A feast laid before them on the long, polished, wooden table; an assortment of rice dishes; some filled with vegetables such as peas, carrots, bean sprouts and onions; some with chicken and some with beef. Also on the table was smoked fish from the store which was grilled, soups made from the broth from the chicken and beef plus some home-made onigiri and sushi. In the centre of the table was a seafood platter surrounded by beer, cola and other fruit-flavoured canned drinks that weren’t necessarily fizzy.
However, the events of the day had taken their toll on Kioshi’s appetite. His father too was reluctant to eat, instead flicking the cap of his metallic lighter as he sat casually on the floor with a leg raised, filling the air with a clanging sound. After a while he grew impatient with himself and lit a cigarette. Kioshi watched as the end burned redder as his father’s inhaling intensified, the ash tail growing longer. From the length of his draw Kioshi knew that his father must have been feeling tense.
‘Father? Have you heard about the girl? Hatsuo Seiya?’
‘You know that I don’t listen to the news, Kioshi.’ His father didn’t look in his direction.
‘Right...’ Kioshi looked to the side. ‘She was a girl in Zone Three who jumped off her school the other day and it got a whole bunch of us thinking...’ Kioshi paused with uncertainty, listening deeply to the silence. He continued to sit as he did, leaning back on his arms with one leg folded but the other extended. ‘A lot of us are worried about the future; you’ve seen the people out there. What can we do?’
‘You choose: fight or die. What else can you do? Well... Besides sitting on your ass and complaining.’
Kioshi’s gaze returned to his father. ‘We fight?’
‘You fight. You fight with everything you have.’ His father looked at the photograph of his long since deceased wife, smiling at him like she was there in the room. ‘You mother fought in more ways than one.’
‘Kioshi...’
Kiioshi’s heart stuttered. Had he just heard that – the sound of his mother calling his name? It was true that one particular memory haunted him however, he couldn’t remember his mother very well, just a few scattered memories several years apart. ‘But, how can you fight when things are so much bigger than you are? How can you fight that feeling of being overwhelmed or fight a battle that you’ll clearly lose?’
‘You fight smart, Kioshi. Like I taught you.’
‘Like you taught me?’
Smoke snaked out of Kioshi’s father’s mouth, drifting above his head and slowly filling the room with fog. He put out the cigarette on an ashtray by his side. ‘Did I ever tell you the story of how I lost my eye?’
‘No, you haven’t.’
The black, leather eye-patch Kioshi’s father wore was his most distinguishing feature and he wore it with pride. However, Kioshi didn’t know where this pride came from. ‘I lost it fighting for what I believed in. When you fight for such a cause you will often have to make sacrifices.’ He leaned forward to sit more formally, looking over the food to stare his son straight in the eye.
‘So you said to me once... You fought for your belief?’ Kioshi chose his next words carefully. ‘You fought for... Shibuya?’
The two stared at each other intensely, a mutual understanding developing.
‘My teacher died today because he had fought for what he believed in.’ Kioshi said cryptically.
‘I see, so it’s still not safe to talk about it.’
‘But father, you’re telling me to fight but you lost, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. We did.’ He rubbed the back of his head apologetically before grabbing a set of chopsticks and plucked a piece of fish of the plate onto his own. ‘I lost a lot during that time. It was probably because of what was going on that your mother ended up as she did...’ He smiled weakly, looking at all of his late-wife’s favourite things. ‘She sure could eat. Thank you for the meal.’ He grinned, taking a bite of fish. ‘Yet, she understood the value of her health and the importance of life. Did she ever tell you that she wanted to train to be a nurse? Before everything went to hell.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ There’s so much about my mother that I don’t know.
From his side his father held up the book Kioshi saw in the shopping bag. ‘The new book in a long-running’ series. I’ve bought every one for her.’
‘The writer must be old now.’
‘She died quiet a time ago actually.’
‘Then how are new books still being written?’
His father gazed tenderly at the pale, rose-coloured cover with a white silhouette of a flower printed on it. ‘Her daughter took the responsibility from her. It’s not quite the same what with today’s circumstances but the heart is still there. And that’s what counts. Sometimes parents leave behind traces or clues for the future; a small path for them to start their own journey or maybe something greater. Sometimes parents themselves start a journey but become too weak to finish it and so the offspring continues it for them in a labour of love.
‘This original writer’s daughter understood her mother’s struggles, her hopes and dreams, the passion that her mother held in her heart and even now tries to share it with those who can listen. Books like these are forbidden so people like me struggle to procure them; voices of hope. To spend your life fighting your belief in this world, it isn’t suicide. Should you choose to fight or not, the result is the same. The question is: when you look back on your life, will you be able to say if you’re proud of yourself? Whether you win or lose isn’t what’s important in the grand scheme of things; in the end, we all die. What’s important however, is that you die with warmth in your heart. Your mother did.’
The room grew silent again, but Kioshi resisted diving into thought. ‘I want to fight, father, but the one person who could have helped was murdered.’
‘He was a fool if he spoke so openly about the past. He must have wanted to die, the poor bastard. Still, you can’t accept that his death marked the end of your dream.’ His father opened a bottle of beer, taking a satisfied sip.
‘I have to do this... I don’t think I can take watching all of these people act so miserably, all those people who walk around without their souls, living their lives in eternal misery and compliance. I don’t want to grow up in that world anymore. I believe that if you have a problem then you should try your best to solve it.’
‘If you want to start a revolution Kioshi, all you have to do is believe.’
‘I believe...’
‘Then tell me this Kioshi, what is stopping you?
Kioshi’s eyes fell to the table where he returned to his thoughts. He knew fully well what the problem was. Half-heartedly, he placed some well-seasoned meat into his mouth, giving it a thorough chewing. It tasted like clay.