When he woke up in the morning, his wife wasn’t there.
In the living room, a rolled omelet and a piece of grilled salt mackerel were waiting for him under plastic wrap on the dining table. Miso soup was in a pot in the kitchen. After reheating them, Takiji Ōtsuka ate his breakfast alone. A faint scent of detergent drifted in through the wide-open patio doors, from the laundry drying outside. He took a quick look: another fine day. Come to think of it, he remembered the TV weather girl saying that the clear autumn weather would continue for a while. The woman, who was younger than his daughter, had said what perfect weather it was for going out, but he had no particular plans, so it didn’t matter much to him one way or the other.
Takiji finished his meal quickly and left the dishes to soak in a tub in the kitchen sink. He turned on the TV, listening while he read the paper. He didn’t look at the screen until the morning soaps began—he’d gotten hooked on one of them, somehow. The main character was a father, a joker with an overly sympathetic personality, beloved by everyone. Except Takiji. Something about the setup annoyed him. There were moments when the father seemed happy to be inconvenienced by his daughter’s self-indulgent lifestyle, instead of correcting her. Didn’t he take any pride in being a father? Or a man? Shouldn’t he be ashamed of his failure as a parent to educate his own child properly? Even now, he was tossing off silly wisecracks while his daughter yapped angrily at him. It was the sort of behavior that caused all the trouble in the first place.
“Damn it. Why do I let this show get me so worked up? Eh, Junko?”
He called out without thinking, then closed his mouth. His wife, Junko, wasn’t there. She’d gone to her part-time job at the supermarket. The job was in the deli section, so morning shifts started early. She would come home in the afternoon but then rush out again almost immediately, talking about the activities in her women’s group. Evening was the only time they could be together, face to face.
The spacious living room was silent but for the voices from the television. Takiji let out a little sigh. Why was he passing his days in such emptiness?
Takiji had worked continuously all his life at one company, an auto parts factory, from college graduation to retirement. The mandatory retirement age was sixty, but he had joined the company’s reemployment program and worked five extra years. It wasn’t right for a man to let his wife and child struggle through life. He had always been guided in his work by that belief. He relinquished his personal days to the company as a matter of course, and devoted long hours to entertaining clients. All household matters were entrusted to his wife, Junko, including the upbringing of their only daughter, Nanao, but that was the natural division of labor between husband and wife, and nothing could be done about that. Men went out and earned a living, women took care of the house. That’s just how it was. Junior colleagues at work would laugh at him and ask what era he was from, but thanks to his hard work, Junko had spent many decades as a homemaker, while Nanao had been able to attend the college of her choice. He was also able to put together a modest nest egg and move them to a retirement home in an apartment building dedicated to seniors. Even better, the place was in Kitakyūshū, “the number one retirement destination for senior country life.”
Kitakyūshū was nestled between the mountains and the sea, surrounded by the beauty of nature. Despite that, it had a well-maintained infrastructure, and the cost of living there was low. It was a terminal for the Shinkansen bullet train, and close enough to the large city of Hakata that it didn’t feel like the remote countryside, or inconvenient in any way. It was an ideal town for Takiji, who had wanted to live quietly in a calm and convenient location after retirement.
Mojikō, the area around the harbor, was particularly nice. The streets of the town were lined with buildings from the good old days, and beyond the picturesque townscape lay the clear ocean waters. And the seafood was delicious. It was a completely different atmosphere from Nagoya, where he had been born and raised, but he was sure they could do reasonably well in the place. He had every expectation of a frugal and tranquil life there, together with Junko. When he’d made the decision to move, he’d had no doubt that his “second life” would be the stuff of his dreams.
So how, then, had it come to this? Takiji’s eyes traced the text in the newspaper as he thought.
Well, for starters, Junko had changed dramatically, it seemed, right after they moved here. The Junko of the present was an entirely different person from the Junko who had quietly and faithfully cared for their home back then, never pushy or presumptuous in the slightest way. It was impossible to imagine the old Junko taking a part-time job without consulting him, let alone her intense dedication to the activities of the building’s Ladies’ Association. She didn’t even go to PTA meetings back then. Of course, that was partially because Takiji didn’t approve. It was unthinkable, to him, for a woman caring for a home and family to just leave them behind and go out for drinks. But since they had moved here, Junko actively attended both the part-time staff get-togethers at work and the cocktails with the building ladies. Up until recently, Takiji had been her top priority, but now she had made him into her house-sitter.
“What have you got to complain about?” Nanao, his daughter, had said dismissively. “She does all the housework before she goes out. She even cooks your meals.”
Nanao had married three years ago. She lived in Ōsaka, but perhaps because she had no children, she came to visit once a month. She spoke sharply to Takiji, who was harboring some resentment toward Junko. “You’ve really been keeping Mother under lock and key. Let her be herself. Give her a little freedom.”