Bitou (Taillights)
Written by Ayako MIURA
Translated and Abridged by Deborah DAVIDSON
1.
It was New Year’s morning in the city of Sapporo, in northern Japan. Ryozo Hirakawa could tell by the noises coming from the kitchen that his wife was chopping spring onions for o-zoni, the traditional New Year’s stew. He was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor next to the kerosene stove, reading the New Year’s Day edition of the newspaper. The thick lenses of his reading glasses made his naturally narrow eyes appear enlarged. The paper was running a series of interviews of prominent politicians, writers, and entertainers on the theme of New Year’s ambitions.[1] Each photograph pictured a happy face that looked ready to burst into loud laughter.
Five years ago, upon reaching mandatory retirement age, Ryozo had left a career in the civil service, and currently earned a minimal salary at his post-retirement job in the private sector. His retirement pension brought in some additional income, so life was not uncomfortable. But neither did it allow leeway for such frivolities as New Year’s ambitions. He hardly needed to be reminded of this fact by the newspaper.
Kyoko brought the steaming pot of o-zoni into the room and set it on the low dining table which had already be set with other traditional New Year’s dishes such as sweetened boiled black beans, stir-fried burdock root, mixed simmered root vegetables, and the ubiquitous ceramic server of sake. The fragrance of mitsuba, a Japanese parsley, wafted from the o-zoni pot.
“Looks good,” he said, smacking his lips.
“Won’t know till we taste it,” she retorted. Her hair, recently dyed a chestnut brown, made her look years younger than her age. A room fragrant with mitsuba and a wife who appeared young for her age should count as a promising beginning to the New Year. Ryozo filled his small sake cup and began to sip at it.
“How about joining me for a drink?” he suggested, holding the ceramic sake server towards Kyoko.
“Oh, not for me. It just clouds my mind.” She shook her head, her eyebrows bunching in the middle of her forehead. But in the next moment, “Well, just for the form of things, then,” she amended, reaching for a second sake cup from the china cabinet at her side. Ryozo poured for them both.
“He sure is taking long,” he said, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It was twenty minutes past eight in the morning.
“That’s the third time you’ve said it, and it’s still far too early!” Kyoko took a tiny sip of her sake, then set about ladling the stew into individual bowls.
“What’s keeping the fellow? It used to be they delivered New Year’s cards before it was even light.”
“Maybe you’d prefer the cards were delivered before the old year was over.” Kyoko glanced at her husband from the tops of lowered eyes, a gesture Ryozo had once thought charming and demure. Nowadays it only made him feel as if he were being reprimanded.
“Don’t be silly. It’s this waiting and wondering: How soon? How soon? that makes New Year’s Day special.” Ryozo spoke in the same quiet manner he always did, a characteristic that often put him at a disadvantage. At office meetings, those who spoke the loudest always got their way, and even in private arguments, Ryozo was usually forced to give in.
Something clattered in the foyer. It was the sound of the mail slot flap being pushed open. Ryozo set down his sake cup and left the room. Kyoko poked at the black beans with her chopsticks as she watched his retreating figure, thinking he seemed more bent over than she remembered.
“At last!” Ryozo’s voice called from the foyer. He remained there, apparently looking through the cards. He did this every year.
“Come back in here where it’s warm.”
“I know. I know.” Ryozo finally came back into the living room with about a hundred New Year’s cards in his hand. “The stack doesn’t seem to be as thick as last year.”
“What did you expect? It will only get thinner with each passing year, dear.”
It was true that they had received a number of mourning cards at the end of the old year, cards that announced that due to a death in the family, the sender would not be participating in the exchange of traditional celebratory New Year’s greetings. In fact, two of them had been from Ryozo’s personal friends. But the fact that people of his generation were bound to have elderly parents, near the end of their lives, did not wholly explain the dwindling stack of New Year’s cards.
Before reaching mandatory retirement, Ryozo had received New Year’s greetings not only from all of his subordinates, but also from the companies that his office had dealings with during the previous year. Retirement had been followed by a sharp decline in the number of cards he received from work-related people, and the numbers had been declining steadily since then. It was easy to imagine his name being crossed off New Year’s greeting lists, just as he had once removed names from his own lists.
