City of Shared Stories
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The man came into the shop. He’d been walking along the five-foot pavement, looking here, there, everywhere, and especially where the roundabout used to be. He’d peered into every shop in this row, visibly sniffing the air of each. And now he was in this one, turning his head here and there, sniffing and nodding.
He had difficulty making himself understood. No wonder - he was Japanese, the shop’s owner and his wife were Chinese. He asked for pen and paper, and through the medium of the written character, started to communicate with them.
He’d been a member of the Military Police during the Emergency years, he wrote on the paper. He used to patrol the neighbourhood. The shop’s owner had been very kind, inviting him in for a meal whenever he was on duty.
That kind owner was the present owner’s father. The present owner, just a teenager then, was amazed that the Japanese man remembered after all these years and had come looking for his father. How did he know this was the shop? It was the smell of all those herbs.
His father was no more. But from that one visit, a friendship grew, cemented by the exchange of annual greeting cards.
There was a second visit by the Japanese. Again, his Chinese friend was amazed. They’d moved, no longer at the shop. How did he find the new house? Simple – he showed an envelope with the new address to the taxi driver. It was the taxi driver who found them.
The annual card exchange continued until one year, an envelope with Japanese stamps and postmark did not arrive as it should.
He had difficulty making himself understood. No wonder - he was Japanese, the shop’s owner and his wife were Chinese. He asked for pen and paper, and through the medium of the written character, started to communicate with them.
He’d been a member of the Military Police during the Emergency years, he wrote on the paper. He used to patrol the neighbourhood. The shop’s owner had been very kind, inviting him in for a meal whenever he was on duty.
That kind owner was the present owner’s father. The present owner, just a teenager then, was amazed that the Japanese man remembered after all these years and had come looking for his father. How did he know this was the shop? It was the smell of all those herbs.
His father was no more. But from that one visit, a friendship grew, cemented by the exchange of annual greeting cards.
There was a second visit by the Japanese. Again, his Chinese friend was amazed. They’d moved, no longer at the shop. How did he find the new house? Simple – he showed an envelope with the new address to the taxi driver. It was the taxi driver who found them.
The annual card exchange continued until one year, an envelope with Japanese stamps and postmark did not arrive as it should.
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