It was not until he felt Katsumi tugging his hand that Hiroyuki realized that his son was standing by his right side.
Dad, the boy appealed in a trembling voice. He had apparently been calling for some time now, but his father had been too wound up to notice.
Hiroyuki saw that his excuse for a fight was being snatched from under his nose. What, he said, forcefully shaking off his sons hand.
Im all right. Im fine
Katsumi tugged at his fathers hand again, trying to get him to step back. He was telling his father to let things be and just go home, to stop taking his anger out on other people.
Youre fine? Then what was that face back there?
Hiroyukis anger had found a different target. Their gloved hands now dangling at their side, the boy and the father whod been playing catch remained motionless, waiting to see which way things would go. The muzzle of Hiroyukis anger was now directed at someone else. Their anxious looks revealed that they still saw this as no reason to feel relieved.
Im sorry, Dad, Katsumi apologized to his father, his face creasing up, on the verge of tears.
Fool, dont apologize so easy! Hiroyukis hand rose.
The moment his fathers eyes changed colour rarely escaped Katsumi. Immediately before an eruption of anger, his fathers eyes would go from black to white, with the black part suddenly rolling up. Katsumi instinctively squeezed his eyes shut and covered his head with his hands.
When hitting his son failed to assuage his anger, Hiroyuki started kicking him around on the sand.
His tear-sodden face thick with sand, the boy kept on apologizing, Im sorry, Dad. Im sorry. Where had his son learned to beg for mercy in such a craven, pathetic, snivelling way? It was enough to drive Hiroyuki insane with anger.
The eruption did not last long. Hiroyuki suddenly reined in his hands and reached out to pull the boy up to his feet. It wasnt that he was concerned that others were looking at them. It was simply that a passing storm had convulsed his frame and blown itself out in an instant. Once the storm had passed, he didnt even remember what had caused his anger in the first place. It had been a ludicrous sequence: baseball hits son in ribs, son exhibits a painful expression, father sets out to get even with the culprits who threw the ball, son suddenly claims theres nothing wrong, hence father gives son something real to cry about. Hiroyuki was at a loss to describe the absurdity of it in words. He slowly shook his bowed head and muttered to himself.
Im beginning to be like pop.
His son sobbing convulsively before him reminded him of himself at that age. He had been exactly the same. As the one wielding angry fists now, hed become the spitting image of his father. Realizing this made him no more capable of altering what he had become. Knowing where the violence in his veins originated didnt help him resist the impulse. The mass of emotion just surged up to shake him.
Im beginning to be like pop.
His son sobbing convulsively before him reminded him of himself at that age. He had been exactly the same. As the one wielding angry fists now, hed become the spitting image of his father. Realizing this made him no more capable of altering what he had become. Knowing where the violence in his veins originated didnt help him resist the impulse. The mass of emotion just surged up to shake him.
He lifted his gaze to discover that the father and son who had been playing catch were gone. The city types that filled the beach always had the fanciest equipment. The ball and gloves had certainly been nothing more than just another fancy possession. Having lost their interest in playing catch, they must have returned to their car to find other fancy things to play with.
He lightly cuffed his sons head as they made their way along the beach towards the park. Though they had more time to spare than they knew what to do with, he felt strangely tense, almost afraid.
Stupid bitch! he said out loud.
His wifes absence was at the root of his uncontrollable vexation. Every aspect of the scenery struck him as detestable. Normally so pleasant, the sound of the waves now jarred his nerves.
Where can that stupid bitch be?
Most Futtsu fishermen did not work on Saturdays because the market was closed on Sundays. It was their only day off. He had awoken that morning on his day off to find his wife gone.
It being his day off, he got up several hours later than usual. It was shortly before nine oclock when the parching thirst of a hangover disrupted his sleep. He rolled over and shouted for water. No matter how many times he shouted, there was no reply.
He got out of bed, and as he made his way to the kitchen, he noticed that the house was somehow different than usual. Normally, at this time, his wife would be sitting on the sofa in the living room watching television after having finished her morning household chores. His breakfast would have been there on the table, the dishes and pots all washed and stacked to dry near the sink, the laundry done and the house cleaned. Thats how it was every Saturday morning.
