洛中 ７ Kyoto ７

　週末になると瀬古はいつも余裕を持ってカフェに向かった。勤務時間の半時間前あたりで店内のテーブルに座り、まかないの料理を食べる。それから服を着替えて前任のアルバイトと交代すると、後は閉店までカウンターに立った。コーヒーを出し、パスタを作り、ホットケーキを焼いた。定期的にトイレ掃除に行き、最後に収支報告をした。

　先生はほとんどコーヒーに口をつけることもなく相変わらずノートに向かって何かを書き続けていた。一度書いたものを読み返すこともあれば、以前書いていた文に新しく書き加えることもあった。瀬古はその中身をまだちゃんと見た事はないが、言葉で何か大きなものを建築しているようだった。ところどころ直し、組み立て、そうして日を改めてまた直す。

　文字を書いていないときは、先生は両肘を机についた格好で、口元を隠しながらただ動かず前を眺めていた。それは考えごとをするというよりも、沈んでいるという感じで、たぶん何も見えていない。一度、先生の目の前で、客が料理を載せたトレイを落としたことがあったが、先生はまったく動じなかった。そんなことなど何も起こっていないかのように、その騒ぎの向こうを通して目の前の照明の方を眺めていた。

　先生が店にいる土曜日の二時間ほどのあいだ、先生はいったい何に向かっているのか瀬古は尋ねてみたい気になるのだが、いつでもそれを言うのはためらわれた。そうして地下鉄の駅で彼等は別れる。先生はゆっくりと階段を降りてゆき、その姿が見えなくなると瀬古は自転車にまたがって走る。

　月曜日から金曜日までは、瀬古は休むことなく社労士事務所に通った。そんな生活を繰り返しているうちに気がつけばもう四月だった。事務所の人事に変化はなかったので今年はいつもよりも自然に春がはじまった気がした。

　瀬古の机にも就業規則の微調整の相談の連絡が来ていた。その他にも三月末の退職者の処理の書類がいくつか載っていた。ほかにも幾つか雑事があったが、瀬古はそれらをひとつひとつ付箋に書いていき、サイドボードに貼った。そうして処理が一つ終わるごとに付箋をはがした。

　一時間ほど仕事を進めると、瀬古は一度席を立った。給湯ポットで湯を沸かしているあいだに、コーヒー豆を測り、ミルでやや細かめに挽いた。粉をドリッパーに移し、ゆっくりと蒸らしながら湯を注ぎ、鼻を近づけて確認した。

　この一式は所長のこだわりで事務所に置かれていたものだったが、夜に働くカフェでは機械で淹れているというのに、こちらでは手間をかけて一杯ずつ淹れていた。客に出すコーヒーよりも、事務仕事の合間に飲むコーヒーの方に手間をかけている。そのことが瀬古には少しばかり皮肉に思えた。

　窓の外はいい天気で、予報では今日の最高気温は２０度を超えるという。この時期の京都は建物のなかにいるよりも外のほうが暖かいぐらいだった。目の前の通りを観光客らしいグループが通り過ぎていった。

　ふと、川端通りはもう桜も咲ききっている頃だろうと瀬古は思った。ドリッパーに湯を足しながらそういえば菜摘とは一緒に桜を観た記憶がないことに瀬古は今更気づいた。菜摘の誕生日は４月９日で、ちょうど桜の時期だというのに。

　桜の話は騒がしすぎるの、と菜摘は言った。

　うん。

　みんなが桜の下で集まって騒ぐのってあんまり好きじゃない。風もまだ冷たいし。そのくせ見た目だけは華やかで。そんな桜の樹の下でご飯を食べるのって何か空しい感じがする。それよりもわたしは梨の花の方がいい。桜に似てるけど、梨は匂いなんてほとんどないんだよ。近づかないと分からないくらい。

　見たことないよ。

　どこかの田舎で見たという梨の花の話を菜摘は語った。

　子どもだった頃、彼女は父親と一緒に適当に電車に乗って遠出することがあった。それを親子は、小さな散歩「ちい散歩」と呼んでいた。が、そのときの遠出は小さなものではなく、電車をいくつも乗り換えたということだった。途中で眠ってしまった菜摘はどのようにそこに向かったのか覚えていない。彼女の記憶にあるのは丘の上から見下ろした梨畑だった。白い花を付けた木々が斜面に広がり、その向こうには青い空があった。

