The Afterlife of Kenzaburo Tsuruda by Elisabeth Wilkins Lombardo

Author:Elisabeth Wilkins Lombardo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2018-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Now this year goes away

I’ve kept it hidden from my parents

That my hair is gray.

—Etsujin

14

GRAY HAIR

HARUNA

Two weeks before my father’s death, he found the letter from Akihiro. He never knew that Akihiro was already gone; our affair a memory I kept hidden away in a box in my room. It consisted of three photographs, a few letters, and ticket stub from the Osaka planetarium.

There are times I blame myself for my otohsan’s death. It is a truth I carry with me; my bones are becoming curved and dry under the weight of my guilt. I should have followed Otohsan that day, gone with him up the mountain to hunt insects as we had when I was a child. I was foolish to have thought I would have time to talk with him later.

I have gone over the explanation in my mind many times; the way I would talk to my otohsan and explain that Akihiro and I were a true “ren-ai”—a love match. I would tell him that Akihiro was planning to divorce his wife, that when I met him I thought I had at last found something as pure and lasting as my father and mother’s marriage.

And I would tell him that it was never to be. I met Akihiro the day I turned forty. He left me before I turned forty-one.

On my fortieth birthday, I found my first gray hair and plucked it from its place. I had decided to visit the new planetarium in Osaka to mark the occasion. I wore a blue silk blouse the color of the ocean, twisted my hair into a chignon, and added a tortoiseshell comb to hold it in place. A small pin in the shape of a dragonfly—a birthday present from my father the year before—flew across the lapel of my cream-colored spring coat.

The towns sped by—Ashiya, Shukugawa, Nishinomiya, Juso—as the Hankyu train neared Osaka. The conductor, in his grey uniform and clean white gloves, announced their names as we pulled in and out of each station. I remember his voice purred, trailing off at the end, “Nishinomiyaaaaaa,” as if recalling the names of a list of long-dead lovers.

I walked through the park surrounding Osaka Castle on my way to the planetarium, removing my jacket in the warm May air. The trees in the park blossomed yellow, purple, and pink, their brazen colors calling out to passers-by for attention.

When I entered the planetarium, I decided to view the star show that was just beginning. I hurried down the aisle of the auditorium, my eyes not yet adjusted to the dark theatre. “Sumimasen. Would you care to sit?” said a voice just behind my ear. I turned to see a man with his arm out, gesturing toward a chair. “Douzo. I insist you take this seat,” he said. Out of breath, I nodded, thanking him. The lights dimmed, and stars shimmered on the ceiling. I looked up and sank back into the seat, enjoying the sensation of falling into the sky. “Arigato,” I whispered to the stranger as the show began.

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