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On the evening of her husband’s passing, Kambe Kikuko sat by his bed, carding her fingers through his hair as he worked his papery lungs. Their son, Shigemaru, wept through the night.
He cried through other nights too, even though he never spoke to her about those. The red-rimmed eyes at breakfast were giveaways, though, and thus for his growing up years, she let him be. If he wanted to run about outdoors by himself, he could. If he wanted to pursue the women in the city, he could. His teachers never had a bad word to say about his studies’ progress; he always returned home on time and in tidy clothes. She and his father had carved out his pathway since birth: university, work, heirs, and Shigemaru, their dutiful son, never meandered away from it during his youth.
In hindsight, his father’s death should have been her chance to drill into him his responsibilities. The man pushed for it, once, months before the cancer set in, and she, watching their child squat in the tea garden to cup grasshoppers with his palms, suggested they had time.
She thought they did. One of the women Shigemaru brought home turned into a permanent fixture, and Kikuko gladly granted them her blessing. Sayuri was educated in Todai, her family dominated the automobile industry, and she bore the Kambes one healthy, squealing son.
For years, Kikuko lived in ignorance of her daughter-in-law’s sway over her own son, even as she overheard their first argument about the ethics of what generated the Kambes’ wealth. Then, she caught sight of Shigemaru’s expression, as he stood on the staircase taking in Sayuri’s impassioned words.
Adoration. Kikuko had never seen it from him before. For the first time since that moment in the tea garden, uncertainty bit at her heart.
“Shigemaru-san.” She stopped him at the opened mansion doors. “What do you intend to do?”
The sun was setting then, its rays approaching their doorstep. On his face, she saw the transformation up-close. Adoration had hardened into conviction.
Her mind was made up, even before he said, “I’m going to follow after her.”
But even after Sayuri’s death, her dear, genuine son still attempted to follow after her. Kikuko set him up with trusted caretakers in Okinawa, in an apartment overlooking one of the most beautiful shores in the country. She didn’t fear he would talk. He wasn’t the same intelligent, well-spoken man any longer.
She checked up on him every week, and prayed he would find peace. She prayed for neither herself nor his forgiveness. She could not spare time for what wouldn’t come. Instead, she spent her time on his son.
For all of his spoiled, indulgent behaviour, Daisuke grew up like his father had been during his youth. Hence, as the years passed, Kikuko again agreed to let go, granting her grandson freer reign to play as he wished before he came of age.
After all, not once did he bring a woman home.