　木のあちこちに白い花が咲いていてね。でも桜みたいに花だけじゃないの。葉の緑もまじっていてーー

　瀬古には、その丘の風景が見えるような気がした。

　瀬古の中で四月九日はいつでも特別な日だった。

　マグカップを片手に瀬古は机に戻って仕事に手を付けた。そうして誰とも話すことなく、書類の整備に取り掛かった。相手先にメールを送り、書類の間違いを確認し、訂正した。書面上の情報が正しくあるべき場所へと整理されていくのは嫌いではなかった。いつかこういったことは全部ＡＩとか、あるいはもっと便利な発明が担うのかもしれなかったが、今のところ事務作業は瀬古の手によってなされていた。

　昼前になってようやく、瀬古は所長がまだ出勤していないことに気づいた。掲示用のホワイトボードに目をやると、所長はこの日は朝から出張だった。〈四月九日18:00〉まで出張と、マーカーで書いてあった。瀬古が単に見落としているだけだった。

　ちょうど所長の許可がないと動けない案件があったので、書類を手に瀬古はホワイトボードの前でしばらく立ち止まっていた。

「なにかあった？」その様子に気づいて三崎が尋ねた。

「いや……所長なんですけどね、１８時までということは、夕方６時に戻ってくるってことでしょうか？」

　三崎もキイを打つ手を止めて、椅子から立ち上がった。そうして瀬古の横に並んで一緒にホワイトボードを眺めた。彼女のつけているハンドクリームの甘い匂いが鼻をかすめたが、菜摘はこういう類のクリームは使わなかった、とまた思い出した。

「どうだろ？わたしは聞いてないけど」

「まあ、いいです」と瀬古は答えた。「これはそこまで急ぎじゃないから。来週聞きます。もしも急な案件だったら連絡ください」

「瀬古君、わたし諦めることにする」

　ふと三崎がそう呟いたのは昼休みで、そのとき他の者たちは皆、昼食に出ていて事務所にいなかった。最初自分が呼ばれたとは分からず、ぼんやりとした表情を浮かべていた瀬古だったが、その意味が分かるとどのように返答したから良いのか迷った。

　瀬古は席を立って三崎の傍まで行った。三崎は目頭を指でこすって涙を拭っていた。

「大丈夫ですか？」

「ごめんね、すぐに戻るから」

　こういうときどうすれば良いのか瀬古は困った。

「あの人逃げたのよ。わざわざ出張なんて作ってーーわたしがいると気詰まりだから、出ていったんだと思う」

「そうなんですか」

「もう個人的には会わないって。仕事だけだって。そのほうが良いって。だから私も諦めて、もうそこは割り切らないと……」

　そう口に出してしまうと、三崎は今度こそ顔を歪めて泣きだした。泣き出すと何だか彼女の顔は子どもっぽく見えた。

「そのほうがいいよね」と三崎は言った。「もう私が何も言わなくなって、最初から何もなかったことみたいになれば問題ないものね」

　いま誰も戻って来ないと良いのだが、と懸念しながらも、瀬古はしばらく彼女のそばに立っていた。そういえば菜摘が泣いたとき自分はどうしていたのだろう、とふとそんな事を考えた。そのとき自分はどんなふうにして彼女を慰めようとしたのか、思い出そうとしても、頼りのない手応えしかなかった。

　窓の外はいい天気で、しゃくりあげるような三崎の声がしばらく続いた。

「ちょっと飲み物買ってきますね」瀬古は事務所を出た。通路を進んだ階段そばの踊り場にある自販機のところまで行くと、そこで彼はココアの缶を買った。三崎はココアが好きで、よくそこで買っていたのを思い出したのだった。

　瀬古が戻った頃には、三崎はもう泣き止んでむっつりとした顔つきで椅子に座っていたが、やがて「化粧直さないと――」言った。そうして先程の瀬古といれちがいのようにして、スマホとポーチを持って出ていった。仕方なしに瀬古は三崎の机の上にココアを置くと自分の席に戻った。

　三崎が戻ってきたのはそれからずいぶん経ってからで、そのときにはもう出ていった連中は帰ってきていた。

　その日は金曜日だったので午後４時に瀬古は事務所を出た。所長にはとうとう会わないままだったが、三崎の話を聞いたからには、かえってそれで良かったと瀬古は思った。自分の見えないところで人は別の姿を見せているような気がして、瀬古はいつも通る東大路通りではなく、街の中心部分を南北に流れる賀茂川の方へと自転車を向けた。

