Wordless Winter · Dazaiosamu
Honey Ginger Tea
On the ride homeI watched the giant smokestack slide slowly backward, above ita soundless, white thicket of mistI tasted the suffocating anguish holding my heart captiveThough I was drawing ever closer to my fatherthe fissure between his life and mine grew ever wideronly the thin air joined the two of us In the dim view, with its corrosive smellmy father's thigh looked like something ghosts had gnawed and left behindflesh and bone fallen awayhe kept shrinking back toward one sidehis expression vacant and wooden Yet enough remained in his face for me to recognize himthough the veins around his eyes swelled uneasily— One sweltering summer afternoon many years agothe two of us were driving back from a distant fishpondand drove onto a mottled, many-colored byroadin the air-conditioned chill, the stereo blared a song I likedhe widened his eyes and mocked my tastethe temperature was low; the windshield slowly clouded overlike a good child, I reached out and wiped it clear again and again— Looking back nowthose subtle, blurred beads of waterwere truly like a happiness enfolding both our heartsthat would shatter at a touch