Chapter 10 Falling
Eventually, Satoru managed to calm his mother down and get her back in the car. As they drove off, Grandma was still vowing that she wouldn’t go home without talking to Akira. Her massive traveling bag sat heavy in the back seat, a testament to her determination.
Wataru and Kuniko went back inside under a pall of silence. As Wataru headed off to his own room, Kuniko called out to him.
“Can we talk?”
She looked horribly tired. Her cheeks were ashen, her hair a tangled mess from when she had wrung it between her hands down in the garden. It was difficult for Wataru to look her in the face.
Mom’s sick, that’s it. Mom’s terribly ill. We should call a doctor.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last in a tiny voice. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”
Wataru sighed quietly, his eyes cast down to the floor. They were sitting in their usual dining room chairs, only Akira’s chair was empty. It never would have occurred to them to sit there, though there was no danger of its regular occupant suddenly walking in.
This scene, the two of them sitting where they were sitting, right now, at the table, was utterly normal. It was Sunday. Akira had gone out golfing, or maybe he was on a business trip. Nothing was different. Wataru wondered if the day would come when he, or maybe his mom, or someone else entirely, would sit in Akira’s chair without a second thought.
“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t either of our faults. That’s what Uncle Lou said,” Wataru muttered. “It’s Dad’s fault, he was the bad one. He and the woman he’s with now.”
Kuniko sat with her head hung low, wrinkles showing on her forehead. “The woman…”
“He’s right, isn’t he?”
Kuniko looked up with a wan smile. “I suppose you heard what your grandmother was saying down in the garden. There’s no point in trying to hide anything from you now.”
No, there’s not.
“Wataru, do you know what that means?”
“I think so.” Wataru recalled what his uncle had said about that sort of thing happening on television all the time. He said so.
“Soap operas…” Kuniko said with a sigh. “You’re right. I used to think this sort of thing happened only on television. Those advice columns, and those radio call-in shows, I thought they were all fake. I never thought…” her voice trailed off. She was talking half to herself. “Those sort of things happen to other people. People who didn’t run a good family, people who were lazy, who got into trouble. Not…not us.” She shook her head. “Maybe I was too proud, and this is my punishment.”
Wataru knew he should say something. You’re wrong. That isn’t it at all. But he said nothing. Because I feel the same way!
He only had more questions. “What do we do now? How do we get Dad to come home?”
“I don’t know,” Kuniko answered quickly, the words coming out in a jumble. For a second, Wataru saw his mother differently. She was more than his mother and more than his father’s wife. She was a complete person, someone he had, until this moment, never seen before.
And then it was gone.
“No, Wataru, you shouldn’t think about this. It isn’t your problem to worry about. It’s like your uncle Satoru said, you haven’t done anything wrong. This problem is between me and your father.”
Wataru’s logical brain—inherited from his father, no less—immediately began clicking, constructing a counterargument. Sure, if it was a problem between “Akira” and “Kuniko,” then it may very well have nothing to do with “Wataru.” But what if it was a problem between his “mother” and his “father”? Then it didn’t make sense to leave him out of the equation.
So who are you? Kuniko and Akira, or my father and my mother?
What good would asking do anyway?
“Dad told me that even if he—even if he divorced you, he would still be my dad.”
“He said that when you came back on Friday night with Uncle Lou?”
“Yeah.”
“Your father told you that, did he?” said Kuniko, her eyes filling with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You only said he told you that he would be leaving and wouldn’t come back for a while.”
Wataru had lied to her, he remembered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not something you need to apologize for,” Kuniko said with her elbows resting on the table and her hands covering her face. “Why should you have to apologize? That’s terrible. I…”
She slumped onto the table, and started crying. Wataru whispered that he was sorry. Everything he saw went blurry. He rubbed his eyes again and again but the blurriness didn’t go away.
“No, Wataru, I’m sorry,” Kuniko said between sobs, her head still down on the table. “The terrible one is your father. Can you believe it? He says that even if he leaves he’s still your father—and what are you supposed to say to that? Nothing, that’s what. You had to just swallow it all up inside. And then he walks out.”
Uncle Lou’s voice rang in Wataru’s head. Akira had always been that way, keeping his thoughts to himself, voicing only his conclusions. Wataru knew this about his father. Logical thought led to rational decisions, and those, once made, were final. No amount of arguing could dissuade him once he had set upon a course of action.
Rational decisions. For Akira Mitani, the rational decision had been to leave, to abandon his wife and son, so that’s what he had done. But how had he come to that decision? What path did his reasoning take? How could Wataru be sure his father hadn’t made a mistake, an error in his calculations?
Because Dad never gets anything wrong, never makes a mistake. Until now. This was the exception, it had to be. Somebody had to tell his father that. Somebody had to check his math.
“What did he say to you, Mom?”
Kuniko lifted her head at the question and shook her head. Tears trickled from her eyes. “I don’t think you need to know that.”