Ryozo flipped through the cards as he sipped at his sake. He appeared to be searching for one in particular.
“Have you found it?” Kyoko leaned across the table and peered at the stack of cards.
“Uhh..”
“Well, has it come?”
“Wait a second… Oh, here it is!”
“Let me see.”
“Just wait. I’ll read it out loud.” It was a card from their daughter Aiko. Ryozo began to read. “We’re managing fine. It’ll be just the three of us this New Year’s Day. You mustn’t worry. “ Other than Aiko’s handwriting, which was spread across it like scattered like azuki beans, the card’s sole decoration was the traditional expression “Felicitous New Year,” stamped with what appeared to be a hand-carved potato stamp.
Ryozo and Kyoko had two grown children. Their son Yoshitaka worked for a bank in the northern city of Asahikawa. Their daughter Aiko was married to an employee of a Tokyo-based company and was mother to a three-month-old son. Aiko was never far from her father’s thoughts. Ryozo handed Aiko’s card to his wife and poked at the dish of stir-fried burdock root with a look of relief on his face.
“This burdock is good. Quite tasty, in fact.” He chewed on the flavorful, fibrous vegetable as he inspected the next card in the stack. “The same as usual, I see.” This year, as he had for the past twenty years, Ryozo’s older brother in Hakodate had sent a card printed with nothing besides the standard greeting of “New Years Salutations.” He handed it to Kyoko.
“You’d think just once he could add a few personal words. But I guess it just means everyone is well,” she mumbled.
“If anything were out of the ordinary, they’d probably tell us.” Having finished off the single ceramic server of sake he permitted himself, Ryozo now lifted the bowl of stew to his mouth. He held the next card in his hand. It was from Sakazaki. He read the message out loud for Kyoko’s benefit.
“I wish you the happiness of the New Year. It has been too long since I made contact. As a result of an off-season transfer last November, I’ve moved from Kushiro to Asahikawa. I’m sorry it took me so long to send you the news. I owe much to you for this promotion. I think with fondness back to the days we used to go drinking together in Susukino. One of these days, when we have the chance, we should do it again.”
Ryozo read the words a second time to himself, a smile on his face, and then handed the card to his wife. “It seems he’s been promoted to section chief.”
“That was a fast promotion. He’s still only 45 or 46, isn’t he? And without a college degree.”
Ryozo had made a career in one of the departments associated with the prime minister’s office. Sakazaki had been a subordinate of his during his term in Sapporo, a good ten years ago. The man had often called at Ryozo’s home, offering to help shovel the snow off the roof, or do repairs around the house. He was a pleasant man with a ready smile. After three years of working together, Ryozo had gone to some trouble to arrange for Sakazaki to be promoted and transferred to the Hakodate branch office. Four years later, Sakazaki had been promoted to associate section chief. Now, judging from this note, it seemed he had been promoted to full section chief. It had been an unusually fast-paced promotion.
“Maybe I‘ll drop by the office while I’m in Asahikawa visiting Yoshitaka.”
“You have plans to visit Yoshitaka, do you?”
“Yeah. Sort of,” Ryozo answered vaguely as he searched through the pile of cards for the one from his son.
Yoshitaka had married three years earlier. His bride Fuyuko, had been three months pregnant at the time of the wedding. Kyoko, who had a prudish streak, had been deeply humiliated when she learned of this, and had wondered how she would be able to face the family elders. Fuyuko was quick to perceive Kyoko’s attitude, and being every bit as stubborn as her mother-in-law, she had allowed the resentment to fester in her heart. Although the young couple lived a mere two-hour train ride from Sapporo, they had not visited the parental home since the wedding.
When the baby was born, Kyoko had forced herself out of duty to visit her daughter-in-law in the hospital. But only that one time. The mere thought of the date recorded on the birth certificate was enough to give her the vapors, and she had not been able to wholeheartedly rejoice in the birth of her granddaughter Kiyomi.
