A Doll

In August, when we must recall the recent war and keep the future peace in mind, I’d like to draw pictures, with a concept of love.

I remember when my late mother suddenly told me, “You know, I ordered a doll for me, to celebrate my 50th birthday.”

It was a bit unexpected, because we were in quite an “efficiency-oriented” state of the family. I was old enough and so busy a student. The three of us, Dad, Mom and I did not exchange birthday presents any more.

“Good, but why now?” I asked.

“At the age of 50 I remembered my childhood. You know we all so poor in Japan at that time. Your grand parents could not afford to buy me a present. Many times I had dreamt of keeping a doll of a pretty girl, taking care of her like I were her mother, or talking to her like a friend, but it was impossible. Now I really like to please the little girl, that lives still in me.”

I thought it very good, and looked forward to seeing the doll.
“It was difficult to find one, which I liked to have at that time, out of many modern dolls with blonde hairs and in western dress,” she said.

Then the doll was delivered. It seemed me rather strange. The japanese doll had long black straight hair and wore Kimono. She had thin, rather sleepy eyes, not like modern styled big bright eyes with long eyelashes. Her limb were fixed so straight that one could not let her mover or even sit down.

Yet my mother loved her so much. She gave her doll her own name. Though she did not play with it like a little girl, she often talk to her and sometimes took her in her arms.

The doll was set in her owner’s coffin in the funeral, years later.

I pray for every little girl and a little girl in every women in the world.

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