We found my father in the kitchen. He gave us a quick glance, then carried on with what he was doing.
'Father's become quite a chef Since he's had to manage on his own,' Kikuko said with a laugh. He turned and looked at my sister coldly.
'Hardly a skill I'm proud of,' he said. 'Kikuko, come here and help.'
For some moments my sister did not move. Then she stepped forward and took an apron hanging from a drawer.
'Just these vegetables need cooking now,' he said to her. 'The rest just needs watching.' Then he looked up and regarded me strangely for some seconds. 'I expect you want to look around the house,' he said eventually. He put down the chopsticks he had been holding. 'It's a long time since you've seen it.'
As we left the kitchen I glanced back towards Kikuko, but her back was turned.
'She's a good girl,' my father said quietly.
I followed my father from room to room. I had forgotten how large the house was. A panel would slide open and another room would appear. But the rooms were all startlingly empty. In one of the rooms the lights did not come on, and we stared at the stark walls and tatami in the pale light that came from the windows.
'This house is too large for a man to live in alone,' my father said. 'I don't have much use for most of these rooms now.'
But eventually my father opened the door to a room packed full of books and papers. There were flowers in vases and pictures on the walls. Then I noticed something on a low table in the corner of the room. I came nearer and saw it was a plastic model of a battleship, the kind constructed by children. It had been placed on some newspaper; scattered around it were assorted pieces of grey plastic.
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| Photo by Helga Weber |
My father gave a laugh. He came up to the table and picked up the model.
'Since the firm folded,' he said, 'I have a little more time on my hands.' He laughed again, rather strangely. For a moment his face looked almost gentle. 'A little more time.'
'That seems odd,' I said. 'You were always so busy.'
'Too busy perhaps.' He looked at me with a small smile. 'Perhaps I should have been a more attentive father.'
I laughed. He went on contemplating his battleship. Then he looked up. 'I hadn't meant to tell you this, but perhaps it's best that I do. It's my belief that your mother's death was no accident. She had many worries. And some disappointments.'
We both gazed at the plastic battleship.
'Surely,' I said eventually, 'my mother didn't expect me to live here forever.'
'Obviously you don't see. You don't see how it is for some parents. Not only must they lose their children, they must lose them to things they don't understand.' He spun the battleship in his fingers. 'These little gunboats here could have been better glued, don't you think?'
'Perhaps. I think it looks fine.'
'During the war I spent some time on a ship rather like this. But my ambition was always the air force. I figured it like this. If your ship was struck by the enemy, all you could do was struggle in the water hoping for a lifeline. But in an aeroplane - well - there was always the final weapon.' He put the model back onto the table. 'I don't suppose you believe in war.'
'Not particularly.'
He cast an eye around the room. 'Supper should be ready by now,' he said. 'You must be hungry.'
Supper was waiting in a dimly lit room next to the kitchen. The only source of light was a big lantern that hung over the table, casting the rest of the room into shadow. We bowed to each other before starting the meal.
There was little conversation. When I made some polite comment about the food, Kikuko giggled a little. Her earlier nervousness seemed to have returned to her. My father did not speak for several minutes. Finally he said:
'It must feel strange for you, being back in Japan.'
'Yes, it is a little strange.'
'Already, perhaps, you regret leaving America.'
'A little. Not so much. I didn't leave behind much. Just some empty rooms.'
'I see.'
I glanced across the table. My father's face looked stony and forbidding in the half-light. We ate on in silence.
Then my eye caught something at the back of the room. At first I continued eating, then my hands became still. The others noticed and looked at me. I went on gazing into the darkness past my father's shoulder.
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by Kazuo Ishiguro
