring friends to my room, and in my usual fashion I amused them all with perfect impartiality. As soon as a friend had left Setchan would tell me disagreeable things about her, inevitably concluding, "She's a bad girl. You must be careful of her." "If that's the case," I wanted to say. "you needn't have gone to the trouble of bringing her here." Thanks to Setchan almost all the visitors to my room were girls. This, however, by no means implies that Takeichi's compliment, "Women'll fall for you" had as yet been realized. I was merely the Harold Lloyd of Northeast japan. Not for some years would Takeichi's silly statement come palpitatingly alive, metamorphosed into a sinister prophecy. Takeichi made one other important gift to me. One day he came to my room to play. He was waving a brightly
