Takiji called up a mental image of Mrs. Nosé’s husband, the owner of their apartment. He was a stout man who reminded Takiji of Hotei, one of the Seven Lucky Gods and the patron saint of happiness.
“He’ll have to go to the hospital twice a week. Until the trip, Mrs. Nosé had relied on his kindness and did more or less as she pleased. She was always out and about, and at times, she’d leave him and be away for as much as half a month, she said.”
Mrs. Nosé had thought the two of them could go anywhere at any time, Junko explained, but now they could go nowhere at all. Why had she let her time with him become an afterthought? She had wept quietly into her futon and told the group that this was her last trip with them, that from then on she wanted to spend more time together with her husband.
“When I heard that, you see, it really made me think. That maybe I should have talked more with you, and the two of us…the two of us should have made our bucket list together. That if I check off only my own items from the list, I might regret it someday.
“You see?” Junko looked at Takiji. “That’s why I seemed different. I’m sorry.”
“No…I was wrong, too. I know I’ve caused you all sorts of trouble up to now.” He bowed his head to her. “That’s how it came to this.” He knew himself that he could be a hard-headed and cranky old fool. “I thought about what Nanao said to me over and over again. I wasn’t doing it consciously—not at all—but now I think I was holding you back. Shackling you.”
“That’s what I did to you.” At Junko’s words, Takiji looked up.
“Husbands are raised by their wives,” she continued. “So I was the one who trained you to be that way. A very long time ago, when I was still young, I thought it was great that you had such a strong sense of duty, and that you were so passionate about your work. I even wanted it to stay like that forever. When other people said that you were working too hard, I kept quiet. ‘My husband can handle it,’ I told them.”
Junko coughed. When Takiji held out her drink for a sip, she slowly raised herself to a sitting position and took the bottle from him. “Are you okay?” he asked, and she nodded. Holding the bottle in her hand, she took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled.
“Year by year, your passion for your work grew, and soon you no longer seemed to notice your family. I started to think it was a weakness rather than a strong point. It’s a selfish thing to admit, isn’t it? That I was upset by the kind of person you were, when I was the one who had encouraged you to be that way.”
Was that what had happened? Takiji’s thoughts traveled back to that time, so long ago. “You love your work so much, I haven’t a care in the world!” His wife had said that to him one day, a smile on her face, her belly big with child, and he swore to himself he’d work harder and harder.
“I guess I forgot about that, didn’t I?” He was talking to himself, but Junko nodded.
“How many decades have we been together now?” she asked. “Just as I raised you to be that way, there are parts of me somewhere that were created by you. Husbands and wives raise each other.”
Is that how it was? Is that how it is? Takiji thought about it. Junko’s words lodged somewhere, deep within him.
“ ‘Raise each other’…? You always find the perfect way to describe these things, don’t you?” He could never have come up with a phrase like that himself. When he expressed his admiration, a mischievous grin crept over Junko’s face.
“Actually, I stole it from Mrs. Nosé’s husband. That’s what he told her when she came crying to him for forgiveness. ‘I like you free, so I raised you that way. You have nothing to be sorry for. I did it.’ ”
“Hey, that’s a great love story, isn’t it?”
“It is. When we heard it at the inn, we all made a great big fuss. We thought it was wonderful.”
The two of them laughed as if they had shared a private joke. Then Junko took another sip of her drink and lay down again.
“Dear, let’s make a bucket list together, the two of us.”
“Okay. Yes, that would be good, I think.”
Takiji thought about what he would put on his own list of dreams. He wanted a hobby, most of all. Something he could really get lost in and, if possible, something he could do together with Junko. Also, he wanted to travel. He couldn’t even remember the last time they went somewhere fun as a couple.
But the most important thing was probably to take first place at Hikaru’s field day. And—that’s right, he had almost forgotten—he needed to tell Junko that she had a temporary grandchild.
“Ah, Junko…Oh, is she asleep again?”