“I want to know,” Wataru said, his heart rising in his throat. Kuniko looked at him through teary eyes and smiled a smile so bitter she seemed to be in pain. “Such a good kid.”
“Mom…”
“No. No, you don’t need to worry about a thing anymore. I’m fine!” Kuniko nodded exaggeratedly. “I’ll do it. I’ll speak with your father; reason with him. Then, he’ll come home. Look, Wataru, why don’t you just think of this as an extended business trip? That’s really what it is. He had some difficult work to do, and he has to devote his time to it for now. A business trip. Right?”
And what was he supposed to say to this? Nothing—just like it had been with his father. Maybe that was the way it had to be.
“That’s right,” Kuniko declared. “You’re such a good kid, how could you lose your father? You can’t, of course, and I’ll make sure of it.”
After that day, his mother didn’t bring up the subject again. She met with Grandma in Chiba and Uncle Lou, talked in a hushed voice for long hours on the phone, and called her own parents in Odawara. Oddly, Wataru never knew what was happening, or what she was talking about.
Dad’s on a business trip. That’s all. A lie, he knew, but he tried to believe it all the same.
When it grew inside him until the pain was too much to bear in silence, he went to Uncle Lou. His uncle changed the minute he brought the topic up.
“What has your mother told you? You listen to what she says, and just, er, live life. Normally.”
Huh? Normally?
“Hey,” Uncle Lou beamed. “Less than two weeks until summer vacation. You’re coming out here in August, right? You’d better, cause I’ll be waiting. And finish your summer homework too!”
Wataru’s mother had told Uncle Lou not to say anything; that much was clear. He pressed harder.
“What about Grandma? Did she talk to Dad like she said she would?”
“She’s getting busier at the store, what with summer coming and all. Don’t you worry about that, okay?”
“What do you mean, don’t worry?! It’s my life!” he shouted.
His uncle’s voice got suddenly quieter. “Look, don’t give me a hard time about it, Wataru.”
“I don’t mean to give you a hard time, it’s just…”
“You’re still a kid! You can’t walk around with these adult problems on your shoulders. You haven’t done anything wrong, so you don’t have to do anything now. Your mother asked me to tell you that there’s nothing to worry about. So please, don’t worry. For me?”
Something’s wrong. Uncle Lou’s not usually like this. Why is he siding with Mom and not me?
There was only one thing left to do, and that was to talk to his father directly.
I can’t. Not without telling Mom. I shouldn’t.
But what was his mother telling him? What was she doing that wasn’t hidden from his eyes—in words he couldn’t hear? She was trying to clean things up all by herself. It wasn’t fair.
I’ll do what I think is right. I’ll make my own rational decision.
June slid into July, the depressingly overcast days of the rainy season became scarcer, and the sun shone hotter. The bespectacled weather reporter on TV pointed at his weather map and warned about heavy sudden thunderstorms and rapidly fluctuating temperatures. Careful you don’t catch cold!
Before Wataru realized it, summer vacation was upon him. It was everywhere in the air. Even at cram school, the excitement was palpable. It was like he could hear a whispered countdown in the air:
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Vacation!
In reality, the cram school held classes even during summer vacation—actually, they held them because it was vacation—and if you were to attend them all, you wouldn’t have much of a vacation left. Still, having some schoolwork to do and having to actually go to school were two separate things entirely. The former always seemed much brighter and full of hope than the latter.
He sat in his usual chair, but his mind was far, far away. From the outside he figured he looked much the same as always. No one had said anything about him seeming down, or not himself. They didn’t get many tests this time of year, so there were no bad marks to raise his teachers’ suspicions either.
Of course, there was no fooling Katchan.
“Hey Wataru, why do you always look so angry lately?”
Exactly a week had passed since the Sunday when Grandma Tank rolled into town and blew his world to smithereens. Wataru was over at Katchan’s house, playing in his room. It was a small room, with a big dresser, and laundry hanging outside the window. There was a ton of it, flapping in the breeze.
Wataru looked away from the video game and peered at Katchan. His friend sat with a large mug of soda in one hand, his eyebrows raised in an exasperated look.
Wataru’s mug sat untouched atop a serving tray, sweating in the summer humidity. The mugs were the same exact ones they used for beer and mixed drinks down in the bar. Compared to a regular soda glass, they were huge. If he drank the whole thing he’d be burping the rest of the day.
True to form, Katchan had already downed half of his, and when he opened his mouth to say something more, a loud belch erupted.
Wataru cracked up, and Katchan joined him. Wataru dropped his game controller on the floor, laughing while his computer-generated opponent proceeded to dice up his character.
Katchan suddenly straightened up. “It’s like you’re wearing this angry face all the time.” Wataru was silently surprised. He had no idea it was so obvious.
For the past week, Wataru had been trying to contact his father every way he could think. He just wanted to talk to him once, just once. But it was proving difficult. It was as if Akira had flown to the moon. What Wataru thought would be so simple was turning out to be so difficult.
