When sorting and packing for our move to Osaka, I came across some jewelry given to me before meeting my husband. What does one do with these relics? I really did not want to keep it. Nor save it or give it away. I was nearing moving day and had the strange mantra "when in doubt throw it out" going through my head all day long. But that seemed too wasteful. It did not feel right to try to sell it for a profit either. I resolved to pack it and figure it out in Osaka.
Recently, I decided to pawn the jewelry and donate it to a refugee fund for women.
So I looked up the word for pawnshop in my Japanese/English dictionary and opened the local yellow pages. Hermes, Gucci, Prada, Rolex shouted up in bold type from the pages. I had encountered these sort of pawnshops before with their selections of watches, Birken Bags, and lineups of Louis Vuitton products. I was confused by competing images: Brand logos, big sparking gems, gigantic pearl necklaces, and oddly out of place a photo of a toy poodle clutching a handbag in its mouth. Would any of these places be the right spot to part with unwanted karma?
I found small ad with picture of a dignified looking man wearing a lab coat who was standing next to a microscope. No logos, no dogs, only a claim in English of being certified gemologist. Indeed I would never have guessed it was for pawnshop if it was not sandwiched in with all those other obvious ads. It was nearby, and the map looked straightforward.
I went to the dentist in the morning, and set off straight after, with the thin yellow page map torn out and tossed in my bike basket and jewelry in pocket. It was a cool, windy and perfect for riding however the pawnshop proved much harder to find than I had expected. I had to stop several times to get my bearings, and lost the store map in the wind. I rode around a bit more, looking closely around pachinko parlours and other likely places. I started to feel a bit crazy. Perhaps the refugees could benefit from a better use of my time. Sitting on my bike laughing, I was ready to give up and head back.
And then I saw a big sign pointing the way... I followed... and another big sign, and another until I found myself on a nice residential side street standing in front of a regular house. As with many other homes in Japan, a tiny portion of the first floor had been reserved for a home business.
The house was 20 or 30 years old and the pawnshop entrance way was covered with a long lacy and low-hanging noren which would provide partial privacy for anyone entering. There was sign beside the door detailing the services within. If I did not know better, I would have mistaken the shop for a home-based dentist or massage therapist. As far as I could read, they accepted jewelry, digital cameras, and watches. It occurred to me that this was not the sort of place where pachinko or gambling game addicts would come to get some quick cash. And I entered, I felt strangely aware of the weight of the jewelry in my pocket.
It was tiny, dark and tidy. There was a miniature waiting area, with a sofa, and magazine rack. The two service windows directly in front of it had little dividers on the outside for privacy. The waiting room was empty, except for me, and two serious young women in uniform jumped to attention on the other side of the glass. They seemed momentarily surprised to find me there, but recovered quickly when I used some fumbling Japanese to excuse myself for disturbing them. Open files lined the walls behind them, and a little further back an older sat at a desk. He was wearing a lab coat. I felt nervous. I pushed the velvet box under the little window. She bowed across the glass, carefully opening the box, donning some simple cotton gloves like the ones I use to handle negatives.
She peered at the pieces through a magnifying loop, stating some measurements that were repeated and noted by the man at the desk. She weighed them while asking if it was my first time to a pawnshop. Yes!
She required some sort of ID to copy. She thanked me and bowed, bringing the jewelry over to man in the lab coat, leaving me to fill out my details on a registration card. He nodded at me and proceeded to reexamine the jewelry.
I noticed bowl of hard candies on the counter beside me with a stack of tissues beside it, which had been neatly folded. Were the tissues for polishing rings and bracelets, or for the tears of debt- ridden weeping widows? Was this a discreet place that grandma might come to temporarily hawk her wedding ring for cash gift during particularly busy wedding/birth season in her family? My imagination ran wild. Or perhaps it was for a young mother and wife, suddenly faced with an empty bank account and no electricity. An angry lover spurned? Or me?
The woman was back and gently placed a slip of paper on the tray with the ring and earrings.
It was my turn to be surprised. Surely these items were worth far more than that! She sensed my hesitation and with practiced tact, explained that they would simply be storing these items for me, and I could pick them up at any time in the next three months and pay back the amount plus 400 yen. She smiled and apologized that the amount was low, but standard. She paused and further explained that 3 months was the absolute longest they could hold them for me. I thought for a moment about telling her the truth; that these items pre-dated my happy marriage and that I would never want to see them again. I wondered if they would give me a better price if I explained that the money was for refugee women? Would they even believe that? I held my tongue and agreed with the conditions.
She left again and returned with the cash in an envelope, and a pick-up receipt carefully encased in plastic, both of which she politely passed to me with both hands, along with a complimentary kitchen towel and a handful of hard candies. The three of them thanked me in unison for my business.
Stepping out into the late afternoon golden light, I heard a baseball game starting in the grounds of a neighboring elementary school. I sucked on a lemon drop, pausing for a moment to take in the whistling and enthusiastic running. I thought about my own daughter sleeping in the daycare center. And as I stood there with the sugar dissolving on my tongue, I felt calmer and lighter
