“Hey there! You’re here two days in a row!”
My father greeted me with a bright smile from the kitchen sink, where he had pulled his arms from his yukata robe sleeves to wipe himself down with a cool washcloth.
“I hope you’re not taking after your father and neglecting your work,” my mother chided as she busily reorganized the futon closet.
“I brought half a watermelon,” I said, setting the plastic grocery bag on the kitchen floor. “I thought a whole one would probably be too much.”
“Better get it in the fridge,” my father said.
“It’s already chilled,” I said as I stepped out of my shoes. “They had them on ice.”
“In that case, maybe we should eat it right away.” My mother got to her feet and came into the kitchen.
“In that case we should most definitely eat it right away,” my father said, pushing his arms back through his yukata as he slipped past my mother into the other room. “Ahh, watermelon—good call!”
“Quite a heat wave we’re having,” my mother said as she turned the faucet to wash her hands. “I think I’m getting a rash around my neck.”
“Yo, don’t just stand there, Hideo. Take your shirt off. Make yourself comfortable,” my father called.
“I thought maybe we could eat out tonight. What do you think?” I said as I went to join him.
“Out?” my mother turned to look at me.
“I don’t think we ever had sukiyaki at a restaurant,” I said.
“No way we could afford anything like that back then,” my father said. He was adjusting the position of the fan after setting it to oscillate.
“That’s why I was hoping you’d let me take you out tonight,” I said.
“Instead of eating here?” I discerned a note of tension in my mother’s voice. My father had stopped what he was doing.
“Would you rather we just ate here?” I asked, already preparing to withdraw the proposal, but my father seemed to be warming to the idea.
“Not really,” he said.
“But, dear,” my mother objected, standing stiff and motionless in the kitchen.
My father and I had gone up the street a ways to play catch the other day, and I’d assumed that going a little farther afield to a sukiyaki place down by Kaminarimon Gate wouldn’t be a problem either. But they were reacting as if I’d asked them to cross a daunting barrier.
“Let’s forget it then. It was just a thought.”
I didn’t really want to say good-bye at the apartment. I figured it would be easier to broach the subject somewhere like the main dining room of a sukiyaki restaurant, for example, where we would be surrounded by crowds of other customers and wait staff. But I’d trash the plan if it was inconvenient for my parents.
“It’s not exactly the season for sukiyaki anyway,” my father said. “We can eat something here.”
“Yes, let’s do that,” I agreed. “I just thought it might be fun to have a festive hot-pot feast together—that’s all.”
“I don’t know about doing a hot-pot here, without air conditioning,” my mother said.
“No, you’re right. Really. Let’s forget it. I’m sorry I even brought it up.”
“Don’t just stand there. Hurry up and cut the watermelon,” my father scolded Mom. My suggestion had thrown cold water on what had started out as a perfectly cheerful occasion. I realized how fragile our tranquil little world actually was.
Today, however, I could not let that sway me. I had to break the news to them, no matter how severe the blow.
“I felt like coming back so soon.”
“Sure, why not?” my father said. “Come as often as you like.”
“Of course,” my mother concurred.
“How about a round of cards?” my father asked.
“All right,” I replied. “But let’s have our watermelon first.”
Part of me feared that my mother and father might turn into grotesque monsters and begin assailing me viciously the moment I declared I could not come again. I shrank from that prospect, and yet I also believed that if such a thing did occur, they would regard it with the same horror as I did; it would not be anything they had willed to happen.
We finished our watermelon and got out the cards.
My mother quickly shed the shadow that had come over her earlier and played her usual mean hand.
Four o’clock came, then five o’clock.
I kept thinking I needed to call a halt, but they both seemed to be enjoying the game so much I couldn’t bear to. Evening twilight began to creep into the room.
Suddenly, I broke out in a cold sweat. I had to speak up while it was still light. My courage might fail me once darkness fell, and I simply could not leave Asakusa today without saying my last good-byes.
“I guess we could use some light,” my father said, standing up to reach for the pull switch. “What time is it, anyway?”
“It’s a little after six,” my mother replied.
Light filled the room, and the twilight glow disappeared from the window.
“I’d better go do some shopping for dinner,” my mother said.
“It’s kinda late to be thinking of that now, don’t you think? Just throw something together from yesterday’s leftovers.”