Junko had slipped into a peaceful sleep, her blanket rising and falling in a slow rhythm together with her breath. He put a gentle hand to her forehead to confirm that her temperature had returned to normal. Takiji closed the window and drew the curtains, then slipped into bed.
When Takiji awoke, Junko was still asleep in the bed next to him. Checking the bedside clock, he discovered that he had slept thirty minutes longer than usual. Now I know I’m getting old, he chuckled to himself. In my younger days I could sleep until any time of the day.
He got out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Junko, and left the bedroom.
He got dressed quickly and was at work in the kitchen when Junko appeared. She seemed a little unsteady, but her complexion was good. He asked her how she was doing. “My throat still hurts a little, but I’m feeling much better.” She gave a little fist pump. “Anyway, I’m sorry I overslept.”
“You probably don’t have to work today, right? Maybe you should just sleep in.”
“There’s no time. I have to cook.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of that this morning,” said Takiji.
Her mouth fell open in surprise at his words. “You? Cooking?”
“Uh-huh. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m just going to try to do something with this rice porridge. You sit tight.”
Junko brightened up a little. “I’ll go wash my face, then,” she said, and disappeared into the bathroom. Takiji went back to work.
“Will it really taste all right?” Takiji murmured to himself uneasily, then quickly corrected himself: “No, it’ll be fine.” Hikaru had recommended it, hadn’t he? The boy had said it was “super good.”
“Ahh, washing my face was so refreshing…Oh! What a wonderful smell!”
Returning to the kitchen, Junko took a deep breath. Seeing her response, Takiji took heart.
“Well, it’s ready. Let’s eat.”
Takiji carried the clay pot from the stove to the dining table.
He had made an egg porridge. When he removed its lid, steam rose from the clay pot, carrying the rich aroma of the broth. “Doesn’t that look delicious!” Junko exclaimed. “How did you make it, dear?”
“Well…we won’t know if it’s any good until we’ve tasted it.”
With a porcelain spoon, he ladled the porridge into a shallow bowl and passed it to Junko first. She had always been sensitive to temperature, so she blew on it for a while to cool it down, then inhaled a mouthful directly from the bowl.
“Ahh…!” she exclaimed. “It’s delicious. It’s really delicious.”
“Oh. Really?”
Takiji filled his own bowl and took a sip. The rice had dissolved fully into the porridge, so that it was smooth and gentle, with the rich flavor of dashi broth. It would be soothing enough, even with Junko’s sore throat.
“It’s not bad, is it?”
“Not bad? It’s really delicious. How did you make it? I didn’t realize you knew how to make dashi and the like,” Junko said, and Takiji puffed out his chest in pride.
“It’s semi-homemade!”
“Eh?”
“I put a steamed egg custard from the convenience store into a heat-and-serve porridge. Isn’t that what you’d call semi-homemade?”
He had stirred the porridge and egg custard together in the clay pot and heated them. Then he had added some chopped green onions, which they also sold at the store, for a finishing touch of color.
“You can also do it in the microwave,” Hikaru had told him. “When I make it for my father I use a microwave pot.” The boy had spoken with such confidence that he had tried it, and it was surprisingly good.
“I used to make fun of convenience stores, but this was actually quite convenient,” Takiji said earnestly, taking another sip of the porridge. “The manager said he’d always be there if I needed anything. I liked that.”
Whenever he came, there would be someone there, ready to help. Just a few simple words, but they gave him such peace of mind.
“I’m glad you said that about Mr. Shiba. He’s truly a good person. Oh, now I see! You asked Mr. Shiba about the porridge, didn’t you? How to make it? This is the sort of thing he would think up.”
He looked at Junko and thought for a while before he answered. “Actually, it was my grandson. And well, hmm…we could say he’s your grandson as well.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Takiji laughed as Junko looked at him in confusion, then began to explain the story of Hikaru from the beginning.