Toddler Hunting

by Taeko Kono

  When Yuko napped in the afternoon, she hardly ever fell asleep: she usually just lay down and closed her eyes. When she had first started taking her naps, all sorts of worries would come crowding into her head; but in time she had learned how to reach a state almost as good as sleep, even with daylight streaming down on her eyelids.

  But today, relaxing was difficult. She felt tense knowing that as soon as the nap was over they would have to go ­crab-hunting again. She wanted to be sure to find one for him. The thought made her both eager for three o’clock, and apprehensive.

  Many times that morning, she had asked the same question: “Do you know where we can find some crabs?”

  The first person she had queried had been her landlady. “It’s for the boy,” she had added.

  “I think I do. Try down by the sand flats.”

  “You mean by the sea?”

  “You should find some there. We’re always coming across crabs when we go clamming.”

  It had been down at the beach that Takeshi had first found his crab shell, Yuko remembered, even if it had been dried up, in bits and pieces. Yuko decided to take the boy there.

  For a while they had tramped along the wet strand, the morning sun pouring down. It was a beautiful sandy stretch, with no dead cats, bits of radish, or wooden clogs with broken thongs strewn up by the tide to mar the scene. Theirs were the only footprints, a line of dots trailing behind them by the water’s edge.

  “I’m going to try digging a hole!” Takeshi said, stuffing the nylon sack he had brought into Yuko’s bag. Legs apart, he cupped his hands and started to scrape at the sand, throwing it out in front of him.

  “Wait.” Yuko stopped him, and unbuttoned his cuffs. She took hold of each wrist and, as if she were peeling his short little arms, pushed the sleeves of his shirt and vest up as far as the elbow.

  Takeshi returned enthusiastically to his task. Soon sea water started seeping into the hollow.

  “Well, there aren’t any here,” said Yuko, as she stood and watched him.

  “I’ll try somewhere else.” He continued to dig more holes, tirelessly, but all that turned up was water. “Maybe they’re higher up.” He ran to a drier part of the beach and resumed digging.

  Still no crabs were to be found. After letting Takeshi gather shells for a while, Yuko called him, and they climbed up the bank to the road. Now they headed toward the other side of the station for the fish farm, which had been built using the natural features of a rocky inlet. Apparently the farm was owned by wholesale dealers in fish, but one corner was used by local fisherwomen as a harbor for their boats and a place to drape their nets — so it was pungent with the smell of the sea. Yuko was sure it might be a likely spot.

  When they arrived at the farm, there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

  “Let’s go and ask inside,” she said, taking Takeshi over to the warehouse built toward the rear on top of the rocks. Opening the rattling wooden door, she saw a dingy ­dirt-floored room filled with coarse baskets stacked one on top of the other.

  “Excuse me!” she called. An old woman appeared.

  “Do you happen to have any crabs?” Yuko immediately inquired.

  “You want saltwater crabs, is that it?” the old woman replied, making a circle with her hands. “But they’re no good to eat, you know. And they’re difficult to catch. No, we don’t sell any of those.”

  “Well, we’re not interested in eating them,” Yuko said. “You know those small ones, with — ”

  “With red pincers? The ones children play with?”

  “Yes, those,” Takeshi answered.

  The old woman looked down at him, kindly. “Hmm, I see. But where would you find those, I wonder? There are hardly any to be found here, I’m sure. Would you like to look round our hatchery, instead?”

  “Would you like that?” Yuko asked him.

  “What’s a ‘hatchery’?”

  “There’s a big hollow beneath these rocks filled with sea water, and they keep fish there, with abalone in pots and things like that. Want to take a look?”

  “I don’t care,” he answered.

  “Well then, we’ll be on our way.” Yuko thanked the old woman on their way out of the shop.

  They went back to the road, and it wasn’t long before Takeshi repeated: “Where are the crabs?”

  At this moment, Yuko saw three middle school students coming toward them along the road, with their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders.

  “Let’s ask those big boys,” Yuko told Takeshi. She waited till the students were about level, and then called out: “Do you know where we can find some crabs? The little ones that children play with?”

  “What’s that you want?” they asked, in the soft, regional dialect, crossing the road, still linked up together.

  Yuko repeated her question.

  “What — those things?” the students exclaimed. They looked at each other. “Should be lots of them — somewhere around . . . ,” they said, moving off, with smiles playing on their lips.

  “But where?” she almost pleaded.

  The students looked back over one another’s shoulders as they crossed the road again. “How should we know?”

  Were they embarrassed because they had no idea? Or were they making fun of her?

  As she stared at their receding backs, Takeshi said resentfully: “Why didn’t they tell us where? They told us there were some.”

  “They probably didn’t know,” she told him. “We’ll ask somebody else.”

  They began walking again. The students had reminded Yuko that there was a middle school at the end of the road. They must have just come from there. Its spacious grounds, on a hill up above the beach, afforded a spectacular view of the sea. A couple of times, when out on a walk, she had slipped inside to use the toilet in one corner of the grounds. Each time she’d thought how nice it must be to teach in such a place. Bicycling to work every day, and going fishing on Sundays. . . . Perhaps the biology teacher researched the local marine life in his spare time. He would be able to tell her immediately where the crabs were. But now it was no good. School was out.

