Seven years later, when I was location scouting in the same area for my first film, Sugata Sanshirō, I met the maid who had brought me those cakes every day. She failed to recognize me. Apparently in the course of seven years I had changed completely, at least to her eyes. How could the Kurosawa who wolfed down six bean cakes a day and the Kurosawa who now sat there drinking saké like a fish be the same person? I later noticed her staring at me through a slightly opened door, as if she were observing the movements of some kind of monster.