His dad had a cell phone, he knew, but Wataru didn’t know the number. There had never been a need until now. That Friday night, travel bag bulging, his father had told him to call him on his cell phone, but how could he do that, if he didn’t know the number?
There was no use asking his mother. Kuniko wouldn’t tell him. Since their talk she had been trying her best to cram Wataru into a box labeled “father on a business trip”—for his own good—and she was desperate not to let him think anything else.
Hoping it might be written down somewhere in the house, Wataru had leafed madly through address books and phone books. He could find it nowhere. He wondered if it was programmed into their telephone at home, and one night when Kuniko wasn’t looking, he pulled out the operating manual. There was nothing. Maybe she knew I would look, and erased it? It was more than probable.
His next target was Akira’s company. But, as Wataru realized with some embarrassment, though he knew the name of the company where his father worked, he knew practically nothing else. He didn’t know if his father worked at the main office, some branch office, or even at some subsidiary.
He tried calling the main office’s service centers as listed in the phone book, going from the first to the last. That’s when he encountered a new problem. At a big company such as the one where his father worked, you could call a number from the telephone book (or from directory assistance), and ask for Akira Mitani—and even if he worked there, they wouldn’t just connect you. They always asked for a division or department name, if you were family, or a client, and what your business was. If he couldn’t answer their questions they would probably tell him to stop making crank calls, or ask to speak with his mother. He’d be worse off than if he had never picked up the phone.
I’m really Akira Mitani’s son, I just want to talk to my dad.
Speaking slowly, Wataru told Katchan everything that had happened from start to finish. The whole time he spoke he didn’t tear up once, nor did he get excited. He was calm. Or maybe just exhausted.
Katchan’s round eyes went even wider. He listened without saying a word. When Wataru had finished talking and reached out for his mug, he looked up to see Katchan staring at him with his mouth hanging wide open.
“Whoa.”
Wataru wasn’t sure why, but suddenly, convulsively, he laughed like a madman. “Pretty out there, isn’t it?”
Katchan nodded vigorously. “I only know like one other person whose parents got divorced, and that was a long time ago!”
“Me too. Hey, but aren’t Yutaro’s parents divorced? And I think there’s another kid in cram school whose parents got divorced.”
“Maybe we’re thinking of the same person? Tanaka, that guy in Class Two?”
“No, no, it’s a girl, Satoko-something. She doesn’t go to Joto.”
“I know one kid whose parents died in a car crash,” Katchan said solemnly. “I never thought it would happen to someone I knew! I mean, uh, it’s not like he died or something, but still!”
Wataru felt the exact same way.
“So why do you want to talk to your old man now?”
“If I don’t, how will I know what happened? I don’t like this not knowing what went wrong. It ticks me off.”
“Yeah, I hear that.”
Katchan peered into his empty glass and belched again. This time he didn’t smile. “Shouldn’t you just leave it up to your grandma? Sounds like she’s pretty hardcore about fixing him.”
“You think my dad will come home if I do?”
“Sure. Married people are always gettin’ into fights and then gettin’ back together.”
“Who’d you hear that from?”
“Oh, they talk about it at the bar all the time. My dad and mom, they’re great at ironing out those marital disputes. Lots of people come to them for advice.”
“You mean customers talk about their private lives like that? At the bar.”
“You bet.”
“Wait, so, even if my dad has this woman on the side, you think I should just wait it out and he’ll come back? You can’t guarantee that!”
No one could. Katchan chewed his lower lip in thoughtful silence.
“I just don’t want to leave it like this,” Wataru said at last. “There has to be something I can do.”
“You’re bright, Wataru. That’s why you don’t like it when people do dumb things,” Katchan said. “If all you need to do is call him, I might be able to help you out.”
It took Wataru a few seconds to process what his friend had said. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. His number’s in the call list.”
“The call list? What’s that?”
Last year their neighborhood held a fire prevention day, with all the local community boards participating. Katchan’s dad had been one of the committee members.
“See, we gathered a list of emergency contact numbers for everybody in the town. Your dad wasn’t on the committee or nothing, but he was like this emergency contact for when there’s an earthquake or fire or something like that, so his name, his company, the address, and the phone number are all on that list. I remember seein’ it there.”
Wataru grabbed him by the shoulders. “Show me!”
Katchan raced to get the book. It was a sheaf of stapled photocopied pages, with a simple piece of colored paper as a front page. The numbers were there, as promised.
“Akira Mitani…got it!”
The book listed both the name of his division and the direct phone line.
“Can I borrow your phone?”
“Sure, but you won’t get him today. It’s Sunday. Companies are closed.”
Oh, right.
“Come over after school tomorrow. I’ll call for you.”
“You’ll call?”
“Yeah. I’ll pretend I work at a shop, and that a Mr. Mitani left something, and get them to the phone. I do that kind of thing all the time. You gotta throw ’em a bit of a curve ball, or they’ll just ask to talk to your mom.”
“Good thinking, Katchan.”
