Senzokuike Park provided the ideal play spot for children in Totto’s neighborhood. Its name, a combination of the characters for “foot-washing” and “pond,” is said to originate from an instance when the Sage Nichiren, a greatly influential Buddhist priest and philosopher, washed his feet there in the spring water during the Kamakura period in the thirteenth century. The park’s eponymous pond was so clear that you could see right through to the bottom. Encircled by a dense grove of trees, it had an impressive arched bridge—from which Totto fell in twice. Both times she had been lying flat on the bridge, one arm outstretched toward the water in hopes of catching crayfish. Thankfully, she was helped out onto dry land right away. The park itself was surrounded by shrines and shops, as well as the graves of nineteenth-century statesman Katsu Kaishu and his wife, and was always full of families on weekends.
In the children’s playground, called Chinkara-En, there was a slide that rose about fifteen feet off the ground. Neighborhood children flocked to it in the late afternoons and slid down its slope over and over, shrieking in delight, until the sun disappeared and darkness settled in. Careening down the slide made Totto feel as though she were riding on an elephant trunk, or a cloud, or something else very special. Whenever her turn came, she would shut her eyes and take off, imagining “Elephant trunk!” or “Cloud!” or “Magic carpet!”
Naturally, she also enjoyed keeping her eyes open to watch the cityscape that stretched out before her disappear with a swoosh. Each season brought darker or lighter tones to the sky and clouds of differing shapes. Near the end of every summer, towering cumulus clouds seemed to suddenly give way to a thin veil that covered the sky. “Oh, there goes the summer,” Totto would think wistfully as she flew down the slide, imagining she was a fairy and the veil of clouds a flowy cape.
Near Chinkara-En was a mansion that appeared to be empty. Totto and her friends often snuck into the house and chased each other around the tatami-matted rooms. She would not learn until much later that it had been Katsu Kaishu’s second home, where he spent his final years in comfortable repose. He was even said to have welcomed the famous samurai and nobleman Saigo Takamori there for a convivial chat. And yet, in a sign of how truly carefree pre-war times were, the neighborhood children were at total liberty to scurry around in this distinguished mansion—barefoot, of course. Totto couldn’t recall an occasion when she was scolded for tearing through the historical home or playing tag or hide-and-seek inside it with her friends.
Not until she saw the historical drama series named after Katsu Kaishu that ran for a year on the national public broadcast station did Totto find out about the important discussions that had been held in that mansion. Watching the Katsu Kaishu figure come onscreen, she felt as though she’d been reunited with a long-lost uncle.
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Window Shopping in Ginza, Skiing, and Swimming
“Totsky, I’m taking you to Ginza once a year,” Daddy announced at one point.
Totto didn’t know what had come over him, as he usually only went into town with Mother. But every year after that, he followed through on his promise without fail.
Their day in Ginza, then as now one of the most fashionable neighborhoods of Tokyo, began with a trip to Shiseido Parlor where Daddy treated Totto to half-moon scoops of ice cream served in a silver cup. It might have come with a wafer on the side. Totto took her shiny spoon and carefully lifted each bite of ice cream to her mouth, then savored the way the cold texture and sweetness spread from her tongue all the way to the top of her head. She felt like the happiest girl in the world.
Following the frozen treat, they strolled down the main street, Ginza Dori, admiring the window displays and popping into a few stores along the way. Because Daddy wasn’t used to spending time with children, if Totto so much as glanced at an item on a shelf, he would ask, “Do you want it?” and try to buy it for her.
“Hmm, it’s not that I want it, exactly. Sometimes I just like to look,” thought Totto. But she understood that for her father, who was singularly devoted to the violin and Mother, it was difficult to imagine the inner workings of a little girl’s heart. Still, she couldn’t bear to hurt his feelings by turning down his offers, so she made it a point only to sneak glances at the window displays out of the corner of her eye without ever coming to a full stop.
Their visits to a toy store called Kintaro near the Mitsukoshi Department Store, however, were a different story. They went there specifically for Daddy to buy Totto a toy. One of those presents, which she selected after painstaking deliberation, was a peep box with eyeholes through which you could see pictures that seemed to move like the films at the cinema.
After that, Totto and Daddy would walk to the movie theater on the basement floor of Nihon Gekijo (now called Yurakucho Mullion), she carrying her new toy in its box and he with the air of a father proud to have bought his little girl a gift. There they watched Popeye and Mickey Mouse films before taking a taxi home. These Ginza dates with Daddy continued every year until the war grew more turbulent and sapped all fun events and delicacies from Totto’s world.
Looking back now, Totto can see that she led a rather blessed childhood.
In the winters, she and her family traveled to the Shiga Highlands, a popular tourist destination with a cosmopolitan flair that was filled with visitors from Shanghai, Hong Kong, and various European countries. These trips began when the conductor Hideo Saito, who had a second home in the highlands, invited Daddy to perform there with him. Saito, famous for having taught the internationally-renowned conductor Seiji Ozawa, was also an established cellist in his own right. He and Daddy were in a string quartet together.
As Totto stepped with her family into the hotel where they would be staying, she was struck by the warmth of the heated lobby. In fact, the entire hotel was warm, including the dining room and every last inch of the hallway—even the lavatories! She noticed a waiter from the dining hall digging up a type of yellow vegetable from the snowy ground outside. The crunchy vegetable was called celery, he said. Tasting it was a first for both Mother and Totto.
The Shiga Highlands recitals were held in a hotel reserved for international guests. Nearly every night, a dance party would be thrown for the guests and Daddy would play them his violin. The main draw of the trip for him, however, was the skiing. He had become quite taken with the ski resort and brought his family along any time he was asked to perform there.
There were no ski lifts on the slopes back then. Once you fastened on your skis, you had to climb up the hill on your own two feet. Totto, wearing nothing more thermal than a pair of trousers under a thick winter dress, wandered to and fro across the slope on children’s skis. For her part, Mother skied with a green silk winter scarf wrapped around her head. Apparently, she had chosen it simply because she’d thought it would look lovely flowing behind her in the wind!
Perhaps because there were very few children on the slopes, foreign tourists often caught sight of Totto and exclaimed, “So cute!” Totto couldn’t understand them, but knew implicitly that they were paying her a compliment, so she always replied, “Thank you.” It was the one thing she knew how to say in English. Whenever a tourist called out to her, she tipped her head and repeated the phrase.
One day, a young skier with clear blue eyes approached her with a smile and made a gesture to the effect of, “Would you like a ride on the front of my skis?” Hesitant to accept an offer from a stranger, Totto asked Daddy, who stood nearby. “May I?” Daddy grinned and said, “Why don’t you give it a try?”
As if she’d saved her very best English for precisely this moment, Totto gave the skier a “Thank you very much!” and started trekking up the slope behind him.
Once they’d climbed a good distance, the man placed his skis together and had Totto sit on top of them with her knees drawn up. She hardly had a chance to wonder what would happen next before she was carried away, sailing down the hill on the skis.
Right, left, right, left they descended, faster and smoother than on any slide, with a gentle rhythm that soothed her like a rocking cradle. It was absolutely wonderful. Totto felt as though she could take off into the sky at any moment. All the while, the skier supported her from behind to keep her from rolling off.
Totto marveled at the man’s choice to place her on his skis instead of carrying her or letting her ride piggyback, and suspected it was a feat that not just anyone could manage. It came as no wonder, then, when a hotel employee later told her that the man was a famous skier who had even appeared in American movies. Totto couldn’t help but feel a little proud that a world-famous skier had given her such special treatment.