  From the tall grasses edging the road a young woman emerged, with an empty basket under her arm. She had probably just finished spreading wakame out to dry on the beach. Yuko took Takeshi by the hand, and repeated her question.

  “Oh,” the woman answered, “You’ll find those crabs up in the hills.”

  “In the hills?” Yuko’s voice rose. “I thought they lived by the sea!”

  “You mean the ones with the red pincers, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Scarlet crabs, they’re called. They’re freshwater crabs, they live in streams. That’s the kind children play with. They tie strings to — ”

  “So there are none of those around here? No crabs at all?”

  “Well, if you want really tiny ones . . .”

  “What color?”

  “Oh, no particular color. If you lift up the rocks on the beach, you’ll see them go scurrying away . . .”

  If there are so many, Yuko thought, surely one would be a reasonable size, even if colorless.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  On second thought, however, it occurred to her that hardly any stretch of the coast here had the right size rocks — large enough to hide a crab and small enough to lift up. It was all sandy stretches or large boulders. The smaller rocks were deeply embedded in the sand and right in the waves.

  Yuko made her way with Takeshi to still more beaches. They trudged down various paths: a ­well-worn grass trail; a gravel road with a sign indicating a large inn farther along the shore; a street of houses and on their roofs tall antennae pointing up into the sky — but each time the result was the same.

  “We’re out of luck,” she had to tell him. “These aren’t the right kind of rocks.”<
br />
  As they turned back, he asked: “Where did that lady mean, I wonder?”

  Finally, they did find a beach with the right kind of rocks. Several the size of footballs lay scattered along the highest, driest stretch of sand. The waves probably reached them only during a storm. Of course, that was no guarantee they hid any crabs, but Yuko wanted Takeshi to at least try one, so she took him down.

  “This looks good,” she said.

  “I’ll lift a rock, Auntie. And then, can you catch the crab when it comes out?”

  “All right.”

  They mustn’t let any crab that came out get away; it was a very delicate operation. . . . Takeshi placed both hands on the rock of his choice and began, very slowly, to lift it, craning his neck as far as he could at the same time to peer underneath. Their heads almost touching, Yuko looked from her side, her eyes riveted on the crack that was slowly widening.

  “Well, Auntie? Do you see any?” he asked, his voice breathless with excitement.

  No matter how impossible it had been to find crabs, no matter how many false trails they had followed, not once had Takeshi considered giving up. For every time he complained, “Why aren’t there any there?” or “Where did that lady mean?” he also always came back with, “So when are you going to find me one?” or, “Where do we go now?” Was he unwilling to abandon the search simply because each failure sharpened his disappointment? Or was this the innocent cruelty of a little boy who believes adults can accomplish anything? She couldn’t just tell him to give it up when he was asking her so earnestly. And yet by continuing to go along with him she continued to feed his hopes.

  How she longed for that moment when, grabbing hold of a crab brandishing its pincer as it scuttled sideways, she’d be able to say: “Careful! I don’t want it to pinch your fingers!” And then she would drop it for him into the clear plastic bag.

  “Auntie, haven’t any come out yet?” Takeshi was asking her, a second time.

  “Not yet. Lift it a bit higher.”

  Bending her head, squinting into the depths of the crack, Yuko wanted so much to see a crab wave its bright red pincer at the sudden light breaching its abode that the back of her eyeballs began to ache.

  Takeshi was still napping and Yuko shut her eyes again.

  Really, why were crabs so difficult to find? If only she could have persuaded those men to give her the baby turtle. But even if she had managed that, they wouldn’t have been able to give up the search. Not unless Takeshi said and really meant that he did not mind.

  She hadn’t lied to him yesterday, persuading him to stay by promising to find him some crabs. Somewhere along this coast, she was sure, there must be one crab that would come out when it heard her call. That had been the opinion of all the people she had run into, hadn’t it? Every one who had given her directions had said there must be crabs somewhere.

  But perhaps they were only imagining them. She remembered her landlady’s reaction when they’d returned ­empty-handed: “Really? There weren’t any? I’m sure I saw some when I went clamming. But then, it isn’t April yet. That’s the start of the harvesting season. Well, maybe I saw them later.”

  If that’s the case, Yuko thought, the students hadn’t been kidding her when they had replied to her question quizzically.

  So were there no crabs to be found at all? There was still one rocky part of the shore that they hadn’t investigated, but that didn’t seem very likely. Perhaps she really would have to go up into the hills.

  Yuko suddenly remembered the stone embankments around stepped fields she had seen here and there in the area. Hadn’t she seen some patches of water there? They weren’t exactly up in the hills, and the water wouldn’t be fresh. But perhaps scarlet crabs preferred such places. . . . She decided to go and have a look now, while Takeshi was still asleep.

  “Going out?” the landlady’s daughter asked, as Yuko came down the stairs.