Katchan grinned. “Hey, you share your homework assignments with me and all, but this kind of stuff is my specialty,” he said with evident pride. “Also, what if you said you were a Mitani calling, and he didn’t even answer the phone?” Katchan looked at Wataru’s face and his smile faded. “Sorry. Got a little carried away.”
Wataru shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It’s like you say—I mean, Dad tried to leave when I was out of the house.” The likelihood that he would try avoiding any sort of direct contact with Wataru was high. Wataru looked back at his friend. “Let’s play a game or something.”
Katchan slowly picked up the game controller. The mood was still dark. Wataru’s mouth twitched, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Come to think of it,” Katchan said, a little too loudly, “You go to cram school with that Mitsuru kid, right? Did you hear what they were saying?”
Wataru picked up the change in topic with relief. “What about him? He take another ghost picture or something?”
“Heheh. You haven’t heard!”
It turned out he didn’t grow up in America at all.
“The story goes that his uncle or something works at a computer company, and got transferred to some place in America—some place no one had ever heard of. Nothing famous like New York.”
All Mitsuru had done was visit his uncle for a year before transferring to their school. He was born and raised in Kawasaki.
“No way!”
“But he speaks English pretty good, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. It wouldn’t take long in America to get better than us, that’s for sure.”
Knowing Mitsuru, he hadn’t been the one to start the rumor about him growing up in the States—in fact, he was most likely the one who had set the record straight. That the truth had come out now was more a testament to how well Mitsuru was getting along with his classmates. The less people knew about someone, the bigger the rumors tended to get.
Something occurred to Wataru. “I wonder why he was living with his uncle for so long? Maybe something was going on with his family?” Given his current circumstances, it seemed like a rational thing to think. Maybe that was the reason Mitsuru was so odd. And why he could be scary sometimes…
“So you don’t hang with Mitsuru much?”
“Not at all,” Wataru said quickly. “We talked a few times, but…he’s weird. Kind of stuck up.”
The conversation at the shrine—he remembered having talked to Mitsuru at length, but for some odd reason he couldn’t remember a single detail of what they had said.
Memories of Vision had disappeared from Wataru’s mind. The wizard, the door, Mitsuru running—he had completely forgotten the dire warnings to stay away from the haunted building. He had even forgotten about Mitsuru’s threats. In fact, his interest in Mitsuru had waned considerably.
“Maybe he’s got issues,” Katchan said, gripping the controller. “I hear no one’s ever been over to his house to play or anything.”
Wataru picked up the second player controller. “Maybe he’s not as popular as we thought?”
“He gets along with Yutaro fine. But I don’t think he’s been over to his house, either.”
“Where do you hear all this from, Katchan?”
“Sakuma told me. He’s in with the girls in class.”
“Running-mouth Sakuma? Biggest yapper in school?”
“He wanted to get in with Mitsuru real bad when he first came to school, but Mitsuru wouldn’t give him the time of day, so he lurked in the new kid’s shadow and listened. You know, like a private eye.”
“More like a stalker.”
“I wonder what’s up with Kenji’s gang? Think they’re still after that ghost picture? Remember when they surrounded Mitsuru in the library?”
Wataru’s memory shuffled briefly, and the scene in the library on that rainy day came into focus. Those eyes fixing on Wataru through the window.
How did he get Kenji and his goons to back off, anyway?
Questions began to bubble up in Wataru’s mind like boiling water on the stove—questions he hadn’t even thought about asking until now, victims of that strange gap in his memory.
Wataru hadn’t noticed anything was missing. The grim reality of his life had risen like a shroud over his brain. When he wasn’t looking his memories had begun to slip away.
Vision was getting further away.
“Guess what? I can do the midair combo off the crimson lotus tri-kick now! Wanna see?” Katchan grinned.
“Of course I want to see! Are you kidding?”
“I kid you not, my friend. Check it out!”
The sun set while they played.
Wataru went straight to Katchan’s house after classes let out the following day. Katchan’s parents were busy getting the bar ready for the evening, and the phone on the second floor was available.
Katchan’s number worked like he said it would. When he called, Akira was at his desk. The call went right through.
Wataru took the offered receiver and put it to his ear, hearing nothing but the steady thud of his own heart that seemed to have moved up into his ear.
“Dad?”
Akira Mitani, expecting a phone call about a lost article from some loud bar, paused. Wataru listened intently to the silence.
“It’s me. Wataru.”
No answer.
“I-I’m sorry to call you at work. I didn’t know your cell phone number, and Mom wouldn’t tell me. I just…I just wanted to talk to you.”
Katchan is staring at me. He’s tugging at his ear, nervous, like he knows he shouldn’t be watching but he can’t help it. He’s worried.
“Dad…”
“This…isn’t the best place for me to talk.”
“What should I do?”
There was a pause. The office where Akira worked must be very quiet. Wataru couldn’t hear a sound.
“You don’t have anything at school this Saturday, do you?”
“Nope.”
“Then how about we meet, just you and me?”
Wataru’s heart lurched back into motion, blood surging through tingling limbs with dizzying speed.
“Okay.”