“That’s all gone. We had it for lunch, remember? Except for some fermented soybeans.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t serve Hideo a dinner like that.”
“Dad,” I said. “Mom.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll have dinner for you in a jiffy. I’ll figure something out while you and your dad have some beer.”
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Something to tell us?”
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry. Is it okay? Is now a good time?”
“Can’t say it’s particularly good, but shoot.”
I uncrossed my legs and shifted to a formal kneeling position, then lowered my head in a deep bow.
“Is something wrong?” My mother seemed concerned.
“What’s this about?” my father said, as he, too, dropped to his knees.
“I won’t be able to visit you anymore after today.”
“Why not, dear?”
“Whadda ya mean?”
Their voices rose in unbelieving protest, as though I’d said something sadly absurd. As I had suspected, they knew nothing of my enfeeblement.
“I’ve really loved coming here, and you can’t imagine how happy it’s made me to see you again. So in some ways I’d like to keep coming even if it does kill me.”
“Kill you? What’re you talking about?”
“Yes, dear. What makes you say a thing like that?”
I recounted for them what my producer and Mamiya had said about my health, and described the wasted figure I had seen in the mirror.
I left Kei out. This required a certain amount of fabrication, but it seemed the safer course to follow. Even if my parents showed no ill will toward her, someone perceived as trying to separate me from them could potentially suffer retribution from unknown powers in the world of the dead. Of course, I was far from certain that saying nothing about Kei would protect her, but my mother and father did appear to be buying my story.
As I finished my narrative, I once again bowed deeply in apology, my palms on the floor.
Neither of them said a word.
Cards remained scattered on the cushion we had been using as our playing surface.
I could not lift my head. I had a chilling feeling that my mother and father had already taken on a terrifying new aspect and were poised to pounce on me. My entire body shook.
But my fears were unwarranted.
“I see,” my father said gently.
“I have to admit,” my mother sighed, her voice filled with sadness, “I had a feeling this couldn’t go on forever.”
I still could not bring myself to lift my head. I wanted to simply evaporate into nothingness.
“What can’t be helped can’t be helped,” my father sighed.
“That’s right,” my mother said. “But brief as it was, we can’t tell you how happy we were to have you with us.”
“Whadda ya say we go after all?” my father suddenly perked up.
“Excuse me?” I lifted my head in surprise at the change in his tone.
“You know, for sukiyaki. Who cares if it’s the middle of the summer? If we go to a restaurant, we can stuff ourselves with sukiyaki in air-conditioned comfort.”
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I asked.
“Of course it’s okay,” my mother said, choking back a sob. “We’re saying good-bye, aren’t we? Of course it’s okay.”
*
In the deepening dusk, the three of us made our way along the sidewalk toward Kaminarimon Gate. After crossing International Avenue we passed a lamprey eel shop where an attendant was grilling skewered livers out front.
“Let’s each have one of those,” my father said, halting his steps.
Hearing him speak made me realize none of us had uttered a word since leaving the apartment.
“Sounds good to me,” I said, putting a little extra bounce in my voice.
“Three please,” my father said to the attendant.
“But we’re on our way for sukiyaki,” my mother protested. She still sounded a little choked up.
“Don’t be a spoilsport. This boy needs all the nourishment he can get. You know that.”
“You’re gonna love it, Mom,” I said, handing her a skewer.
“Thank you, dear.”
We all fell silent again as we continued along the sidewalk eating.
As if to disperse the gloom, my father suddenly said “Say!” and halted his steps again.
“What?” I said, putting on the most cheerful face I could muster.
“They were selling figurine cakes back there. How about we get ourselves a bag?”
“Sure. You guys keep walking. I’ll catch up in a minute.”
I retraced my steps to buy a bag of the small cakes shaped like the Sensoji temple and the seven deities of good fortune and such. As I waited for my change, I turned to see how far my parents had gone and found them waiting for me exactly where I’d left them. Making a purchase while my thirty-something parents watched made me feel like I was a kid in junior high.
That’s right, I realized. For my parents, to part with me was also to part with Asakusa. Today they were bidding adieu to their beloved hometown too. My father wanted the cakes because he was trying to make the most of his last trip down memory lane.