  “Yes,” she answered. “My nephew’s asleep. Would you keep an eye on him? I won’t be long.” She was reluctant to say any more than that. The woman was hardly likely to understand her obsession.

  Slipping on her sandals, Yuko started to cross the dirt floor. Just then, in the front of the store, the landlady, sitting on her haunches next to an elderly man who was peering into a bucket, glanced over her shoulder and saw her.

  “We’ll have some raw sea urchin for dinner tonight,” she said.

  The wet sea urchins lay at the bottom of the bucket, their dark brown, spiky, ­ball-like bodies moving faintly. One by one, the man took them out, placing them on the ground, and gradually the rest of his booty came into view: smaller creatures, about the size of ­ping-pong balls and covered in green bristles, filling the bottom of the bucket.

  “What are those?” Yuko asked.

  “They’re sea urchins, too,” the man answered. “They’re inedible, but I still collect them. They’re used to make kokeshi dolls.”

  “Where do they live?” She had no idea where ordinary sea urchins lived, let alone these strange things.

  “On beaches where there are lots of rocks. They’re some under every stone, if you look.”

  Yuko hesitated. “There wouldn’t happen to be any crabs under those rocks, would there?”

  “Of course! Hermit crabs, starfish. Everything.”

  “Ordinary crabs, too?”

  “That’s right. Just lift up the rocks, and they come running out like crazy.”

  Lift up the rocks: that was exactly what the young woman had said.

  “Are you talking about small crabs? Do you find any bigger ones — say, this size?” She spread her fingers about a matchbox apart.

  “Sometimes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there aren’t all that many, you see. Today I must have seen, oh, perhaps ten.”

  “And they had a red pincer?”

  “Oh no, you won’t find ­red-clawed crabs in this parts. They’re the same color all over.”

  Well, she could do without the red pincer. She wouldn’t be too fussy.

  “Where is this beach you went to?”

  The man told her the name of a port about an hour’s train ride away, where ferries went to and from Uraga.

  “And how far is it from the station?”

  “About twelve or thirteen minutes’ walk. It’s on the other side of the docks.”

  “So you’re planning to go?” the landlady broke in.

  “I’m not sure,” Yuko replied. “I might try to go tomorrow. . . .”

  She decided to skip the stone embankments around the fields. She would take Takeshi to this new place in the morning. After all, Kajii wouldn’t arrive till late. But she wanted to move cautiously after her morning experience. The crabs were living creatures: there might be ten today, and none tomorrow. Besides, it might very well rain, and they’d have to cancel — it might rain for two days. She resolved not to tell Takeshi anything beforehand. Of course, that meant she’d have to carry on pretending to search for the rest of the afternoon.

  It was past three o’clock, and Takeshi was still asleep. As promised, she roused him. She gave him a snack from the shop, and then they went out together to a rocky stretch of the shore.

  The tide was beginning to come in, but some pools of water remained in hollows around the rocks. Yuko pointed toward them.

  “You know, Takeshi, there might be some crabs there.”

  Next she pointed to a broad horizontal crack in the face of a rock. “This might be a good place. Keep your eye on it.”

  But her waning enthusiasm, having heard of a possibly better place, must have been obvious even to him. He started instead to collect small black periwinkles from rock pools. Finally, he stood up, clutching his plastic bag of shells, and approached the ledge where she sat.

  “Let’s go back,” he said. “There just aren’t
any crabs.”

  Then, in the next breath, as if Yuko’s lack of concern was somehow to blame for their day of bad luck, he added: “I’ll ask Uncle to catch me some, tomorrow.”

  “Oh Takeshi!” she said. “How can you say such a thing!”

  The boy blinked at the sudden passion in her voice. She was blushing. It wasn’t simply that she was jealous.

  “You mustn’t.” She went on more gently, as the boy hung his head. “Please don’t ask your uncle to take you looking for crabs. And don’t tell him anything about today, about how we looked and kept on looking, without finding a single one.”

  If Kajii ever found out how she’d been willing to stop at nothing to find crabs for this little boy . . . The thought made her feel hot with embarrassment. But how could he know what she was feeling. She must have just scared him out of his wits. Eyes lowered, he nodded obediently, without even asking why.

  “And if we still haven’t found any crabs when you go home, Takeshi, we’ll catch some the next time you visit, after I make sure where they live.”

  “But I might not come again.”

  “Well, I’ll bring some back when I return to Tokyo.”

  “Okay.” Takeshi was beginning to brighten up.

  “Auntie,” he said, finally raising his head.

  “What?” Yuko put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Can I tell Uncle about the baby turtle?”

  Yuko pretended to think. “Yes, you may.”

  “And that we made a fire, and ate fresh sazae?”

  “Of course you may.”

  “And that we went in a boat?”

  “You may.”

  “And can I tell him about the crab I found yesterday?”

  This time, Yuko really did pause to think. “Yes, you may.”

  But she’d already started wondering whether she should take him on that trip to the beach tomorrow. She was quite ready to take him if Takeshi could then tell Kajii they’d found a crab. But would that be all he learned from the boy?