“Someplace close by is good. Remember that city library we went to, what was it, last year?”
The library was about an eight-minute bus ride away from home. Wataru’s home.
“Yeah.”
“How about there, in front of the checkout counter? Noon.”
“Exactly noon? You mean, like twelve o’clock? Okay, that should be fine.”
Akira told him his cell phone number. Wataru hastily copied it down and memorized it. It was like he had received the secret number to a padlocked cage. But what’s inside?
“Wataru…”
“Yeah, what?”
“I don’t want you to be angry with me, but, when we meet, I’d like it to be just the two of us. You see…”
“No problem,” Wataru cut him off. “I won’t tell Mom. I wanted to talk to you alone too.”
Akira said goodbye. Wataru thanked him, and held the phone to his ear until he heard the click.
“So you gonna meet him?” Katchan asked, leaning forward.
“Yeah, on Saturday.”
Wataru’s voice sounded strained and thin. For the first time, he realized he was on the verge of crying.
“Alone? What about your mom?”
“It’s just me this time. I promised.”
“Whoa,” Katchan said seriously. “I guess that’s how it’s got to go down. But hey, great! You two can talk all you want, and you can get him to answer all your questions. Who knows, sounds like it’ll probably be good.”
“Thanks, Katchan.”
“Not at all, man.” Katchan grinned. “You just come to me when you need to make things happen. Chop chop.”
Wataru was on pins and needles the whole week. Every day things flustered him to the point that his mother started asking him what was wrong, and of course he had no answer. He had even begun to worry that he might say something in his sleep and blow the whole thing.
On Saturday morning, he woke up at five o’clock. Later, when he went out, he told his mother that he was going to the library. Kuniko, not suspecting a thing, gave him ¥500 for the bus trip and some lunch. The bright morning sun shone harshly on her face as she waved goodbye. She looked older than Wataru had ever seen her before.
A washed and wrinkled curtain hung out to dry.
He arrived a full two hours early, so he walked through the open stacks, picking up books on a whim and leafing through the pages. Nothing he read stuck for longer than a passing moment; the rows of text flowed in and out of his head like water from a faucet.
Akira arrived right on time. On this day he was wearing a dark green polo shirt and white pants. His sneakers were sparkling-white new. Wataru had never seen any of these clothes before. He saw too that his father was wearing rimless glasses with small lenses. Wataru knew he was a bit nearsighted, but he’d never seen him wearing designer glasses before.
They looked good on him.
“What, you’re already here? Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
He seemed relaxed, quiet, no different from the father Wataru had always known. Gone without a trace were the poorly shaven face, the husky voice, the slumped shoulders of the night he had left.
It was amazing that it had already been two weeks since then. Wataru looked up at him, trying to put his thoughts into words and failing miserably.
His father had lost weight, though not as much as his mom. But he didn’t look—Wataru wasn’t sure if this was the exact word—quite so stretched out. Rather, he looked like someone who, as Grandma was fond of saying, had taken a swig from the fountain of youth.
That’s ridiculous.
It was almost an insult to imagine that leaving home had somehow put a spring in his father’s step. An insult to whom? To me. And Mom.
“No need to stare, Wataru. It’s me, I promise,” Akira Mitani said with a chuckle. Wataru blinked, but he still couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to say, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Mom gave me ¥500 for lunch.”
“Oh? Well that can be your secret allowance, then. I’m buying today. What’ll it be?”
Wataru couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted to eat right then. Anything’s good. We can just walk around and go anywhere. As long as I’m with you, Dad, I’m fine.
“There’s a nice breeze today, how about we go for a walk in the park? I came through there on the way here. There’s a hot dog stand.”
Wataru followed his father out of the library and toward a nearby park. They walked along a lazily meandering path until they reached a central square with a fountain. There were people sitting here and there, but luckily one bench was unoccupied.
“This’ll do,” Akira said.
The hot dog stand was in a converted van parked by the edge of the square. The proprietors were a fat, smiling couple, reminding Wataru of a pair of snowmen. He asked for two orders of hot dogs and cola, and the man recommended a side of fresh fries. Stepping closer to the van, Wataru noticed a girl—probably about preschool age—sitting in the driver’s seat of the vehicle and licking a vanilla ice cream cone. She must be their daughter.
Akira and Wataru sat next to each other on the bench and ate lunch. Wataru couldn’t care less how it tasted, but biting in, he couldn’t help but notice that it really was a delicious hot dog. Akira seemed impressed too. He said he wished there was a vending truck like this near his office. “It’s hard to find a good place for lunch.”
Wataru remembered there was a time, many years ago, when his father used to bring a lunch to work from home. Later, his division had changed, and he started having more meetings with clients, so he stopped taking a bag lunch.
His father asked him questions in an easy tone. How was school going? How’s Katchan doing? Were you happy with your grades from the first semester?
