The boy and his father whose ball had struck Katsumi had returned to the area by the pine grove to resume their game of catch. Both wore matching polo shirts of a well-known brand, and both reeked of the city from head to toe. The little boy was about Katsumi's age and extraordinarily agile for a kid from the city.
Picking them as the target to vent his anger on, he strode over to where they were playing and called to them in a thick, menacing voice.
'Say, you two over there!'
They stopped playing catch and turned to face Hiroyuki with anxious expressions that only fuelled the flames of his resentment. The timid, nervous look in their eyes strengthened his resolve to vent his spleen on them to his heart's content.
He stopped within a few paces of them and growled, 'I want your name and address.'
'Huh?' The father looked at once puzzled and contemptuous.
'My boy says it hurts so much he can't walk. What you gonna do if he's broken a rib or something?' Hiroyuki held out his left arm and pointed behind him to where his son was; only his son wasn't there.
Katsumi had pretended it had hurt more than it did, to get a little sympathy from his father. Yet when he realized that he had only incited his father's wrath, his throat parched with fear. On this particular occasion, his father's anger just happened not to be directed at him. Nonetheless, Katsumi was terrified. As his father walked away, his back radiated malevolence. Left to run its natural course, it could well develop into violence. Katsumi wanted to avoid such a scene at all costs. What terrified him more than calling his father's wrath upon himself was seeing him beat up others. It was particularly horrifying when the victim was his mother. At such times he could hardly breathe.
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 son's hand.
'I'm all right. I'm fine…'
Katsumi tugged at his father's 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.
'You're fine? Then what was that face back there?'
Hiroyuki's anger had found a different target. Their gloved hands now dangling at their side, the boy and the father who'd been playing catch remained motionless, waiting to see which way things would go. The muzzle of Hiroyuki's anger was now directed at someone else. Their anxious looks revealed that they still saw this as no reason to feel relieved.
I'm sorry, Dad,' Katsumi apologized to his father, his face creasing up, on the verge of tears.
'Fool, don't apologize so easy!' Hiroyuki's hand rose.
The moment his father's eyes changed colour rarely escaped Katsumi. Immediately before an eruption of anger, his father's 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, I'm sorry, Dad. I'm 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 wasn't 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 didn't 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 there's 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.
… I'm 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, he'd 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 didn't 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 son's 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 wife's 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 o'clock 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. That's 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 wife's name, he made his way upstairs and looked into the children's 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 wouldn't be working today. But he felt he hadn't even stayed up that late. Before workdays, Hiroyuki made it a rule to go to bed before nine o'clock; he had to get up very early, at half past two. But he just couldn't remember what time he'd 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 wife's face as she slept. He did remember seeing his wife's face last night. She'd 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 wife's 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.
'Let's try the Fishermen's 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 couldn't begin to describe. It was the dread that his mother might never return.