I hurried to rejoin my parents. “Dad,” I said as I trotted up, “the hard-baked rice crackers at the place on Sushi Shop Alley!”
“Sounds great!”
“It’ll only take a minute, Mom,” I said, and dashed off.
I found the shop up a short alley in the direction of the movie district, but the crackers I wanted were sold out for the day. A fine time for them to be sold out!
When I ran back, my parents looked rather forlorn standing amidst the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk.
“They were all sold out,” I said. “It sucks.” I was pushing fifty, but I griped like a kid in junior high.
“Oh, well,” my father shrugged it off, trying to sound cheerful to cover up his disappointment.
My mother simply stood gazing at me.
“Shall we go on up to the temple and offer a prayer to the Goddess of Mercy before we have dinner?” I asked. “We can munch on our little cakes while we browse the shops along the way.”
“I really wish we could,” my father said, obviously unhappy that he had to turn the suggestion down. “I really wish we could, but we’re not at liberty to do just anything we please.”
“Yes, wouldn’t it be nice if we could?” my mother said, tears spilling from her eyes. Her shoulders sagged so, it was hard to believe she was the same person who’d played cards with such animation only an hour ago. I literally had to swallow the words that tried to leap off my tongue: Forget it, forget it. Forget what I said about this being my last visit. I’ll come again, Mom. I will.
That was what I longed to say but didn’t.
When my father asked if we should be going, I answered, “Yes! Let’s go and have ourselves some sukiyaki. Let’s make it a real feast.”
*
“Come right in!” the seventyish shoe-check woman welcomed us in a deep, resonant voice as we entered.
“We’d like a table for three,” I said.
“Yes sir,” she said, then called out, “Seating for a party of three, please.”
“Coming,” we heard from inside, and moments later a plump, fair-skinned waitress who looked to be in her forties came shuffling out to greet us.
“Welcome,” she said, “Right this way, please.”
*
Rows of low tables outfitted with built-in gas burners filled a large hall. Decorative screens about a meter tall surrounded each table on three sides, providing privacy for the diners.
There were plenty of open tables. At a quick glance, I guessed fewer than half the cubicles had steam rising from them.
This is just about perfect, I thought. A house so full that the drunken revelers next door might come crashing through the screens was fine in the winter, but a crowded hall in the summer would seem too close even with air conditioning.
The waitress led us to a table against the back wall, and I sat down facing my parents. We ordered some beer along with the most expensive sukiyaki dinner for three.
“And we’ll be ordering lots more meat and vegetables as we go,” I added.
“Just let me know when,” the waitress said. “I’ll be right back with the beer.” As she rose from her knees, I noticed perspiration dotting her forehead.
“You didn’t really need to say that,” my mother said dispiritedly.
“Don’t make a fuss,” my father said to her, annoyed. “Just don’t make a fuss.”
“But what’ll we do with so much food?”
“Nobody said you had to eat it. Don’t forget, this boy’s been wasting away a little more with every visit. We may not be able to see it, but he’s really worn out.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop giving him a hard time when he’s only trying to build up his strength.”
“Never mind me,” I said. “I want you guys to eat to your heart’s content.”
“Stop talking like you’re in an honor-your-parents civics class,” my father snapped. “Look, I can’t say this very loud, but eating piles of thin-sliced beef ain’t gonna put meat on a dead man’s bones. The figurine cakes were plenty for me.”
“But you can still savor it for its taste, right?”
“Sure, I’ll love every bite.”
“Then I say let’s all eat up.”
“Well hey, I suppose we may as well. It’s only while we’re with you that we can eat.”
The beer arrived.
“Say, sis,” my father said to the waitress. “What would you say we look like here?”
“Husband and wife, I imagine.”
“Oh, right, that goes without saying. But I didn’t mean us, I meant him. What’s his connection?”
“One of your regulars, maybe?”
“Whadda ya mean, regulars?”
“Well, like, maybe you’re a chef or something in a restaurant.”
“Whoa! You’ve got quite an eye.”
“And he’s one of your regular customers, invited you out to dinner today.”
“Bingo!”
The waitress laughed and went away.
“This isn’t the time to be playing games with a waitress,” my mother said, looking quite miserable.