Wataru found himself slipping into a peaceful, familiar rhythm. For a brief moment, nothing was wrong at home. They were just here on a pleasant walk. Back home, Mom was doing the laundry, hanging out the sheets, polishing Dad’s shoes, ironing Dad’s T-shirts…
The conversation died, and they sat side by side in silence. The fountain splashed noisily in the middle of the square.
“Where did you get those glasses, Dad?” Wataru asked. He knew there was a conversation he should be having right now, questions he needed to ask, but they were all locked up tight in a dark room, and he couldn’t find the way inside.
Akira pushed the glasses higher up his nose. “They look funny?”
“No, they look good.” A question brushed by the corner of Wataru’s mind. Did she pick them out for you, Dad? Wataru let it slide, and it drifted off into space, unspoken. “They look good, but you kind of look like a different person. When I first saw you, at least.”
“Hmm. Yes, I suppose I do,” Akira said, pushing up his glasses again. “I’m not, of course. I’m the same as always.”
“Dad?”
“Mmm?”
“Are you never coming home?”
An impossible question to ask. Is that why it had come so easily?
Akira looked at Wataru through the tiny lenses and then slowly lowered his gaze. Drops of ketchup from his hotdog splattered on the ground, just barely missing his shoes.
“Mom said that if we waited, you’d come home. That there was nothing to worry about.”
The park around the hot dog stand was lively with customers. The benches were packed. Children much younger than Wataru were playing in the fountain, splashing water on each other and laughing. The droplets caught the light and shimmered as they fell to the cobblestones.
“So, is she right? Is that what I’m supposed to do?”
Akira took off his glasses, set them on one knee, and slowly rubbed his face with both hands. He looked at Wataru. “I’ll always be your father.”
The five words ricocheted off Wataru’s heart like skipping stones on water. “That’s not what I asked. You know that’s not what I asked.” And Mom thinks you’re a coward for saying that, he thought, but he kept his mouth shut.
Akira turned his eyes toward the fountain, passing over the happy-looking couples and children. For a while he just sat, quietly, as though stupefied.
Then he put his glasses back on and turned back to face Wataru. It was as though he had been on break when he took them off. Now they were on, it was time to go to work.
“If by coming home you mean living with your mother again, then no, I won’t. You were right, Wataru. I’m never coming home.”
The floor dropped out from beneath Wataru. He reeled. He had asked the question and gotten the answer he expected, and yet he wasn’t prepared for the crushing weight of it. Everything—his hope, his father’s answer, his soul—went spinning down into a deep, black abyss.
“Remember what I said that night? I struggled with my decision a long time, but now that I’ve made it, I intend to see it through. I won’t be coming home. If there were the slightest chance of that, I wouldn’t have left in the first place. I know how hard this is, how deep it must have hurt you and your mother.”
Then why?
“You’re a smart kid, I should never have tried to talk around it. I should have told you straight from the very beginning. That was my mistake.” Akira continued talking, softly yet steadily. “I knew that no matter what I said you’d be sad, and maybe it was too early for you to even understand…That’s why I tried to leave without saying anything. I figured even if that made you hate or resent me, well, I would only be getting what I deserved. I was ready for that. I’m ready for it now. No matter how much you may hate me, Wataru, I won’t make excuses.”
There was nothing Wataru could say. As always, his father was being totally logical.
“Even if you came to hate me and say I wasn’t your dad, I would accept that. It’s what I deserve, I guess. But Wataru, know this: I will always be your father. That’s my responsibility, and, it’s the only thing I can offer you now.”
Wataru’s brain went into a tailspin. He thought he had understood his father’s answer, but now the meaning of it had somehow slipped out of his grasp and was gone to who knows where. Maybe it had already hit the ground, beating him to the final impact.
He was still falling, and he was alone, plummeting down a lightless shaft, down, down, the wind whistling past his ears. Far above him, the shaft entrance grew smaller and smaller, and his father, standing at the edge, was already a tiny speck.
“Of course I’ll pay for your education. And I’ll do what I can to help you and your mother meet expenses. Once I can talk to your mother more officially, I intend to do everything I can to make things easy for her. You can live in that apartment. That belongs to you and your mother now. Everything is taken care of.”
Dad’s talking about money. Right. Money’s important.
“Dad…so, you don’t like me and Mom anymore?”
Akira shook his head. “That’s not it. The way I think about you and the way I think about her are two completely different things.”
“Why? You’re my dad and my mom. We’re a family, aren’t we?”
“Families are…a group of individuals, Wataru. They can live entirely different lives, and sometimes the paths they take lead away from each other.”
“You’re living with another woman now, aren’t you? You like her more, right? That’s why you abandoned us, right?” Somewhere along the line, Wataru had gone from asking to accusing.
Akira’s eyes grew larger behind the rimless glasses. His mouth gaped. “Who told you that?”
“What does it matter who told me?”
“It matters to me. It’s not something you should have to hear. It’s not something I wanted you to hear.”
“But if it’s true, I want to know about it. I don’t like lies. You were the one who told me lying is bad, Dad!”