Ryozo privately believed that a friendly gesture on their part would ease the tension between the elder and younger couple. He had been seeking an opportunity to make the trip, but the opportunity had never arisen. Now, with his eyes resting on Sakazaki’s card, Ryozo was seized with the desire to make the trip north to Asahikawa.
The card from Yoshitaka was the second from the last one in the stack. “Wishing you a Happy New Year,” it said in Yoshitaka’s spindly writing. “Kiyomi has grown so much. I wish you would consider coming out this way for an overnight visit. Fuyuko would love it too.” Ryozo passed the card to Kyoko, who took in the message with a casual glance.
“I find it difficult to believe that Fuyuko would be glad to see us,” she said with an edge to her voice.
“You can’t know for sure,” Ryozo replied.
“She doesn’t have that kind of humility.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge her. In any case, Yoshitaka’s given us an invitation, so why don’t we make the trip?”
“Not me. You can go without me. It’s too cold. And who ever heard of parents hauling themselves to visit their grown children during the New Year season? It’s the duty of the young to make the visit to the parental home. Everyone knows that.”
“They probably feel awkward about it,” Ryozo said gently.
“It’s their fault the awkwardness exists,” Kyoko snapped. She was not one to change her mind once it was made up. Ryozo realized there was no point in saying any more on the subject.
“Well, you stay home if you want. But I’ve got a hankering to see my little granddaughter’s face, and I think I’ll make the trip. It’ll be good to see Sakazaki after all this time, too.”
Kyoko made no further comment.
2.
Midway through January, Ryozo arranged to take some time off from his workplace. He got a leisurely start on a Friday and caught the 11:00 train from Sapporo. The train arrived with a small delay, an hour and a half later, in Asahikawa, the prefecture’s second largest city after Sapporo. From the train station, he meandered by foot through the Heiwa Avenue shopping district and turned toward the block of government buildings, where Sakazaki’s office was located.
In his card, Sakazaki had said he looked forward to going out for a drink together. Ryozo figured it would work best if he dropped by the office to say hello, then arrange to meet up with Sakazaki later again that evening for a drink after leaving his things at Yoshitaka’s rented apartment in the suburbs, out towards Mt. Taisetsu.
Ryozo himself had never actually been stationed at the Asahikawa branch office, but he had come here on the occasional business trip and was familiar with the building complex. He recognized the tall pine tree and thick-trunked elm that grew in the now snow-covered garden, noting they had grown in the years since his last visit. He gave Sakazaki’s name and department to the unfamiliar guard at the door.
“Section Chief Sakazaki?” the guard repeated, giving Ryozo a thorough once-over. Then he dialed a number, his face devoid of any expression. “There’s a gentleman called Ryozo Hirakawa here to see you, sir. Yes, sir.” The guard hung up the phone and turned back to Ryozo, “Section Chief Sakazaki will meet you at the general affairs office on the third floor,” he said, before turning his eyes back to the small television set sitting on his desk.
The first thing Ryozo heard when he arrived at the entrance to the general affairs office, was the pleasantly familiar sound of Sakazaki’s greeting reaching out to him from across a room somewhat clouded by cigarette smoke.
“Chief Hirakawa! It’s been a long time. I’m so glad you dropped by.” Sakazaki walked rapidly towards Ryozo, deftly took his former boss’s overcoat and hung it on a coat rack. The unhesitant smile on the man’s face was all it took to make Ryozo feel the tiring trip to frigid Asahikawa had been worth it.
Sakazaki was glowing with health, and his face was the same as Ryozo remembered it, though the hair on his head had thinned considerably.
“Sakazaki, you haven’t changed a bit,” he said. A chair was offered to him and he sat down.
“Oh really?” Sakazaki challenged him, lifting the sparse hairs hanging over his forehead.
“Well, it does look as though there’s a bit more of your forehead than there used to be,” Ryozo admitted with a smile.
“You’ve hardly changed at all, Section Chief.” Sakazaki offered Ryozo a cigarette, which he accepted with a murmur of thanks. His old title had a most pleasant ring to it. In the post-retirement job he had taken in the private sector, he now had the much lower ranked position of chief clerk.