　明日は天気が崩れるという予報だったから、雨が降ればきっと桜の花も散ってしまうに違いなかった。

　自転車から見下ろす賀茂川の川べりには桜が並んで、おおざっぱに桃色に塗ったように華やかな色に染まっていた。大学生や観光客が集まる姿を、岸上から眺めながら桜の中を走った。風で桜の花びらが目の前に来ると、ハンドルを離して片手でそれを掴もうとすらした。

　先生はいつものようにやって来た。夕方六時過ぎにいつもの壁際の席に座って、コーヒーを一口飲んだあと、ほとんど休むことなく集中してなにかノートを書いていた。緑色のペンを動かし、その上に赤色で矢印を書いた。そうして手早くページをめくると、新しい空白のページにまた何行か書き込んだ。内側から言葉が溢れてきて、早くそれを書き留めておかないと消えてしまうようだった。

　夜八時になって瀬古が店内の掃除を済ませて外に出ると、先生は寒そうに少し背をこごめながら道の傍に立っていた。

　二人はそれから駅まで歩いた。しばらくの間先生は何も話さなかったので、瀬古の方も黙っていた。空の雲が何だか低い感じがするのは、湿った空気のせいかもしれなかったし、あるいは職場での三崎のことがまだ処理しきれていない気分のせいかもしれなかった。

　沈黙は気詰まりではなかったし、このまま無言で地下鉄の駅まで行ってもいいと瀬古は考え始めていた。先生は相変わらずのスーツ姿に今日は薄手のスプリングコートを着ていた。そうして筆記用具とノートを詰めたビジネスバッグを手に提げていた。

　雨が降るようだね。

　街灯の下に咲いている桜の下を通り過ぎたとき先生がぽつりと言った。

　ええ。明日には全部桜も散るようですね。

　桜が咲いているのですね。

　春ですから、と瀬古は笑った。先生はあんまり考えごとに夢中だから気づかなかったんですかね。

　考えても答えは出ないがね。なんだか私は空白の周りをぐるぐると回っているだけの気がするよ。君の方はどうかな？彼女について何かわかったかい？

　彼女？

　あの可哀想な女性だよ。遺体は全部見つかったのだろうか。

　ああ、いや……何も。あれ以来どこにも新しいニュースを見つけられなくて。

　まだ探すつもりかい？

　どうでしょうか。何か新しいことが分からない以上、もうどうしようもない気もします。

　そう口にして、瀬古自身が驚いた。あの事件について自分が離れてもいいような気になったのは意外だったが、しばらくしてじっくりと納得の方が来た。誰にも強制されているわけでもないし、本当にもう事件の事を考えるのは終わりにしても構わないような気になってきた。

　沈黙する瀬古に先生は話しかけた。

　きっと彼女の方がこれ以上の詮索を嫌がっているんだろうね。死者の方でも静かにしていたいという権利ぐらいはあるだろう。

　そうかもしれませんね。

　住宅街の中を歩いているうちにやがて向こうに信号が見えてきた。そこを越えるともうすぐ駅の改札口だった。車が一台、並んで歩く彼等の背中をライトで照らしながら追い抜いていった。それを目で追いながら瀬古は所長が乗っていた白いセダンを思いだした。

　誰でもみんな何かを欲しがる、と瀬古は言った。

　もちろんそうだ。欲求が人を動かすんだろうね。

　ええ、本当にそう。

　ひとは何かを欲しがって、それで、求めていたものとは全然違うものを……そこまで言いかけて、瀬古は言葉を切った。何を言おうとしたのか、自分でも急に分からなくなった。

　地下鉄の駅で先生はそれじゃあと手を振り、階段を降りた。いつもと同じだった。その背中を見送りながら、瀬古がすぐに自転車に乗らなかったのは、最後に振り返って欲しい、とそんなことを思ったからだ。

　次に先生に会えるとしたら来週の週末だった。先生と帰る前にはもっと話をするつもりで、たとえば所長と三崎のことを先生に話して整理したかった。しかしうまく言葉が出ないまま、中途半端に終わった感じだった。