Wataru’s voice had grown louder and louder as he talked. They were catching glances from the people on nearby benches. A young couple pushing a stroller nearby stopped in their tracks.
Akira reached out a hand and affectionately stroked Wataru’s back. Don’t touch me. He had to clench both his hands into fists to stop himself from swatting away his father’s hand.
“Lies are bad, that’s true,” Akira said in a low, husky voice. “But twisting the truth and not saying something that’s private are two different things. You should understand that. You do understand, don’t you? You’re a smart kid.”
Who cares if I’m smart? Why are you always trying to change the subject?
“Satoru told you, didn’t he?”
Wataru was silent.
“Your grandmother? Not your mother, surely.”
Wataru jerked his head upward. “I won’t tell you unless you tell me if it’s true or not.”
Akira sighed.
The usual bustle had returned to the fountain square. All these people have no idea what we’re talking about. Everyone in the world is happy. Everyone except us.
“It is true,” Akira said.
The words shot by Wataru, still falling, and disappeared above him. They weren’t falling—he had fallen by them. Now he saw they had grown wings, and were flying up into the sky, happy.
“I’m going to start a new life with this woman. If your mother agrees to a divorce, I intend to marry her.”
The rumble of tank treads sounded in Wataru’s fears. “Grandma’s pretty mad. She’ll never go for it.”
To Wataru’s surprise, Akira laughed. “Of course she won’t. One phone call was enough to convince me of that. She told me I wasn’t a father anymore—or her son. Your grandmother disowned me.”
“Disowned? What’s that?”
“That means we officially stop being a parent and child.”
“So you’re not Grandma’s son anymore? And Uncle Lou…does this make him not my uncle anymore?”
Akira’s mouth curled into a grim smile. “No, Grandma didn’t really disown me. But she was mad enough to say she would.”
“And Grandma being so mad doesn’t make you think twice about your decision? Do you think you’re doing the right thing?”
Akira looked into Wataru’s eyes. “Do you think it’s the right thing to abandon your convictions because someone close to you gets angry?”
“Abandon your convictions? You mean change your mind?”
“Yes, that’s right. Convictions are very important decisions, the kind you can’t go back on.”
So abandoning me and Mom was an important decision.
“So what are your convictions, Dad. I mean, Mom is really sad, and Grandma’s furious, and all Uncle Lou does is hold his head in his hands and moan. How can convictions be worth all that?”
An elderly couple eating ice cream on the bench next to them had caught a snippet of the conversation and were now peering at them with interest. Akira shot them a withering glare. The two looked at each other and resumed licking their cones.
“What are my convictions?” Akira echoed. “You need to know?”
“Yeah,” Wataru said firmly, but inside he was frightened. He had backed his father into this and now he was treading on unknown territory. He was trying to open a door that shouldn’t be opened. If only there were a strategy guide for this, like for a role-playing game. A powerful, secret boss lies in wait behind this door. If you’re under level fifty, it’s best to sneak past.
“Your father’s conviction,” Akira said slowly, “is that you only live once.”
You only live once.
“That’s why, if you think you’ve made a mistake, no matter how much you struggle, how much difficulty you face, you have to fix what can be fixed. There’s no time for regrets.”
He spoke slowly, saying every word with the proper weight, but the only one that stuck in Wataru’s head was mistake.
Dad’s life was a mistake.
So…what does that make me?
“Are you saying it was a mistake for you to marry Mom? So what about me? Does that make me a mistake too? Is that what you mean?”
Akira shook his head. “No that’s not what I mean. I’m not saying that.”
“Then what was your mistake? I don’t get it.”
“Look, this isn’t something you can understand right now. Maybe when you’re older, when you’ve lived through some of the things I have. Maybe then you’ll understand. Though I’m not sure understanding will make you happy.”
Wataru was getting lost in a maze that grew more and more complicated with every word said. His father’s explanations always made so much sense. Even when things seemed tangled beyond belief, his father would untangle them, and lay them out flat for all to see.
But this time it was exactly the opposite. Things were simple. Dad left Mom, he left me—he left our house. He wants to marry another woman. It’s that simple. So why does the explanation seem so complicated?
Akira reached out a hand and lightly held Wataru’s shoulder. Rocking him slowly back and forth, he spoke. “There’s one thing I want you to remember. No matter what mistakes your mother and I have made, no matter what our failures, it has nothing to do with you. You are your own person. Haven’t I always told you that? A child has his own personality; he’s not just an attachment to his parents. Even if our marriage has failed, it doesn’t mean you’re a failure. That’s the truth. Never forget it.”
Akira’s brow furrowed. “If you lift your head and look our marriage in the face, you will see it for what it is. Failures are failures. Ours was a mistake from the very beginning. We were just kidding ourselves the whole time.”
Mom always kept the house clean. She always made dinner. She hardly ever slept late. She fought with Grandma sometimes, but they always made up afterward.
“Mom hasn’t done anything bad. She didn’t make a mistake,” Wataru muttered. Then he noticed that amazingly, incredibly, his father’s calm demeanor had faded and was replaced by a look of outright irritation. When he spoke the words came in a rush, like he was trying to push something back down in its place by sheer force.