“Time sure flies. I have great memories of working under you back in Sapporo.” On Sakazaki’s desk stood a wooden name bar with the words Section Chief inscribed on it.
“You’ve achieved promotion rather quickly, Sakazaki. At this rate you’ll be department chief before you retire.” This was every corporate man’s dream.
“Oh, I don’t know. Not likely.” Sakazaki rubbed his head in embarrassment. “Anyway, if I’ve had any success, it’s all thanks to great bosses like yourself.”
“You’ve always been industrious, in both public and private life, Sakazaki. Beyond reproach, in fact.” Ryozo leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “My wife still talks about how you used to come to shovel the snow off our roof. She sends you her regards, by the way.”
“I’m honored. It’s been a while since you and I went out for drinks, hasn’t it. How about tonight…?” Sakazaki curled his forefinger and thumb in the commonly recognized imitation of lifting a sake cup.
“That would be great,” Ryozo nodded in agreement.
“I’ll be waiting for you at the Ofune bar on Third Avenue at around 5:30 this evening, then.”
“The Ofune?”
“They’ve got the freshest fish and some really fine sake.”
“Sounds good.” No one else at his former workplace had ever welcomed Ryozo so enthusiastically. They might confess some nostalgia, but before retirement Ryozo had been a nose-to-the-grindstone kind of worker, and none of his former co-workers felt close enough to him to suggest an evening of camaraderie at a bar. Sakazaki was certainly a thoughtful fellow. Maybe it would be more accurate to say he was smart. But at least he was consistent, and this warmed Ryozo’s heart.
Sakazaki kept the conversational ball rolling, to all appearances giving his whole attention to his former boss. The two men talked of their former co-workers, going from there to family news, and from there to their current job situations and back again to reminiscences. Though they had never been Ryozo’s subordinates, one or two of his former colleagues joined them and enlivened the conversation. When he glanced at his watch it was already past 3:00 pm.
“Well then, I guess I’ll see you at the Ofune…” he said, getting up from his chair. The same moment, a tall man in his late thirties approached Sakazaki saying, “Sir, an emergency meeting of all the section chiefs has been called for 5:00 this afternoon.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! I’ve just made a date for 5:30,” Sakazaki said, exasperated.
“Yes, sir, but the Bureau Chief…”
“Can’t we have the meeting at 4:00?”
“Sir, the Bureau Chief just returned to Hokkaido from Tokyo and will be on the train arriving in Asahikawa shortly before 5:00… His secretary called us from Chitose airport to tell us.”
“Well, that’s a bummer.” Sakazaki leaned back unhappily in his chair.
“It’s too bad, of course, but it can’t be helped, Sakazaki. Been there. Done that. We’ll have other chances, right?” Ryozo was severely disappointed, but he shook off the feeling and stood up again. He declined Sakazaki’s offer to walk him out of the building, so they parted at the door.
In spite of the missed opportunity to have drinks with Sakazaki, their reunion left Ryozo feeling good about life. He enjoyed the sensation as he walked down the long corridor. Just as he was turning right to take the stairs, he was attacked by an urgent need to use the toilet. Finding a lavatory next to the stairwell, he dashed in and quickly entered one of the stalls. As he relieved himself, he heard the sound of footsteps and someone else entered the lavatory. He could hear the sound of urinating, and then a second pair of footsteps entering the room.
“Oh, Section Chief, here you are.” It was the voice of the man who had informed Sakazaki of the 5:00 meeting.
“Thanks for getting me out of that jam a while back. You’re a superb actor, you are.” It was Sakazaki’s voice. Ryozo listened, puzzled.
“Sir, please don’t joke about it. I was doing the best I could. Emergency meetings are always a good escape, don’t you think, sir?”
“For sure. I’m glad I arranged it with you as soon as I got that call from the reception desk.”
“Glad to be of service, sir.”
“I don’t have time to waste on a fellow who’s long since retired. Nor do I have the stamina or the money to maintain profitless connections.”
“Of course not, sir.”