　シャワーを浴びているときに瀬古は、父親のことを思いだしている自分に気がついた。生活のなかのふとした隙間に、記憶が入り込んでくることがある。

　瀬古の父親は、瀬古が小学校四年生のときにある日突然姿を消した。

　一緒に風呂に入っていたときのことだった。

　父さん、ひとりで旅行してきていいかな。

　父親は息子に許可を求めるようにそう訊ねた。そんな事を言う父親ではなかったのだが、その時の瀬古はなんとも思わなかった。

　どこに行くの？

　どこかなあ、と父親は言った。ちゃんと場所なんて決めていない。どこかへ行って……とりあえずここではない場所へ。

　いいよ、と瀬古は答えた。ちゃんと連絡さえしてくれたら。

　連絡はしないよ、と父は言った。できないところに行くんだから。

　あのときなぜ、だめだ、と言わなかったのだろう。

　この話を瀬古は誰にも言えなかった。母親にも。それを口にすることで何か自分が取り返しのつかない失敗をしたような気になるからだった。父親は瀬古の少年時代のある日、突然彼の前から姿を消し、そのまま何の結論もないまま今に至った。それはある意味で救いのようなものかもしれない、と瀬古は思う。

When the weekend came, Seko always headed to the cafe with time to spare. About half an hour before his shift started, he would sit at a table inside and eat his staff meal. Then, he would change into his work clothes, take over from the previous part-timer, and stand behind the counter until closing. He poured coffee, cooked pasta, and made pancakes. At regular intervals, he went to clean the restroom, and finally, he completed the daily sales report.

The Professor hardly ever touched his coffee, continuing, as always, to write something in his notebook. Sometimes he would reread what he had already written; other times, he would add fresh lines to older passages. Seko had not yet taken a proper look at the contents, but it felt as though the man were constructing something massive out of words. Correcting here, assembling there, and then, on another day, revising it all over again.

When he wasn't writing, the Professor would sit motionless, propping his elbows on the table and burying his mouth in his hands, staring straight ahead. It didn't look so much like deep thinking as it did a kind of sinking—he likely saw nothing at all. Once, right in front of him, a customer dropped a tray loaded with food, but the Professor didn't flinch in the slightest. As if nothing had happened, he stared through the commotion, his eyes fixed on the light fixture ahead.

During the two hours or so that the Professor spent in the shop on Saturdays, Seko often felt a sudden urge to ask him what exactly he was confronting, but he always hesitated to say it. And so, they would part ways at the subway station. The Professor would slowly walk down the stairs, and once his figure vanished from sight, Seko would straddle his bicycle and ride off.

From Monday to Friday, Seko commuted to the labor and social security attorney office without a single day off. Living that repetitive life, he looked up to find it was already April. There had been no reshuffling of personnel at the office, which made the arrival of spring feel more natural than usual this year.

Seko’s desk was piled with inquiries regarding minor adjustments to company work regulations. There were also several documents to process for employees who had retired at the end of March. There were a few other administrative chores, but Seko wrote each one down on a sticky note and pasted them to the sideboard. As each task was cleared, he peeled the note away.

After working for about an hour, Seko stood up from his seat. While waiting for the water to boil in the electric kettle, he measured the coffee beans and ground them somewhat finely with the mill. He transferred the powder to the dripper, poured the water slowly to let it bloom, and brought his nose close to check the aroma.

This whole setup was placed in the office purely because of the director’s particular taste. Yet, it struck Seko as slightly ironic that while he worked at a cafe at night where they used a machine, here he took the time to brew every single cup by hand. They spent more effort on the coffee drunk between tasks than on the coffee served to actual customers.

Outside the window, the weather was beautiful, with the forecast predicting today’s maximum temperature would exceed twenty degrees Celsius. At this time of year in Kyoto, it was almost warmer outside than inside the buildings. A group of what looked like tourists passed by on the street below.

Suddenly, it occurred to Seko that the cherry blossoms along Kawabata Street must be in full bloom by now. As he added more water to the dripper, he realized, only just now, that he had no memory of ever viewing the blossoms with Natsumi. Even though Natsumi’s birthday was April 9th, right in the middle of the blossom season.

"People make too much of a fuss over cherry blossoms," Natsumi had said. "Yeah." "I don’t really like everyone gathering and making a racket under the trees. The wind is still cold anyway. And yet they look so gaudy. Eating food under those trees feels somehow empty. I prefer pear blossoms. They look like cherry blossoms, but pears have almost no scent. You can't even tell unless you get really close." "I’ve never seen them."

