Things came to a head on that intense summer night so long ago, back when I was a schoolboy. It was so hot I couldn’t get to sleep, and I heard raucous shouts approaching from the alley outside our house. The sliding front door rattled violently open and at the same time, your slurred voice thundered into the house: “I’m home!”
With bated breath, I peeked through the chink in my bedroom door, and I saw you in the entrance, supported by a policeman on either side. Your head was swathed in bandages.
One of the officers explained to my mother that you were drunk and aggressive on a train platform, picked a fight with a young hoodlum, and got beaten up.
When the officer moved on to the difficult subject of pressing charges, my mother pleaded with him. “We won’t fill out a victim report, so please don’t charge the other party. It’s all my husband’s fault. I’m so sorry about this.”
“Shut up!” A sharp crack of flesh on flesh rang out over your angry bellow, followed by my mother’s sobs and the officer’s admonitory murmur.
Gambling and drinking. My mother, who bore the brunt of your debauched lifestyle, must have asked you plenty of times to stop drinking, but ultimately, in your drunken rage, you had a run-in with the law and raised your hand to her.
The morning after it happened, as soon as I woke up, Mum hugged me close to whisper in my ear, “Takaaki, how about we go somewhere far away, just the two of us?”
“You mean, I’d have to change schools?” I demanded, alarmed.
In response to my fear, Mum managed a smile. “No, never mind. You’ll get to stay with your friends. Nothing will change.” She sounded like she had a knot in her throat.
Her eyes were bright with tears as she stroked my head for a long time, with a lot more force than usual.
When I got home from school, Mum was gone. Steam rose from the freshly-cooked rice in the cooker, and the smell of curry wafted from the still-warm pot.
What I thought was, will Mum ever come back?
“Don’t worry. I’m going to get my act together from now on. I’ll stop drinking and gambling. Promise.”
That’s what you told me, smiling to calm me down as I fought back tears, but I couldn’t help but hate the sight of your face. I was a ten-year-old child. Why did I have to shoulder the loss of my mother, only hoping she was happy? It was all your fault. She knew how much you loved me, and that must have been the reason she could bring herself to leave me behind.
It’s true that after she left, you did your best not to drink or gamble. However, she never came back. As a father, you should have quit your addictions long before things had come to that pass.
When I was a boy, it didn’t matter how much you lavished your affection on me; I could never forgive you for the failings that cost me my mother. The hate I felt for you still lingers.
On the other hand, now that I’m about to become a father myself, I certainly have regrets about our long estrangement and I feel guilty I didn’t let you know you are going to be a grandfather.
That’s what I was thinking about when I got the call from the hospital.