“Look who’s talking. Here I am, doing my level best to liven up the party, and you just keep throwing cold water on everything.”
“How can you sit there acting so gay?”
“Let’s let it rest, Mom,” I said. “There’s no reason you should have to force yourself to be cheerful, but I can understand how Dad feels, too, so how about we put away the barbs and drink up.”
Lifting a bottle from the table, I filled their glasses with beer.
“No one would ever guess you were our son,” my father said with a forlorn smile as he poured for me. “Strange things do happen.”
I didn’t think “Cheers!” would quite fit the occasion, and any other toast I offered would probably put my mother in tears, so I just raised my glass and said, “Well, then,” and we all took our first draft.
The waitress returned. She placed a sukiyaki pan on the burner in the middle of the table and greased it, then began preparing the sukiyaki.
“Let me tell you a little something about this kid,” my father said to the waitress.
“My goodness! Are you sure you wanna call him that?”
“Oops, you’re right.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I said. “I like it when he does that.”
“He lost his parents when he was twelve, you see.”
“I’m so sorry!”
“And after that he went through some pretty tough times. But he made good. He really made good. He’s got a lot to be proud of.”
“So you had to fend for yourself from when you were little?” the waitress looked my way.
“Not at all,” I said. “First my grandfather took me in, and after he was gone my aunt and uncle looked after me.”
“But still, he was basically on his own most of the time,” my father insisted. “He had to make everything happen for himself. And look at him. He’s a big success. He can come to a place like this and order up all the beef he wants.”
“Goodness sakes, you’re not drunk already, are you?” the waitress exclaimed, surprised by my father’s fervor.
“Thank you, that’ll be fine,” my mother said. The sudden cheer in her voice nearly made me jump. When I turned to look at her, she went on speaking to the waitress with a bright smile. “I can handle the rest. We’ll let you know if we need more of anything.”
“Oh, thank you,” the waitress said without missing a beat. “We’re actually a little shorthanded right now because two of our young people went back home for the Bon festival and never came back.” She bowed politely and withdrew.
My father pointed after her with his chin. “Be sure to drop a bill on her on the way out,” he said.
“All right,” I said.
“They don’t do that anymore, dear. That’s American.”
“Sure they do. Some people still like to show their appreciation, you know. One small bill is all it takes. A hundred yen. No, no, they don’t even make hundred yen bills anymore. The small bill these days is a thousand. I can’t believe it! A thousand yen for a tip. Man! Such fine times you live in, Hideo! What’s the world coming to?”
“Maybe I don’t need to say this after all this time, but—” my mother spoke up again, gazing straight at me.
“Don’t bet on it,” my father interjected as he poked at the simmering food in the pan with his chopsticks. “If you’ve got anything you want to tell him, now’s the time to do it.”
“I still can’t believe you’re forty-eight years old!”
“I know what you mean,” I nodded. “For my part, I was thrilled to see you so young and pretty.”
“Says a son to his own mother?” My father looked a little embarrassed. Perhaps I would not have paid my mother such a commonplace compliment had I been my father’s age. But at the moment I felt as though the commonplace was exactly what the situation demanded. It seemed the best way to convey my feelings.
“I can’t get over how you managed all by yourself for thirty-six years,” my mother said.
“Don’t forget, he did have a wife for a good while,” my father pointed out.
“I guess children find a way to muddle through one way or another even when their parents aren’t there.”
“If their parents aren’t there, they haven’t really got a choice, do they?”
“Will you shut up just for a minute, dear?”
“What’re you talking to me like that for?”
“Don’t you realize? There’s too little time left for you to be wisecracking.” My mother’s voice suddenly began to tremble. She seemed on the verge of tears.
“What do you mean, too little time?” I said, looking from my mother to my father. “Are you in some kind of a hurry?”
“Yes, we need to hurry,” my mother said, tears now spilling from her eyes. “That’s why I sent the waitress away.”
I turned back to my father, who looked as though he’d taken a slap in the face.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head in vehement denial. But the look on his face told me otherwise.
“Now listen,” my mother said, shifting in her seat to a more formal position. “I’m feeling pressed and can’t say it very well, but we both care about you so much.”
“You’re not leaving already, are you?”
I had a feeling that they were.
“It was really good meeting you again,” my father said. “You’re a fine son.”