Natsumi had told him then about the pear blossoms she had seen somewhere out in the countryside. When she was a child, she and her father would occasionally catch a random train and go far away. The father and daughter called these little excursions Chii-Sanpo—their "little strolls." However, that particular trip had been anything but little; they had transferred trains multiple times. Having fallen asleep along the way, Natsumi couldn't remember how they had gotten there. What remained in her memory was the pear orchard viewed from the top of a hill. Trees bearing white blossoms stretched across the slope, and beyond them lay a blue sky.

"There were white flowers blooming all over the trees. But it wasn’t just flowers like the cherry blossoms. The green of the leaves was mixed in too—" Seko felt as though he could see that hillside landscape himself. To Seko, April 9th was a day that would always be special.

Mug in hand, Seko returned to his desk and set to work. Without speaking to anyone, he fell to organizing the documents. He sent emails to clients, checked for errors in the paperwork, and corrected them. He didn't dislike the process of straightening out written information until it sat exactly where it belonged. Perhaps someday all of this would be handled by AI or some even more convenient invention, but for now, the administrative work was being done by Seko’s own hands.

It was close to noon when Seko finally noticed that the director hadn't come into the office yet. Looking at the whiteboard used for announcements, he saw that the director had been away on a business trip since morning. written in marker was: [Out of Office until April 9th, 18:00]. Seko had simply overlooked it.

Since he happened to have a case that couldn't move forward without the director's approval, Seko stood before the whiteboard for a while, documents in hand.

"Is something wrong?" Misaki asked, noticing his posture. "No... it's just about the director. 'Until 18:00'—does that mean he’ll be back at six this evening?"

Misaki stopped typing, stood up from her chair, and came over to stand beside Seko, looking up at the whiteboard with him. The sweet scent of her hand cream brushed against his nose, reminding him yet again that Natsumi never used that kind of cream.

"Who knows? He didn't say anything to me." "Well, it's fine," Seko replied. "This isn't that urgent. I'll just ask him next week. If it turns into an emergency, please let me know."

"Seko-kun, I’ve decided to give up."

Misaki suddenly muttered this during the lunch break. The others had all gone out for lunch, leaving the office empty. At first, Seko didn't realize he was being addressed and wore a blank expression, but once the meaning sank in, he was at a loss for how to respond.

Seko stood up and went over to her. Misaki was rubbing the corners of her eyes with her fingers, wiping away tears.

"Are you okay?" "I'm sorry, I’ll be fine in a second." Seko never knew what to do in situations like this.

"He ran away. He manufactured that business trip on purpose—because having me around makes him uncomfortable, he just got out." "Is that so?" "He told me we aren't meeting personally anymore. Only work. That it’s better this way. So I have to give up too, and just draw the line..."

Once she put it into words, Misaki truly broke down, her face twisting as she cried. Crying made her face look somewhat childish.

"It’s better this way, isn't it?" Misaki said. "If I just stop saying anything, and we act like nothing ever happened from the start, then there won't be any problems."

Hoping that no one would walk back in just yet, Seko stood by her side for a while. He found himself wondering what he used to do when Natsumi cried. No matter how he tried to remember how he had attempted to comfort her back then, he could find nothing but a fragile, elusive memory.

Outside the window, the weather remained beautiful, while the sound of Misaki’s sobbing continued for some time.

"I’m going to go buy a drink," Seko said and left the office. He walked down the hallway to the vending machine near the stair landing and bought a can of cocoa. He had remembered that Misaki liked cocoa and often bought it there.

By the time Seko returned, Misaki had stopped crying and was sitting in her chair with a sullen expression. Before long, she muttered, "I need to fix my makeup—" and left the room with her smartphone and pouch, passing him just as he had passed her earlier. Having no other choice, Seko set the cocoa on Misaki’s desk and returned to his own seat.

It was quite a while before Misaki came back, and by then, the people who had gone out for lunch had already returned.

Since it was Friday, Seko left the office at four in the afternoon. In the end, he never did see the director, but after hearing Misaki’s side of things, Seko thought it was probably for the best. Feeling as though people were constantly showing different sides of themselves in places out of his sight, Seko turned his bicycle not toward Higashioji Street, which he usually took, but toward the Kamo River, which flowed north-south through the center of the city.

The forecast said the weather would turn bad tomorrow; if it rained, the cherry blossoms would surely all scatter.

