An Afternoon at the Kamishibai and Candy Store: The Beginning of the Story in Silence

The story begins in the quiet of an afternoon at a picture storytelling store and a candy shop.

Three o'clock in the afternoon.
As the sun begins to set, the air in the town becomes a little softer.
Children on their way home from school, still carrying their school bags, are drawn to the candy store.
From deep inside, the sound of clapping wooden clappers echoes.
It was a signal that the story was about to begin.

An impromptu stage made from stacked wooden boxes in a corner of a candy store.
Standing there is a kamishibai man.
He holds a faded drawing board in his hand and a can full of candy and lemonade at his side.
The children sit quietly, clutching their sweets.
Everyone is facing forward and everyone is silent.
That moment of silence.
It was the moment when the story permeated the air.

The "blank space" of a candy store

During the Showa era, there was almost always a candy store on every street corner.
It is not just a place to shop, but a place for children to be.
It was a "blank space" where time slowly unravelled.

I clutched the 10 yen coin and wondered which candy to choose.
People were expressing joy and sorrow over the results of the lottery.
That "pop" sound when you push a marble into a bottle of soda.
Everything was imprinted on the children's five senses.

The picture-story show held in the back of the candy store was an "unusual" experience inserted into such everyday life.
As they listened carefully to the narrator's voice, the children engaged in their own imaginations.
Heroes and monsters in the paintings, and tear-jerking farewell scenes.
These experiences stayed with me much closer and deeper than a television or smartphone screen.

The "pauses" and "voices" of Kamishibai

Kamishibai has a unique sense of timing.
There was a moment of silence before turning the picture over.
The narrator takes a breath and casts his gaze upon the children.
Meanwhile, the audience's imagination is invigorated.

"So, what do you think will happen next?"
Even without such questions, the children were imagining the rest of the story in their minds.
Kamishibai relied on the imagination of the viewer.
And the narrator's voice is not just a narration;
It was an important medium for conveying the warmth of the story.

The intonation of your voice, the pauses, and the movement of your eyes.
All of this makes the story stand out.
It's as if the air itself is speaking to you.
That was the magic of Kamishibai.

Fragments of Memory: Poetry and Landscape

Clang, clang, clang.
Silence invites stories.
Rather than the sweetness of candy,
That afternoon air,
It still remains in my heart.

This poem is a fragment of memory captured from an afternoon in the Showa era.
For example, in a monochrome photo of a candy store, you could colorize only the red Ramune bottle.
Alternatively, you could add an illustration of a hand hitting a wooden clapper in a way that draws the children's gaze in one direction.
It is a device that evokes colors and sounds from memory.
I don't know it, but for some reason it feels nostalgic.
This "unknown nostalgia" is brought to life through visuals and poetry.

Where is the "kamishibai" inside you?

This essay is not just nostalgia.
It is a quiet question designed to remind the reader of their own "beginning of the story."

When was the last time you shared a story with someone?
When was the last time you listened carefully to someone's voice?

We live in an age where information is overflowing and stories are consumed.
However, just like in a picture storytelling show, by valuing the "time to wait," "room for imagination," and "warmth of voice,"
Perhaps we can once again encounter stories deeply.