The Woman in the Purple Skirt

day means good luck, while three means bad luck.)
The most incredible thing about the Woman in the Purple Skirt is that whatever reaction she gets from people around her, it makes absolutely no difference—she just continues on her way. Maintaining that same steady pace, lightly, quickly, smoothly moving through the crowd. Strangely enough, even on weekends, at peak times when the streets are jam-packed with shoppers, she never walks into anyone, or bumps into anything—she just walks swiftly on, unimpeded. I would say that to be able to do that, either she has to be in possession of superb speed, agility, and fitness—or she has an extra eye fixed to her forehead, a third eye skillfully concealed under her bangs, rotating 360 degrees, giving her a good view of whatever’s coming her way. Whichever it is, it’s a trick well beyond the capability of the Woman in the Yellow Cardigan.
She’s so skillful at avoiding any sort of collision that I can understand why you might get a rather eccentric person coming along who feels provoked—and gets the urge to purposely barge into her. Actually, there was one time when I myself succumbed to just such an urge. But of course, I was no more successful than anyone else. When was it? I think sometime in early spring. I pretended to be walking along innocently, minding my own business, and then, when the Woman in the Purple Skirt was just a few feet ahead of me, I suddenly upped my speed and walked very fast toward her.
A pretty stupid thing to do, as I soon found out. When I was within inches of bumping into her, the Woman in the Purple Skirt simply tilted her body slightly to one side, and I went smack into the meat display cabinet in front of the butcher shop—fortunately escaping any serious physical injury, but still ending up with a huge repair bill from the butcher.
That happened more than six months ago now. I’ve only just paid off the bill. And it wasn’t easy. I had to resort to sneaking my way into the bazaars held at a local primary school, having picked up anything that might possibly sell, to make whatever extra pennies I could. The first few times, I’d be thinking: Now look where your stupidity has landed you. Do not try anything like that ever again. It’s common knowledge that nobody who has attempted to collide with the Woman in the Purple Skirt has ever succeeded—don’t you know that? If not because of that third eye on her forehead, then because of how uncannily quick and fit she is. Even if privately you can’t help feeling that “fit” isn’t quite the right word to describe her. . . . Actually, it occurs to me that the way she has of swerving smoothly through the crowds, avoiding all oncoming people, is very much like the way an ice-skater glides around on the ice. She is like that girl who won a bronze medal a couple of years ago at the Winter Olympics—the one in a blue skating dress who spoke in that strange way, like a little old lady, and who retired from skating to go into television and was selected last year to be a presenter on children’s TV; she was ranked number one in the children’s TV popularity rankings—yes, that girl. Admittedly, the Woman in the Purple Skirt is quite a bit older than she is, but (in my neighborhood, at least) she is every bit as famous.
It’s true. The Woman in the Purple Skirt is a celebrity. In the eyes of everyone—children and adults. From time to time, TV camera crews come by this area to conduct interviews with people on the street. But rather than thrusting a microphone in the faces of housewives and interrogating them about their dinner plans or their opinions on the rising price of vegetables, they should occasionally direct questions at elderly people and children. Have you ever heard of the Woman in the Purple Skirt? I’m sure nearly everyone would say: Yes, of course!
There’s even a new game that the children have taken to playing. Whoever loses at rock-paper-scissors now has to go up to the Woman in the Purple Skirt and give her a light tap. It’s a minor variation on the usual game, but they all get very excited about it. It takes place in the park. Any child who loses a round has to tiptoe up to the Woman in the Purple Skirt as she sits on her Exclusively Reserved Seat and give her a little tap on the shoulder. That’s all it is. Once the child has tapped her, he or she runs away laughing. They do this over and over again.
Originally, the addition involved not touching the Woman in the Purple Skirt but just approaching her and addressing her. The loser had to go over to her as she sat there and just say a few words. “Hello!” “Beautiful day!” Anything. That in itself was the source of huge amusement. Each child would skip up to her, say a word or two, and dash away, cackling with laughter.
It’s only recently that the new twist was devised. The reason seems to have been simply that both sides had grown bored with the previous version. All they could think of to say to her was, “Are you well?” “Nice weather!” Or at best something like “Haa waa yuu?” in English—which of course didn’t get a peep out of her. The Woman in the Purple Skirt sat absolutely still, her eyes lowered, but as time passed, she would yawn or pick at her nails. As I watched her languidly plucking the pilling off her sweater, it almost seemed like she was trying to challenge the children to think of something new.
This new spin on the game, which the children came up with by forming a circle, putting their foreheads together, and thinking hard about how to break out of the old routine, is already showing