Beautiful Girl

Shōko Shimamoto had finished reading the evening paper, and by way of passing the time had just begun to calculate the raise in next month's payroll for her six employees, when she heard a soft knock on her door.

As the owner of a small retail store in a U.S. military base exchange, with a business office on a separate premises, Shōko was rushed off her feet during the day. But at night, when she returned to her apartment, the hours passed slowly—she had no activities she did for pleasure.

At the sound of the knock, she closed her ledger and stood up. "Who is it?" she asked, and went to the door.

A voice murmured something on the other side, but too faintly for her to distinguish the words. Shōko put her hand to the key, which was still inserted in the lock, and waited a moment. Evidently sensing her there, the voice said, just a little more loudly:

"It's me—Nagata."

Nagata always paid his visits to her furtively, like a burglar prowling around, even though he was, in fact, anything but cautious. All of his visits over the last four years had been like this. The intervals between them were highly irregular, with long periods when he didn't come over at all, and he always turned up completely out of the blue. Even when she suspected he might show up soon, she never knew for certain when it would be, so the first face she presented would always be vaguely annoyed, as if she hadn't forgiven him for the prolonged state of suspense in which he had kept her.

"I've been wondering what you've been up to!" she said, unlocking the door. She opened it, however, to discover Nagata wasn't alone. Standing behind him was a tall girl, who, despite her height, couldn't have been older than nineteen. Shōko quickly adjusted her expression.

"I brought my kid sister," Nagata said, giving the girl a glance.

"Oh! How nice! What a lovely surprise!"

The girl, who up till that moment had been gazing steadily at Nagata with a bashful, utterly adoring smile on her face, finally looked at Shōko.

"Good evening!" she said, simply, in the casual manner typical of somebody her age, inclining her body in a barely perceptible bow.

"Now remind me. Which one of your little sisters is she?" Shōko asked, as she brought out zabuton cushions for them to sit on.

"The youngest."

"I see. I'm afraid I've forgotten her name …"

"Noriko," Nagata replied. "Hey, Noriko, do you remember? Auntie here … well, she was more like Big Sis at the time …" Nagata shot a teasing look at Shōko. "Maybe she still is Big Sis, I don't know. She's the lady who took you all out for the day, that time when you came on your trip to Tokyo."

Shōko reddened. She had never liked little girls. She had some private regrets about the way she had treated Nagata's little sisters on that day. Even after her friendship with Nagata had picked up for the second time, she had never heard anything more about them. But perhaps this had more to do with her own desire to avoid bringing them up in conversation.

The girl smiled slightly and shook her head, not saying a word. This girl didn't look like the little girl Shōko remembered, either in appearance or manner. Well, she was no longer "little," of course, having reached adolescence, an age when girls became just about tolerable to Shōko. This girl looked quite amenable. She was also startlingly beautiful.

"Well, why should you remember?" Shōko exclaimed, feeling much better all of a sudden. "You were only eight or nine at the time. Why, I can't believe you're the little girl I met then. You're so grown up. Who would have thought you'd become so—so …"

"Beautiful?" Nagata suggested.

"Yes. She's too beautiful to be one...