Looking down from his bicycle, the banks of the Kamo River were lined with cherry trees, dyed in a brilliant, sweeping pink that looked almost coarsely painted on. He rode through the blossoms, looking down from the upper bank at the crowds of college students and tourists gathered below. When a gust of wind brought the petals right before his eyes, he even let go of the handlebars to try and catch one with a single hand.

The Professor arrived just as he always did. Sitting in his usual seat by the wall just after six in the evening, he took a single sip of his coffee and then, almost without a pause, began writing intently in his notebook. He moved a green pen, then drew red arrows over the script. Flipping the page quickly, he jotted down several more lines on a fresh, blank sheet. Words seemed to overflow from within him, as if they would vanish if he didn't write them down immediately.

At eight o'clock in the evening, when Seko finished cleaning the shop and stepped outside, the Professor was standing by the side of the road, looking cold, his back slightly hunched.

The two of them walked toward the station. Since the Professor didn't speak for a while, Seko remained silent too. The clouds in the sky felt low somehow—perhaps because of the humid air, or perhaps because he hadn't yet fully processed what had happened with Misaki at work.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable, and Seko was beginning to think it would be fine to walk all the way to the subway station without a word. The Professor wore his usual suit, topped today with a light spring coat. In his hand, he carried a business bag stuffed with writing utensils and notebooks.

"It looks like rain," the Professor said abruptly as they passed under a cherry tree illuminated by a streetlight. "Yeah. It seems all the blossoms will be gone by tomorrow." "Ah, so the cherry blossoms are blooming." "Well, it is spring," Seko said with a slight laugh. "You've been so lost in thought that you didn't notice, Professor?" "Thinking doesn't bring answers, though," the Professor remarked. "I feel as though I am merely circling around a void. How about you? Did you find out anything about her?" "Her?" "That poor woman. I wonder if they ever found all of her remains." "Oh, no... nothing. I haven't been able to find any new news since then." "Do you still intend to look?" "I don't know. Since there’s no way to find out anything new, I feel like there's nothing more I can do."

Saying it aloud, Seko surprised himself. It was unexpected that he felt ready to detach himself from the incident, but after a moment, a quiet sense of acceptance followed. No one was forcing him, and he genuinely felt it might be alright to stop thinking about the case altogether.

As Seko fell silent, the Professor spoke again. "Surely she herself dislikes any further intrusion. Even the dead ought to have the right to be left in peace." "Perhaps so."

As they walked through the residential area, a traffic light eventually came into view ahead. Once they crossed it, the subway turnstiles would be just a short distance away. A car overtook them from behind, illuminating their backs with its headlights as it passed. Watching it go, Seko thought of the white sedan the director drove.

"Everyone always wants something," Seko said. "Of course. Desire is what moves people, I suppose." "Yes, it really is." "People want something, and so, they seek it out, only to find something entirely different from what they were looking for..." Mid-sentence, Seko cut himself off. He suddenly lost track of what he had been about to say.

At the subway station, the Professor waved, said, "Well then," and walked down the stairs. It was the same as always. Watching his retreating back, the reason Seko didn't immediately get on his bicycle was that he found himself wishing, just for a moment, that the man would turn around one last time.

The next time he would see the Professor would be next weekend. Before heading home with him, Seko had intended to talk more—for instance, he had wanted to talk about the director and Misaki to sort things out. But the words hadn't come out right, leaving things feeling half-baked.

While taking a shower, Seko realized he was thinking about his father. Memories have a way of slipping into the casual gaps of daily life.

Seko’s father had vanished suddenly one day when Seko was in the fourth grade. It happened while they were taking a bath together.

"Hey, do you mind if I go on a trip by myself?" The father had asked his son, as if seeking permission. He wasn't the kind of father to say such things, but at the time, Seko hadn't thought anything of it.

"Where are you going?" "I wonder where," his father had said. "I haven't really decided on a place. Just somewhere... anywhere but here, for now." "Okay," Seko had replied. "As long as you make sure to contact me." "I won't contact you," his father said. "Because I'm going somewhere where I can't."

Why hadn't he said no back then?

Seko had never been able to tell anyone this story. Not even his mother. To speak of it made him feel as though he had made some irreversible, catastrophic mistake. His father had vanished from his life one day during his boyhood, leaving things entirely without a conclusion up to the present day.

In a way, Seko thought, that might actually be a kind of salvation.

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