Business and Bows

Nishinomiya Middle School’s last period ends, and summer break begins. As we bustle off, everyone buzzes about vacation plans. Many are taking the bullet train to Kyoto or Tokyo to sightsee. Some talk about the beach and camping. Others have more productive activities.

I gape at the workbooks Shiori shows off as we leave school. “English and Spanish summer classes?” Just looking at the foreign words, so different from our Japanese characters, makes my head hurt.

She pokes me with her elbow. “Eri, some of us enjoy learning languages.”

“If you ask me, that stuff’s too complicated to enjoy.”

Shiori laughs. “I can say the same about kimonos. All those knots and sashes — I don’t know how you can remember them, let alone think they’re fun. Speaking of which, is that what you’re doing? Working extra hours at your grandmother’s kimono shop?”

“For now,” I say hesitantly. “I’m thinking about doing something else to make money.”

“If you want something different, Osaka Waterpark’s hiring —”

“No, I’m not talking about jobs. I’m talking about making my own money.”

Shiori frowns in confusion, so I explain. “My sister Ayano’s been making bags and tablet covers from traditional fabric. At first it was just for her university friends, but she’s gotten so good Granny’s selling them in the shop.”

My friend immediately understands. “What you’re saying is that all the women in your family are successful entrepreneurs, except you.”

I nod. “Granny built her shop from scratch. Mama’s a freelance graphic artist. My aunt has her sake brewery, and now Sis…I feel like I’m falling behind.”

“Then start something,” says Shiori. “What do you want to do?”

“That’s the problem.” I kick a pebble in my path. “The only thing I want is to work with  kimonos.”

Shiori blinks, then laughs. “Eri, your grandmother loves having you as her assistant. I’m sure she hopes you’ll take over her business someday.”

“That’s not the same,” I groan. “Yes, I love Granny’s shop, but I want to start something new, try an idea I came up with.”

Shiori pats my shoulder. “You’ll think of something, Eri.”

The shop’s wooden sign reads: Zentoh Kimono Rentals. Even in the twenty-first century, occasions like weddings and coming-of-age ceremonies in Japan demand traditional clothing. However, formal kimonos are expensive — an ensemble can cost a million yen.

That’s where Granny comes in. For a reasonable cost, she provides customers with outfits, accessories, and dressing services. And those dressing services are essential. Wearing kimonos requires practiced hands and special knowledge of folds and knots. After years of training, I can handle a number of ensembles, but I’m still a long way from dressing a bride in wedding attire.

I enter through the rear, calling a greeting as I open the back door. But instead of Granny, my sister bursts in from the showroom. “Eri, you’re here!”

I start, surprised to see her. Most afternoons, she’s busy making or promoting her bags. As Sis pounces on me, our grandmother chuckles by the doorway. “I’ll let you girls negotiate,” she says, leaving for the showroom.

Negotiate? Now I’m really confused. “What’s going on?”

“Opportunity!” Sis is pulling out a flier that reads: Nishinomiya Summer Festival. “I’m selling my bags here next weekend.”

“That’s great,” I say, clapping my hands. “But you said festival booths were expensive.”

She grins. “Not if you can work a deal.”

That’s Sis for you. Whether it’s getting quality fabric for almost nothing or anticipating trends, Sis has amazing business sense. “What’s the deal?”

“A reduced fee for posting flyers in the neighborhood shopping centers. That’s where I need you.” She presses her palms in a pleading pose. “Will you post the flyers for me?”

My excitement crashes to a halt. “I’m sorry. I promised Granny — ”

“I’ll do your store shifts.”

When I gape in confusion, she looks embarrassed. “I want to finish more bags before the festival. I can’t sew while putting up flyers, but if I’m here…”

“...you can sew bags in between customers,” I say, grasping her plan.

“Exactly. Granny’s willing, but only if you agree. Flyers probably aren’t as fun for you, but — ”

“I’ll do it.”

She stops short. “Really?”

I nod. Seeing Sis work so hard to succeed, I can’t help but want to lend a hand.

“Thanks,” she squeals, hugging me tight. “I owe you one.”

As Shiori and I leave the shopping center, I say, “Thanks again for posting these flyers with me.”

“No problem. It’s not like I have anything to do before my language classes start. But did we have to wear yukata?” she says, fussing with her sash.

“Of course,” I declare. “We’re advertising a festival.”

Yukata are casual cotton kimonos. They’re also the most affordable kimonos and regular attire for summer festivals. “Festivals aren’t festivals without yukata,” I say, flourishing my wide sleeves.

“True,” says Shiori. “But today’s a regular day, and the only ones in kimonos are old people and tourists. Look, see what I mean?”

In the distance are two college-age foreigners: a boy in a striped yukata and a girl whose hair matches her gold yukata. Chatting in English, they take selfies on a bench outside a shrine.

Suddenly, Shiori’s eyes light up. “Let’s invite them to the festival. It’s advertising, plus I can practice my English.”

Before I can protest, she’s dragged me over.