Yet this morning, wherever he looked was untidy. Dirty dishes were stacked high in the sink, dirty clothing stuffed in the laundry basket.
Nanako!
Calling his wifes name, he made his way upstairs and looked into the childrens room. His wife was not there either.
Hiroyuki had no choice but to prepare his own breakfast from whatever he found in the refrigerator. He then waited for his son to return from school and took him out on a stroll during which he might look for his wife.
As they crossed the park, Hiroyuki tried to remember what had happened the night before. He recalled drinking more than usual since he wouldnt be working today. But he felt he hadnt even stayed up that late. Before workdays, Hiroyuki made it a rule to go to bed before nine oclock; he had to get up very early, at half past two. But he just couldnt remember what time hed gone to bed the night before. His wife would have gone to bed at the same time. They always slept next to each other, spreading their futons out on the tatami of a six-mat room. Hiroyuki only had to turn to one side to see his wifes face as she slept. He did remember seeing his wifes face last night. Shed been fast asleep, her breathing inaudible, and her face had been lit up in the light of the lamp near her pillow. Hiroyuki had observed his wifes face as it was illuminated by the weak source of light.
Suddenly, his head was throbbing with splitting pain. He ran over to the water fountain where he drank and lightly patted his head with his hand. When he tried to think, a black force repelled him. Always hazy, always just out of reach What had happened the night before? His efforts to remember proved futile.
Hiroyuki washed his face in the gushing spray of water.
Lets try the Fishermens Co-op.
He turned the water off and turned his drenched face toward his son.
Katsumi nodded, but he was suffering an attack of anxiety that he couldnt begin to describe. It was the dread that his mother might never return.
2
There was rarely much traffic on the road that ran from east to west by the fishing port. The boats left on the vacant plot of land accented the aura of desolation that pervaded the port on the fishermens day off. There were a few stalls selling shellfish, but the place was too far out of the way for the sightseers clamming at low tide.
The roots of the trees lining the sidewalk were overgrown with grass. Hiroyuki did not hesitate to walk on the road instead. He was conscious that his son was deliberately negotiating each clump of grass so as not to step off the sidewalk.
The fool, Hiroyuki thought to himself.
The boys mother had told him never to step off the sidewalk. The sight of his son unconditionally obeying his mother to the last word galled Hiroyuki to no end.
A brokers shop selling marine products stood before the Fishermens Cooperative Association. As Hiroyuki looked into the back of the shop, a hefty woman came out, wiping her hands on her apron. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head.
Dont suppose youve seen the wife at all?
The tone of his question suggested that he was puzzled by his wifes absence.
No at least not today.
Not being on particularly friendly terms with the shopkeeper, he felt little disposed to prolong the conversation. Once she got the bit between her teeth, this fishwife would keep callers all day with her prattle. Hiroyuki beat a hasty retreat into an alley just outside the shop.
As they wandered here and there along the coast, through the park, and around the Fishermens Co-op, Hiroyuki approached countless people with the same question.
I dont suppose youve seen the wife, have you?
He would repeat the question whenever he spotted a familiar face. It was unlike Hiroyuki to be the first to speak, to be so spontaneous with his greetings. He was known as an unsociable character. He couldnt understand why he was behaving in this manner. His behaviour mystified himself. It was as though he were trying to impress upon all of them that he was walking around searching for his wife.
Hiroyukis home was on a corner two blocks down the road from the fishwifes shop. The house occupied almost the entire plot it was built on. His boat, the Hamakatsu, was moored near the western extremity of the port, making it but a few minutes walk from his house. Two years ago, they had enlarged their house. Since that time, they had used the older, original part of the building for storage. Hiroyuki had been born and raised in the part of the house that now housed his fishing tackle. During his entire thirty-three years, he had never lived anywhere else.
Im home!
He was through the front door and into the house now, but still no one answered. Hiroyuki had expected to see his wifes all-too-familiar face pop out and greet him, dispelling his misgivings. The silence disillusioned him all too quickly.
So shes not back yet.
He clicked his tongue and strode across the living room, throwing open one of the sliding screens to the Japanese-style room beyond.
His daughter Haruna and his father Shozo were sitting on the floor at the low table facing each other. They were both eating jam buns. Although Shozo was only fifty-five years of age, his emaciated form and white hair suggested a man of over eighty.