“Failure doesn’t mean anyone did anything bad. Sometimes people fail even when they only do good things. Or they do what they think is good. Only with hindsight can anyone understand the failures they experience.”
The lady on the next bench over had stopped licking her ice cream to stare at them. She was oblivious to the melting rivulet of vanilla coursing off the edge of her cone and staining her skirt.
The old man grunted and nudged her with his elbow. “You’re dripping.”
Flustered, the woman brushed at her skirt. Wataru watched the scene unfold blankly. You can hear what we’re saying, can’t you? Do you understand? Could you translate for me? What is my father trying to say?
“I don’t understand,” Wataru said meekly, to which Akira nodded.
“I didn’t think you would. You don’t have to. This was my mistake…and I think meeting you today was a mistake too. I can’t explain it so you’ll understand, I’m just hurting you. See? That’s what I mean.”
“That’s what I mean” was his father’s code for “this conversation is over.” How many times had his questions about everything under the sun been answered, tips been given, advice handed out with those words.
A sigh came out unbidden. He felt like he had been holding his breath this whole time. Like he had swum the length of an Olympic-size pool underwater and only just now reached the edge, his lungs burning.
He breathed, and the reality of it hit him. Then, just like that, the thing he had been thinking from the very beginning came welling up and popped out of his mouth. “So basically, you just like this other woman more than Mom. That’s what this is all about, right?”
His father did not answer. Brow furrowed, he tapped his glasses with a finger and looked down at the ground.
Spray from the fountain fell lightly on Wataru’s forehead.
“If that’s what you want to think, fine. Think that,” Akira said. He stood up to leave. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”
“No, that’s okay. I want to stay here awhile.”
“Don’t sulk, Wataru.”
“I’m not sulking. I just want to go to the library.”
“I can’t leave you here alone after all we’ve talked about.”
“I’m fine. I can make it home myself.”
Just go home, Dad. I’ll be fine. Just go back to your woman. The one who isn’t a mistake.
Wataru didn’t meet his father’s gaze again that day.
Akira stood quietly in front of the hard bench where Wataru sat staring at the ground in uneasy silence.
The wind is blowing water from the fountain and it’s cold. I can hear a girl laughing. I hear a baby crying.
“Wataru…This idea to meet me—was this your idea alone?”
“Katchan helped me.”
“That’s not what I mean. Um, did you come up with the idea yourself?”
Wataru looked up. Funny, he looks scared. “What do you mean?”
Akira’s lips curled, as he searched for the proper words. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked away. “Did your mother send you here to do this?”
Wataru didn’t catch what he said. “Huh?”
“Did your mother tell you to meet with me and ask me to come home?”
Wataru’s mouth gaped open. “No, not at all.”
“Okay.” Akira nodded, still frowning. “That’s fine. If your mother had put you up to this…if she was trying to use you, that would be bad. You understand? I just wanted to make sure.”
“Mom wouldn’t do that.” She wants me to pretend you’re on a business trip. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”
Akira’s shoulders relaxed. He seemed relieved.
“It’s the truth, Dad.”
“Right, I understand. Well, I’m going now. You take care of yourself, and go straight home.” He began to walk off, then paused. “Call me on my cell phone anytime. If you want to talk, just call. Even if it’s just about homework. Anything.”
Wataru sat alone, staring off into space when he heard a tiny voice. He was too tired to actually focus on it, to hear what it was saying.
“Sonny?”
He felt a light tap on his shoulder and looked up to see the old lady who had been sitting on the bench next to him. He saw the dark stains of the ice cream in the fabric of her skirt. She was plump, and bent over to the point where she was only about as tall as Wataru. She crouched by the bench and smiled a faint smile. “Where do you live, sonny?”
Wataru was empty. An old shopping bag turned upside down. His voice had fallen out a long time ago to clatter on the floor.
“We could take you home?” she offered.
Behind her Wataru could see her husband sitting on the bench, frowning. Then Wataru’s mouth opened, and the sound that came out was alien to him, flat, like a synthesized voice.
“No, I’m going to the library.”
“You sure, sonny? You live far from here?”
Wataru repeated himself, then stood.
“Leave him alone,” the old man said to his wife. “He can take care of himself.”
The lady grabbed her husband’s shirt by the sleeve. “But aren’t you worried?” Wataru heard her saying. “He’s so young…”
He left them and began to walk toward the library building. “Oh, sonny!” the old lady called out. “How about some ice cream?”
He could hear her husband scolding her, but their voices were already fading into the distance as he walked away. All but one sentence he heard as clearly as if the old man had been talking right in his ear.
“I knew there were irresponsible fathers in the world, but that was my first time seeing one.”
The old woman grumbled something about men, but Wataru was already too far away.
He wasn’t falling anymore. He had gone down as far as he could go, and now he had hit rock bottom. He was so far down he didn’t know where he was.