I smile nervously, unable to follow the fast-paced English conversation. However, Shiori and the tourists are having fun talking, so I can’t complain. Eventually, Shiori says, “Eri, Rachel and Malik want to take a picture with us by the shrine gate.”

“Sure,” I say, relieved to hear Japanese. “Let’s go —”

“Oh!”

We jump at Rachel’s cry to see her sash caught on the bench handrail. As I hurry to disentangle the partially untied bow, the embarrassed girl speaks, and Shiori translates. “Rachel doesn’t know how to fix the sash; their innkeeper was the one who dressed them. She’s asking if we —”

“No problem!” I give Rachel a thumb’s up and lead her to the shrine restroom.

Minutes later, we return, Rachel’s yukata better than before. Beaming, she shows Malik the fancy double bow I used to replace her plain one. As he snaps a picture, Shiori says, “Good job, Eri. If you weren’t here, Rachel would’ve been in trouble.”

“You could’ve fixed it, Shiori.”

She shakes her head. “I’m terrible with yukata, especially sashes.”

“It’s not so hard —”

“For you.” Shiori sighs. “Eri, you don’t realize how many of us need our moms and grandmothers to help with our yukata at festival time. If our sashes got undone, we’d be as helpless as Rachel.”

Yukata…festival…sashes…An idea hits me, and I shout, “That’s it!”

Sis chuckles as we finish setting up. “I never imagined I’d repay you by sharing my booth,” she says, “but this looks like it’ll work perfectly.”

I grin back. “And hopefully bring us both business.”

Sis’s wares fill the front in eye-catching displays. Meanwhile, the back half’s curtained off into a makeshift dressing room. And to the side of the booth is a sign in Japanese and English (courtesy of Shiori):

Yukata Adjustments ¥200

Come spruce up your bow!

Excitement flutters my stomach. I’ve never offered dressing services at a festival before, but compared to formal kimonos, I’m sure adjusting yukata will be a breeze.

Just then, the park loudspeaker announces the festival opening. As vendors raise their voices before the oncoming crowd, Sis says, “Ready?”

I pump my fist. “You bet!”

Two hours later my voice is raw, and my profits zero.

Meanwhile, Sis is doing brisk business. Her bags have attracted customers all afternoon. As she hands a purchase to yet another buyer, she says, “And if you’d like your yukata spruced up, my sister here can help you. She’s an experienced kimono shop employee.”

I smile as the customer glances at me and my sign. “That’s interesting,” she says and walks away.

My heart sinks. “That’s interesting” and curious looks are the only responses I’ve gotten. Even with Sis helping, I haven’t had a single customer. Disappointment’s sapping my morale when Sis whispers, “Chin up. The festival lasts till midnight, and yukata bows droop after people walk a long time. Keep telling people you’re here, and eventually they’ll come.”

She’s right, I think to myself. Buoyed by her encouragement, I pull myself together as someone says, “Excuse me, what’s this yukata adjustment about?”

I whirl, eager for a customer — only to see a man in T-shirt and shorts. Somehow, I keep my smile from crumbling while I answer his question.

“That’s interesting,” he replies.

As he leaves, I notice how many festival goers are also in regular clothes. And regular clothes means no business. Maybe this was a stupid idea…

“Eri!”

A girl in a gold yukata waves from a group of foreign students. “Rachel?” I say.

Rachel starts walking over, then stops. Suddenly, she turns to her friends, and before I know it, she’s ushered five yukata-clad girls to my booth.

She points to the sign, but I have trouble understanding Rachel’s rapid English. Fortunately, one of her friends speaks some Japanese. “The bow you made for Rachel before was beautiful,” she says. “We’d like you to give all of us that same bow.”

Excitement zips through me. “Really?’’

They nod. Rachel pulls out the picture of her double bow and gives me a thumbs up.

I’ve never been so happy to tie six sashes. And I’ve never been so grateful to receive 1200 yen. Best of all, my customers are delighted with the results.

They start taking pictures, and as they strike poses to show off their double bows, an elderly woman in a gray kimono watches curiously. “What are those tourists doing?”

“They’re just happy about their bows,” I say and explain my adjustment service.

Interest lights her eyes. “Only 200 yen? Perhaps you can adjust my kimono then. The restroom’s so crowded, and my arthritis is acting up. Can you tie a drum-style knot?”

“Absolutely!” I reply.

As I show her to the dressing room, a student in a rumpled yukata approaches. “Excuse me?” he asks Sis. “I heard someone fixes yukata here.”

“Yes, she’s with another customer, but she’ll be done shortly. In the meantime, feel free to look around the booth.”

“Wow, my girlfriend would love this bag…”

My sister winks at me, and we smile as we get to work.

As we pack up that night, Sis remarks, “I’d say today was a success.”

“Me, too,” I reply, jingling my cash box. Toward the festival’s end, a steady stream of yukata customers kept my hands busy and my spirits flying.

“I should’ve brought some decorative cords to offer as an extra option though,” I add with a little regret. “Oh well, too late now.”

“Maybe not.” Sis grins. “Things went so well, I think I’ll do another festival. Care to join?”

My heart leaps and I flash a big smile. “Sis, I think we’re in business!”