Eba’s words replayed in my mind. “After all the horrors his family’s gone through…” Now I finally understood what he meant by that.
“I’m not sure what I can say about it, but…well, it was a very lovely funeral,” Grandma Tsuzuki said with a sigh. “All sorts of politicians came to pay their respects—enough to staff an entire national assembly. Never have I felt more out of place than I did in that moment. They seemed to live in a totally different world from us, but I suspect my daughter felt it much more than I did…and perhaps Homare-san did too.”
As the comparatively “unimportant” second-born son, he’d spent his whole life exempt from all manner of responsibilities…until the day it had all gotten dumped in his lap.
“I can’t even fathom how he must have felt back then. But he quit his job and chose to pursue a career in politics.”
“Did your daughter ever talk to you about it?” I asked.
“She came and warned me and my husband to start minding our manners in public now that Homare-san was going to be in the election. I’ll be honest—it set me off something fierce. What gave her the right to criticize her parents’ behavior? Then, her father said, ‘A girl like you can’t handle being a politician’s wife,’ and she replied, ‘Well, I don’t have a choice!’ She was always such an absent-minded girl—it was like she changed overnight! After that, my husband and I kept our distance from their affairs… Oh, your tea’s gone cold, hasn’t it? Shall I pour you a new cup?”
I didn’t really need more tea, but I could tell she needed a break to collect herself. “Yes, please.”
“…I got a few letters here and there,” she continued after she returned, watching the steam rise from the refilled teacups. “Full of complaints and things she didn’t dare say elsewhere. ‘I’m no good at arranging flowers or preparing matcha! I can’t cook gourmet meals for my guests! I’m ashamed to be compared to the other wives! I don’t want to subject my son to this!’ And I thought, ‘Well, of course you’re struggling.’ We only ever taught her how to manage a normal household. And now our grandson was suffering as a result too? Part of me was angry on Ushio’s behalf, but…well…” For the first time, her voice grew strained. “When I remember how besotted she was with Homare-san, always gushing about how wonderful he was, I just… I felt so sorry for her. That’s why I don’t have any ill will against Homare-san himself.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I knew exactly how miserable it was to have to micromanage every aspect of public-facing life, and I could see how much worse it would be if it was forced on someone who never wanted it in the first place. It reminded me of the pressure I felt when I was suddenly made the poster boy for a brand-new show. Even so, the conflict and anguish must have been a hundred times worse for the Wakamiyas.
As a result, I suspected they had no choice but to abandon any attempt at being “normal” parents. Instead, they committed themselves to being “a politician and his wife,” the way Ushio described them—otherwise, they would have lost control altogether. Hell, when I first met Ushio myself and the balance between my two halves started going out of whack, it really terrified me. All I could do to keep the seesaw steady was to put a rock on one end.
Wakamiya Homare strived to be the perfect politician from every angle, no exceptions. How many obstacles did he overcome to get that far?
“Does Tsuzuki-san know all this?”
“No…” she said, trailing off for a moment. “From the way he acts, it seems he’s not interested in hearing about it, much less talking about it. Besides, I’m sure he knew the position his parents were in.”
“Right.”
He told me he did understand and respect them, even if he couldn’t agree with it—but he still couldn’t make peace with it. Perhaps if he walked a mile in his father’s shoes, the two could finally reconcile their differences. But, of course, I wasn’t planning to back down whatsoever.
“I apologize for taking so much of your time,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”
“Leaving already, dearie? Have I been helpful?”
“Yes, very much so. Thanks for having me.”
“Next time I do hope you’ll bring Ushio with you,” she said.
“Of course.”
I left the condo building and paid a visit to the library near the train station since I still had some time. I selected a few books and magazines pertaining to politics and then searched them for any mention of Wakamiya.
The year Wakamiya Kai passed away, there was a special election held to fill his seat two months later in April, followed by a House of Councillors election in July. That was the year his son Wakamiya Homare made his political debut. At the time, the CDP was fighting an uphill battle.
Aha, I mouthed silently to myself. Special elections preceding national elections were widely considered preliminary skirmishes; if you won at that stage, it would give you a leg up. But if you lost, it would weigh you down—especially if you lost Tokyo’s first district. While Wakamiya Homare was a total amateur, as his father’s only surviving son, the optics were on his side. Conversely, if the party chose to rally behind someone else and still lost, they’d sustain a ton of damage in the process… Yeah, if I was a political strategist, I’d want to put him in the race at any cost, even if I had to kidnap him. And it wouldn’t come as a surprise to me if there were veiled threats levied as early as the funeral—like the heartless comments fifteen-year-old Ushio had overheard, for example.
Wakamiya Homare won the special election by a landslide, and possibly as a result of that, the CDP just barely managed to retain their power during the summer Councillors election. His political debut generated a lot of buzz. People regarded him skeptically at first, but through hard work, he gradually proved he wasn’t merely riding his father’s coattails. He gained experience both as a young director-general and parliamentary vice-minister and established himself firmly in Tokyo’s first district.
That was the general outline, anyway. With no visible flaws, there was no way for his opponents to tear him down. I had faintly hoped I might dig up some hint of a mistress or child born out of wedlock or something, but I suspected I was wasting my time.
They had a computer full of newspaper archives at this library, so I searched for the photo Ushio had mentioned—the one taken at his mother’s grave. It was indeed a beautiful picture: a lone man dressed in a black coat facing a gravestone, surrounded by snow. The pure white backdrop highlighted his silhouette, and even from behind, he looked quite a lot like his son.
I understood why Ushio despised the framing of his mother’s death as a touching sob story. But…as an outside observer, I guess…to me, this shot of Wakamiya Homare from behind conveyed a tremendous sadness. The camera never lies, as Shitara would say. And besides, everyone had a side of themselves—a secret truth, a place to call home—that only they knew.
What do I do? I asked myself for the umpteenth time. Outside, twilight peeked out from behind the clouds. As it did, the loudspeaker announced that the library would soon be closing.