The sound of their laughter moved out of the lavatory and into the hallway, leaving Ryozo stunned and crouched in his stall.
3.
In the taxi on the way to his son’s apartment, Ryozo was wrapped in misery. What an ass he had made of himself. His body trembled with unspeakable fury. All the times Sakazaki had labored to push the snow off their roof, and all the times the man had house-sat for them, it had been nothing more than a means to promotion. Ryozo recognized that he was no longer any use to Sakazaki schemes in climbing the corporate ladder. He stared vacantly out the window at the falling snow and nursed his bitterness.
When he arrived at Yoshitaka’s apartment, the door opened easily. But there was no sign of anyone at home. A pair of men’s snow boots stood on the floor of the entryway. Ryozo leaned across to push the inner door open, and called out. “Fuyuko, are you there?” There was no answer. Nor could he hear his granddaughter’s voice. Thinking they must have stepped out to do some shopping, Ryozo decided to go on in and wait for their return.
The kerosene space heater had been left on, so the room was not cold. He removed his overcoat and sat on the sofa. There were some overturned toys and scattered picture books in a corner of the room. Ryozo lit a cigarette and let his thoughts drift back to Sakazaki.
If Sakazaki’s motivation for the things they had done together had been solely for promotion, what a pitiful life the man had led, even if it had resulted in fast-track promotions. Ryozo cursed Sakazaki in his heart. It was rare for him, as passive a man as he was, to entertain such thoughts. Suddenly the door to an adjacent room slid open.
“Dad?” A pajama-clad Yoshitaka stepped into the living room, looking startled. “What are you doing here?”
“Huh, are you sick with a cold or something?”
“Yeah. I’ve been stuck in bed for three days.” Yoshitaka’s narrow eyes, so like his father’s, narrowed to slits as he smiled apologetically.
“Then you didn’t get the message that I was coming out here?” It had become Ryozo’s habit to leave messages for Yoshitaka with the switchboard at his son’s workplace, as he hadn’t yet contracted for a phone line in his new apartment.
“No, I didn’t get any message. I haven’t been to the office for days.” Yoshitaka suddenly had a fit of coughing.
“You should probably get back into bed,” Ryozo said in alarm.
“Oh, I’ll be all right, Dad. But where’s Fuyuko gone off to?”
“I wouldn’t know. I just got here myself.”
“Maybe she’s out shopping. Or gossiping with the neighbors again.” Yoshitaka gave a small cluck with his tongue and began tidying the scattered picture books.
“Don’t you think you ought to be lying down?”
“I’m fine, Dad. It’s good of you to visit us. Really.” Yoshitaka’s eyes lingered happily on his father’s face.
“Yeah, well. I just got it into my head to come, I guess.”
“I wish Mom could have come.”
“Yeah, well.” Ryozo didn’t know what else to say.
“I realize that it’s us that should be visiting you,” Yoshitaka said, speaking with the same gentle manner his father had.
“Don’t let it bother you. Whoever finds it easiest to leave home is the one who should make the trip.” Ryozo felt the humiliation of his visit with Sakazaki slowly fade. Yoshitaka stood up, and taking the kettle from where it sat on the top of the space heater, he began to make tea. He let the hot water cool just slightly before steeping the green tea leaves, and the tea thus prepared was mellow and viscous.
“You have a surprising talent there. This tea is even tastier than your mother’s,” Ryozo said in surprise.
“I have a client whose wife is a master of tea ceremony.”
“And she taught you how to make tea?”
“Yeah. She says everyone should learn to make a decent cup of tea. She says Ishida Mitsunari[2] was promoted because he was skilled in making tea.”
“Promoted…,” Ryozo repeated. Sakazaki’s face once more intruded into his thoughts and he grimaced. “Does your bank send you to visit clients when women are home alone?” he asked.
“Of course they do.”
“That seems unwise to me.”
“Dad, you have a dirty mind. The tea master is sixty years old if she’s a day.”
“Oh. “ father and son laughed together, and Ryozo felt his heart become peaceful.
“It’s a tough world out there. And Fuyuko… well, she’s pushing me to get promoted as quickly as possible.”