“Yes, you are a fine son.”
“No I’m not,” I protested. “I’m nothing like the man you two seem to think I am. I failed as a husband, and I wasn’t much of a father, either. You two are fine folk—not me. You’re warm, so warm I was surprised. Everyone should have parents like you, my son included. And though I’ve played the devoted son with you, there’s no telling how I might have treated you if you’d lived all these years. My career? I’ve never produced anything truly great. I’m just a hack competing for—”
I broke off mid-sentence.
Something was happening to my mother. I could see the shape of her shoulders clearly enough, but I realized I could also see right through them.
Stunned, I turned to look at my father. His shoulders and torso were beginning to fade as well.
This was what my mother meant. This was how they were going to leave me. The shock was so great that I just sat there, unable to speak.
“It’s all right, son,” my father said. “Don’t say another word.”
“We’re so proud of you,” my mother said.
“So proud,” my father echoed. “Do us a favor and stop being so hard on yourself. A man’s gotta stand up for himself, you know. No one else is gonna do it.”
“Please don’t go,” I pleaded, my voice suddenly like a small child’s.
“Looks like that’s not for us to decide,” my father said. “I was hoping we’d have at least a little more time …”
“No!”
“Take good care of yourself.”
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever see you again.”
My father’s shoulders had disappeared, and my mother’s face was growing dim. I knew I could do nothing to stop it. I dared not look away. My father was about to go.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you! Thank you Mom and Dad!” My voice was hushed. The last thing I needed now was the attention of the waitress or the other guests.
“Good-bye,” my mother said. I could hardly see her.
“So long,” my father said. I couldn’t see him at all.
I was too devastated even to cry.
“Good-bye,” I murmured.
So quickly, my mother and father vanished without a trace, leaving behind only their chopsticks and sukiyaki bowls and half-empty glasses of beer, a bag of figurine cakes, a soiled table, and two wrinkled cushions.
A cloud of steam rose over the simmering sukiyaki in the pan.
“But you hardly ate,” I moaned in protest. “Hardly a bite.”
Suddenly I felt exhausted.
I ached to let my head sink to the table, but I propped my elbows in front of me and cupped my face in my hands.
“Oh,” I heard the waitress say. “I hope they found the restrooms all right.”
“They left.”
I lowered my hands but kept my face averted. I had to assume I looked even worse now than before, and I didn’t want to frighten her.
“They both left?”
She obviously thought something had gone wrong. What else could she think? The meal remained virtually untouched.
“Please bring me the check,” I said.
“You’re not going to eat?”
“No.”
“I must apologize. I’m afraid I didn’t even notice them getting up to go,” she said. “Well, I’ll be right back with your bill, then. Shall I turn the burner off?”
“Yes, please.”
“What in the world happened? They seemed to be enjoying themselves.”
I could not hide my distress from her. The waitress turned off the gas and left to tally up our bill.
I had no time to be crying. I wanted something to remember them by. Their chopsticks. Desperately clawing my way through the leaden shroud of fatigue, I gathered up the two pairs of chopsticks they had used. Then I drew a handkerchief from my pocket and concentrated all my strength on carefully wrapping them up.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” the waitress said, returning with the bill.
It took an enormous effort to find the total, take out my wallet, and count out the correct number of bills.
“Are you feeling unwell?” the waitress asked, her voice quivering. She had obviously noticed my wasted countenance.
“Here.” I handed her the money, and she promptly headed back to the cashier’s station.
Slowly, I rose to my feet. After taking four or five steps down the aisle toward the main hallway, I turned for one last look. Our table sat there like an empty cicada shell, desolate.
I thought maybe I should take the figurine cakes, too, but I didn’t have the strength to return for them.
When I reached the hallway, I waited for the waitress to come back with my change. As my father had instructed, I gave her a ¥1,000 note and some small change as a tip.
“Customer departing. Number twenty-three,” she called out to the shoe-check lady as I proceeded toward the entrance foyer.
I wondered if my parents’ shoes would still be with mine, but they had disappeared. The elderly shoe-check lady retrieved my lone pair of shoes and set them out for me with no sign that anything was amiss.
“Please come again!” she said in the deep voice I remembered from when we arrived. She had no way of knowing what I’d just been through.