The Dream Spot

With the recent volcanic eruptions in Miyakejima and the flurry of small temblors in the city, milk plants shutting down, not to mention the rash of other business scandals throughout the still-sputtering economy, we thought it high time to head down to Nihonbashi to see how the center is holding. The chushin, the spot from which all distances to Tokyo are still measured, is the bronze plaque in the center of the lovely Nihonbashi bridge.

This bridge with its stone arches unchanged since 1911, its leaf-blown terraces with a waterfall and stone benches, its pigeons and iron-work is as fitting a destination as we can think of. Even the expressway directly overhead is decorated underneath with attractive scrollwork. Leaning against the stone balustrade, we surveyed all four directions.

It was business as usual: the bronze lions stretched in front of Mitsukoshi still had their tongues out, panting from the heat. The Corinthian columns of the Parthenon-like Chou Mitsui Trust Building were as stolid and unshakeable as a loan officer. In the nearby koban, shaded by a small cherry tree whose branches droop to the door, sat a policeman at his desk calmly reading a newspaper. On the river below, a tugboat pulled a bargeload of coal under the stone arch. The bronze Chinese dogs and dragons which decorate and guard the bridge seemed to stifle yawns. People, going to or coming from lunch, passed by mopping damp foreheads with handkerchiefs. Here on the last day of August, at the center of the financial district of the busiest city in the eastern hemisphere, life seemed quietly at ease.

Just a few paces from the foot of the bridge near the statue of Princess Otohime-sama, the daughter of the Dragon King, is the Dream Spot. About the size of a portable popcorn-vending stand, this red kiosk with its tiny red and white-striped awnings and clapper-less silver bell atop a peaked roof, is the workplace of Mrs. Kubota. For the last ten years, everyday from around 8:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m., she sits inside and sells Takarakuji lottery tickets. With no space to stand, turn around, or stretch out her arms, the charming Mrs. Kubota, who admits to being around 70 though she looks much younger, reads or listens to her radio until a customer steps up to the window. The kiosk has no electricity, no air conditioning, no heat. Summer is the worst, says Mrs. Kubota, particularly this summer. But today a breeze has picked up and the nearby willow trees sway like grass skirts. In winter she uses a battery-powered heater the size of a large flashlight to keep her warm. A camping lantern hangs from a nail above the window.

Taped to the front of the kiosk to encourage business is a large banner written in red kanji -- today is taiyan -- the luckiest day. But even today is a slow day. Young people, says Mrs. Kubota, don't pay much attention to those lucky calendar days anymore. Earthquakes or volcanic eruptions don't spur business either, she says. When the economy is good she sells tickets. When the economy is bad, she can still sell tickets. But when the economy is really bad, people don't even want to part with 200 yen, though the investment could return 100 million yen.

A customer steps up to the window and, as if performing a card trick, Mrs. Kubota fans out packets of tickets for his selection. Another man comes to claim his prize money from the instant lotto. These lotto tickets also cost 200 yen, but are the silver scratch-off type. If you match up the cute little animal pictures, you could be 100,000 yen or 100 yen richer. This man turns in two tickets and receives 200 yen. Mrs. Kubota doesn't buy lottery tickets herself, except for three times a year during the Jumbo lotteries with jackpots of 300 million yen each. Most of Mrs. Kubota's customers are salarymen. And they've all told her, if they win, they will quit their job. Down payment on a dream is only 200 yen.

It may be significant that the chushin, the central heart, of Japan is the center of a bridge, a place of connecting. All kinds of people, it seems, use that spot as a marker or benchmark for their journey, whatever it may be. Two weeks ago, says Mrs. Kubota, a woman on a mini-bicycle with wheels no bigger than tea saucers started a trip to Kyoto from there. Another person walked all the way from Kyushu to that bronze plaque. All kinds of people, too, start their journey from Mrs. Kubota's Dream Spot.

--mjk