“That’s well and good. But if a man’s promotional prospects are all he has, life can be pretty empty.”
“Why is that?” Yoshitaka asked.
“Take your situation, son. Just suppose that after all this tea-making and flattery, you get the brownie points you need for promotion. If you objectively examined yourself, wouldn’t you feel you were lacking the most crucial thing a man needs?”
“Are you saying my character would be compromised? Well, maybe you’ve got a point. But Dad, that’s a perspective one isn’t privileged to have until retirement.”
“Surely not.”
“Dad, you made it to section chief with only a middle school education. That’s a big deal. Most of your colleagues-- the guys that started out with you-- they didn’t make it that far.”
“That’s true,” Ryozo agreed. It felt good to be told he had done well for himself. “But, Yoshitaka, I don’t believe I’ve ever stooped to insincere flattery.”
“I can believe that.”
“Yoshitaka.”
“Yes, Dad?”
“You’ve gotten pretty good at flattery,” Ryozo said, looking fondly at his son.
“Not me. Wow, look at the time. It’s already 4:30. What’s taking Fuyuko so long?”
“Why isn’t she here taking care of you?”
“It’s just a cold, Dad. It’ll get better on its own with sleep.” Yoshitaka peered into the refrigerator. “She hasn’t even stocked up on beer,” he said, and then suddenly sneezed.
“You ought to be in bed.” Yoshitaka’s attempt at being hospitable stirred Ryozo’s pity.
“Well, when she gets home, I’ll have her make us something good to eat. How about hot-pot?”
“Ahh, hot-pot sounds good!” How much more pleasant to share a hot-pot with his son, Ryozo thought, than to go out drinking at a fancy establishment with Sakazaki. And yet, Ryozo recognized that he would not be able to completely relax around Fuyuko. He had been thinking it would work out best on this trip, his first visit to their home, if could have told them he had a prior engagement for dinner. It was why he had dropped by Sakazaki’s office before coming to Yoshitaka’s apartment in the first place.
“Where is that woman?” Yoshitaka, who had gradually become irritated, was now pacing between the entryway and the living room window hoping to catch sight of his wife.
“She’ll be back in time. Don’t worry about it.”
“Women! They’re impossible to figure out.”
Knowing that Yoshitaka spoke this way to preserve his own dignity in his father’s presence, Ryozo had to stifle yet another surge of pity. He steered the conversation to lighter matters. As they were laughing together, the front door opened. Yoshitaka leaped to his feet.
“What took you so long? Dad’s here all the way from Sapporo.”
“But why?”
Ryozo caught the low, cautious voices coming from the foyer. The whispering continued for a few moments, but when Yoshitaka had another coughing fit, they finally entered the living room together. It appeared that Fuyuko had been to the beauty parlor. Her hair was freshly permed.
“Welcome to our home,” she greeted Ryozo with a formal bow and a slightly strained expression on her face. “If you had told us you were coming. I would have made sure to be home.” It was as though she were scolding Ryozo for his unannounced visit. Three year-old Kiyomi was clinging to her mother, hiding her face in her mother’s skirt, one eye staring at him with un-childlike eyes.
Ryozo was miffed at Fuyuko’s tone, but he forced a relaxed smile and beckoned to his granddaughter. “I’m sorry if it inconvenienced you Fuyumi… Kiyomi, you’ve gotten so big! Come over here. I’m your granddaddy.” Kiyomi shook her head and offered no smile.
“It’s your granddaddy. He’s not a stranger,” Yoshitaka urged his daughter.
“He might as well be a stranger, dear. She’s never seen him before,” Fuyuko remarked. Yoshitaka shot Ryozo a timid glance and looked grim.
“Fuyuko, Dad says he’s particular to hot-pot,” he told her.
“Hot-pot? How am I supposed to put together a hot-pot without any prior notice? Our local super market is closed today.”
“What about the market out that-a-way?”
Fuyuko looked up at the wall clock. It was ten past five. She turned to her father-in-law and asked, “Um, what time is your train back to Sapporo?”
