A Price for a Delicious Smell

Each afternoon, Nao ate a small bowl of rice beside the window of her rented room. Below her room, Toma grilled sweet-glazed eggplant at his food stall. A sign had the heading “Hot Lunches.” When the delicious scent drifted upstairs, Nao closed her eyes and enjoyed it with her plain rice.

One day, Toma noticed her smiling at the window. He was proud of his cooking, but then he had a greedy thought. If the smell made her lunch better, perhaps he could charge for it. He hurried upstairs and knocked on her door.

“You enjoy my cooking every day,” he said. “I demand payment for its smell.” Nao gripped her nearly empty coin purse. She had paid for her rice and her room. She wanted to keep her few remaining coins for tomorrow’s food. “I haven't taken any eggplant,” she replied. But Toma held out his hand.

Emi, an older neighbor, heard their voices from the hallway. She asked each of them to explain. Then she considered the problem quietly, touching her chin. Nao watched her with hope. Emi was known for untangling arguments as patiently as other people untangled thread.

“Bring a bowl,” Emi told Toma. “Nao, bring your purse.” Toma fetched a bowl at once. He imagined coins piling inside it. Nao hesitated, but Emi gave her a reassuring smile. Slowly, Nao opened her purse.

Emi held the empty bowl near Toma’s ear. “Shake your coins above it,” she told Nao. The coins jingled brightly, but none fell out. Toma leaned forward. “Where is my payment?” “You have received it,” Emi said. “Nao enjoyed the scent of your eggplant, not the eggplant itself. You have enjoyed the sound of her money, not the money itself.”

Toma looked into the empty bowl. Then his cheeks grew warm. He had sold just as much eggplant as before, and Nao had taken nothing from his stall. He lowered the bowl. “Keep your coins,” he said. The next afternoon, Nao sat by her window again. Downstairs, Toma served his customers without trying to sell the breeze.