Our favorite spot was a Chinese restaurant that looked as if they were almost boasting of their oil-stained shop curtain and the clattering noises of the people as if they were signs of superior taste. It was the kind of restaurant that is open throughout the year with an owner who was the epitome of obstinacy. He displayed his skill in cooking by using a splendidly shining black Chinese frying pan, and by grinding down little apricot kernels to make real almond jelly.

One day, we saw a very uncommon thing when we went there for lunch. There was a sign saying "Sorry for the inconvenience. We will open at five oÕclock today." We muttered ÒThat's quite unusual,Ó and had to return again at dinner time because we were unable to get his "Fried Prawns in Hot Sauce" out of our minds.

Because we go out only on weekends, we were not aware that the sign had been up for a week and the owner's wife had been apologizing to the regular customers, just so they could take half a day off.

After having made two trips to get it, the prawns looked even more magnificent than usual. On our way out, the owner bowed slightly to us from inside the kitchen. I think it was an indication of the pride of a professional who had pledged to keep his store open all the time but had to take half a day off.

I am now wearing something called a "hello vest" because the bones of my neck are still not firmly joined yet. This is pretty bad stuff: there are four bolts inserted into my skull and my body is virtually immobilized by a thick fur covering. Then the four bolts in my skull are connected by iron struts to the vest, and that supports and holds up my head. Although it is an ingenious device indeed, the weight and tightness is beyond imagining. I am reminded of "The Princess Who Wore a Pot", a story in Old Japanese Tales. It pains me when I wonder if she ever thought of taking that pot off. I look at myself in the mirror with that vest on, and with a sigh I am reminded that I look like the monster Jamera from Ultraman or some other old TV show.

The vest is there to protect my life, but at the end of the day it seems to be just squeezing the life of out my body. I'm not sure how many poultices and painkillers I've used everyday in the first few months. But the scary thing is, I've gotten used to the pain now. As I look at the condition of my skin I realize that I have become much better at dealing with the pain.

"Ah, I wish I could take half a day off," I sometimes mutter as I look up at the ceiling because the treatment is not only for the neck. I wish I could just throw off the vest, go out shopping, get all my family's favourite food, and prepare dinner as if it were a normal occurrence, and in the morning wake up my children after making lunch for them. Then I would shout out loudly "Have a good day" as I send them off to school; that would be the kind of twelve hours I fervently wish to have. It sounds so nice. I crave such a half-day holiday so much that it aches.

But even if God gave me such a wish, I know better than anybody that I should not allow myself the luxury.

It's because I am just an ordinary person. I am definitely not the persevering nor the tenacious type; I hate pain and suffering, and moreover I'm a crybaby. The reason why I've somehow managed to hold myself together in this terrible situation is that I've firmly engraved in my mind "No Day-Off." If you're fighting an illness, unless you've made a "complete recovery" or have come to "live with the illness," you've got to go with "No Day-Off." Otherwise it'll be impossible to hold out. Nobody knows better than I do that I would not be able to fight again if I take a rest even for half a day.

There are people throughout the world who are burdened with "No Day-Off", though without having a reason like mine. People who are trying hard to keep their own worlds. These people do not allow themselves to experience the changes wrought by taking the day off. For these people I imagine being "Open Everyday" is the thing that gives them the strength to keep their pride, and to live.

Translated by Maiko Noda