Ryozo froze in shock. He felt as though he had been cut with a sharp knife. The question was clearly intended to confirm that he had no intention of staying the night. It was also a declaration of her intention to prevent it from happening.
“Fuyuko, Dad was…” Yoshitaka began to explain, but Ryozo interrupted him.
“Well, now, maybe the last train of the day—the one that leaves at 8:15 would suit me fine,” he forced himself to reply in a gentle tone of voice.
“Well. There’s no way I can go all the way to that other market and have supper ready in time for you to make your train. Shopping takes times, you know.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. I have another stop to make before catching the train back anyway,” Ryozo realized that extending his visit any longer would only lead to further discomfort.
“Dad, you should stay the night,” Yoshitaka said in a low voice.
“Well, if you must leave, then at least let me throw something together from what we have in the refrigerator so you can eat before you go.” On confirming that Ryozo had no plans to stay the night, Fuyuko’s voice was suddenly cheerful.
“No, I’ll accept your hospitality the next time I come. Kiyomi, Granddaddy will come visit again.” He tried to pick his granddaughter up, but she cried out in protest.
“Oh dear. Graddaddy was a bit rough, was he?” Ryozo apologized. He reached over to place the sweets he had brought as a gift on the table, without bothering to unwrap the carrying cloth he had brought them in. Then he stood to his feet.
“Dad, I’m so sorry about this,” Yoshitaka apologized in a small voice, but out of deference to Fuyuko, he no longer pressed Ryozo to stay.
Once outdoors, Ryozo’s knees wobbled as though the strength had left his legs. He walked along the snow-covered path remembering how much he had looked forward to this day. So much so, that he had hardly slept the previous night for excitement, as though he were a child and it was the day before a picnic. How happy he had been at the thought of going out drinking with his old friend Sakazaki and playing with his little granddaughter.
He lurched down the now chilly, snowy path till he came to the boulevard. Here he had planned to hail a taxicab, but none passed by that were not already occupied. It was too cold to stand still, so Ryozo began to walk, feeling horribly empty and reluctant to dwell on the day’s events. After walking two blocks, an unoccupied taxi cruised by. He hailed it and got inside, but sat there blankly for a moment.
“So, where do you want to go?” the driver asked brusquely.
“The train station,” Ryozo said, then changed his mind. “No, make that downtown.” In about twenty minutes, the taxi reached the center of the city. Ryozo disembarked at a corner, near the entrance to a sushi shop called Kaku Zushi. He pushed through the curtain and into the shop, and without registering anything of the layout of the place, he stepped up onto the worn tatami matting of a small cubicle and ordered some sake.
What a bunch of bullshit that was about Fuyuko looking forward to seeing me. In his heart Ryozo railed against Yoshitaka and Fuyuko. Even his granddaughter had been turned against him. What a bunch of bullshit that was about Sakazaki looking forward to a chance to drink with me. He cursed Sakazaki, and as he did so, it occurred to him that all of humanity lived amidst such false exchanges. It was just the way things were. He proceeded to drink more than was good for him.
When he noticed the time and ran to the train station, the departure bell was clanging without pity. He slipped through the wicket, but the train had already left the station. Collapsing weakly to the platform, he watched helplessly as the taillights of the departing train grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
The end
[1] Houfu is often translated as New Year’s resolution, but the word in Japanese means something more vague and in the future, such as dream in the sentence, “My dream is to become a best-selling novelist” or ambition in the sentence, “My ambition is to become the CEO of my own company.” Ryozo feels that the concept of houfu is no longer relevant in his post-retirement life.
[2] Ishida Mitsunari (1560-1600) was a samurai who led the western army in the famous Battle of Sekigahara (1600).
Translator’s Note:
Bitou (Taillights) was written in the 70s, at the highlight of Japan’s economic boom years when it was normal for Japanese “corporate warriors” to fully commit their time and energy to their workplace, and men spent little, if any, time with their wives and children. This story gives us a glimpse into the absence of purpose and broken relationships that waited for one such man in his retirement years. Even without particular knowledge of the cultural and economic background of the story, the situation should be familiar enough to 21st century Western readers.