An Old Man and a Girl

An Old Man and a Girl
Hisato Kawata

On my way back from some errands I happened to walk side by side with a girl on her way back from primary school.

One afternoon when I was walking home on a greenway I saw an 8- or 9-year-old girl with a school bag on her shoulder walking on an intersecting greenway. There was a primary school on the greenway nearby, and she seemed to be a pupil on her way home. When we reached the crossing almost at the same time, she turned in the same direction as I was going. As a result we happened to walk side by side like a girl and her father or a grandfather—I am 66—though we’d never met before.

But with longer strides than hers, I was soon walking ahead of her, thinking the gap between us would be widening as I kept walking. Then I heard small running steps coming from behind and passing my side. When the girl went ahead of me, she stopped running and looked back at me with a grin on her face. Happy with the small achievement she’d made, she resumed her walk a little ahead of me. Again with my longer strides, I easily caught up with her and soon left her behind. But again she caught up with me in the same manner. We repeated this spontaneous routine until we reached the end of the greenway where one of the main streets of our town runs perpendicularly to it. When we crossed the street together, we went in different directions. When we parted, I waved goodbye to her, but she went away, barely replying to it.

On the street we crossed, a car had come and gone. So had my rather vague childhood memory. When I was her age, I think I used to do similar things.