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sakura petals wafting down around them. A wistful look
crossed her face just before she returned her attention to the
boy.
Unable to watch any longer, Koji moved on. By the time he
reached the area near the station, he'd had enough food off
the vendors' carts that he felt stuffed. Damn, he hadn't even
noticed how much he'd actually eaten, only that a short while
ago he was suddenly starved and everything on every cart
looked delicious. It was the first time since Shizuko got sick
that he could remember actually feeling hunger.
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Tossing his empty beer bottle into a nearby trashcan, he
left the park and went back to the station. The image of the
woman with the boy haunted him the entire ride back to
Shinjuku, especially the sweet sad look that had crossed her
eyes as the petals floated around her.
With still some time to kill, he got off at Shinjuku station.
Back in the neighbourhood of the hotel, he wandered the
streets, peering in shop windows and watching people pass as
they overtook his meandering pace. He still had well over an
hour before Naoto would be back. Somehow, the thought of
seeing Naoto made him feel brighter, made the ache in his
chest a little less sharp.
A bit further down, he passed an art supply store. And
halted. Slowly, he turned and stared at the window display,
letting his gaze rove over the array of drawing pads, coloured
pencil sets, and other various items such as origami paper,
stationery and book bags. Guilt flared through his chest,
made the back of his neck tingle as if he were looking at
some sort of illegal substance.
Well, for many years, drawing had been illegal, an activity
he made sure to do when his father wasn't around and then
hid the papers away in various stashes around his bedroom.
He dared to step closer, gaze riveted on the pads and
pencils.
Please, Tashiro-chan, let Koji draw.
Koji remembered overhearing Shizuko. She'd sounded
hysterical. He'd peeked around the corner and seen his father
pacing, a crumpled sheet in his hand. Koji had broken into an
icy sweat. The one time he'd been careless and left one of his
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drawings on his bed. Thankfully it hadn't been one of his
samurai drawings. Every fantasy he'd ever had made it into a
drawing. He'd have gotten a beating for that.
The boy has his head in the clouds, his father had
answered, thrusting the paper closer to Shizuko's face. He's
thirteen now, almost a man and he'll never amount to
anything if he doesn't study more. You coddle him, woman.
Please. He's a good boy. He'll do fine. Carefully she'd
retrieved the drawing from his hand.
Koji remembered his father's scowl, the way he'd pointed
accusingly at Shizuko. Fine. But if he gets one low grade...
Koji had pulled in a breath, partly of relief that Shizuko
had gotten her way and partly in fear.
Thank you, Tashiro-chan. Thank you.
Koji sighed as the memory faded. She'd never known he'd
overheard them but he'd made sure to get high marks in
every class that year.
Standing there, in front of the store, the realisation hit
him. He still believed he'd get caught and punished for doing
the activity he loved.
But it wasn't true.
A flutter stirred in his gut. He hadn't drawn in years, not
since his last year of high school, the year he'd made the
album for Shizuko's birthday. Once he'd started college, he'd
given it up, knowing he had to pursue a real career.
Well, now he had a real career. And yet, the desire to draw
had resurged. Or ... maybe it had never left him but had just
gotten pushed to the side. He grimaced inwardly, disgusted.
Nearly thirty years old and he still behaved like that
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frightened boy. Shimatta. He was on vacation anyway, what
could it hurt to pass the time drawing a bit? He'd have to put
it aside again anyway once he went back to work. Turning
sharply, he went in, bought a sketchpad and some pencils
then headed back in the direction of Ni Chome.
On the next block, however, another shop display caught
his eye. He stopped and stared through the glass. His pulse
rose. It was the kind of thing he would never, ever have
thought to buy, especially as a gift for ... someone. No. He
couldn't. It wasn't right. It wasn't ... proper. Naoto-san would
get the wrong idea.
Koji started to walk away. He got two blocks down yet felt
the item pulling at him with an invisible force. It gnawed at
his consciousness, made him feel ... daring.
He came to a standstill, felt hesitating between two
directions until one feeling grew stronger than all others and
tugged him back to the store.
* * * *
After leaving Lecy's, Naoto went home and found his
mother in the kitchen, standing over a pot of steaming soup.
His father sat at the kitchen table in a cloud of cigarette
smoke, reading his paper. A familiar scene he'd grown up
with. And yet, today ... different.
He kissed his mother's cheek and sat down at the table.
His father looked up and folded his paper before setting
the cigarette in the ashtray. "Naoto-chan, how are you?"
"Hi, Dad. I'm fine." Naoto looked at him.
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His father smiled, but under Naoto's steady gaze furrowed
his brow. "Something wrong?"
Koji flashed in Naoto's mind for the thousandth time that
day. Those scars...
He sighed. For much of his life he'd resented the attention
his brother had gotten, the way his parents had spent their
whole lives working to make sure Shin's special talent was
cultivated to the fullest. But today, it didn't matter. "No. I
mean..." He glanced up at his mother but her back was to the
table as she worked. "I need to ask you something."
His father picked up his cigarette and took a drag on it.
The movement made his tattooed arm muscles flex and Naoto
caught a splash of colour and watched. Though Take Shimura
wasn't a yak, he had the same full markings that many
working class men had. "What's on your mind?"
His mother set down her spoon and came over to the
table. She touched the back of his hair. "Do you feel ill, Nao-
chan?"
He looked up at her. "No. I ... do you feel like I'm a
failure?"
Both his parents' eyes went wide.
"What the hell are you talking about?" his father said.
Naoto felt his mother's hand on his shoulder. "Of course
not. Why do you have that idea?"
Tears stung his eyes. In his mind all he saw were the
angry white marks on Koji's ass. He couldn't imagine that Koji
would have a conversation like this with the man who'd hurt
him that way. "Because of ... the difference between ... me
and Shin," he managed to say past the lump in his throat.
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His father tapped out his ashes and leaned forward.
"Listen, Nao-chan, you're like me. I ran wild when I was
younger than you. For a long time. But I didn't work, like you
did. I didn't settle down and care about people the way you
did. You know why? Because my parents hounded me. The
more they hounded me the more I said, 'Fuck you.' I was
going to show them."
Naoto stared at his father. The man had never spoken to
him this way. He tried to think of his father as a teenager.
Naoto's grandparents had passed away when he was little so
he didn't remember them, but the family photos showed
stern, demanding people.
"Don't put a tiger in a cage," his father said. "It'll never be
a cat and you'll destroy its soul." He took a puff on his
cigarette, watching Naoto through the cloud he exhaled.
"Your brother is a cat."
Naoto bowed his head. "Thank you, Dad. I wish I'd asked
you sooner." He felt his mother kiss him on the head before
going back to cooking.
His father still looked at him and took another drag. He
blew out the smoke. "I wish I'd told you sooner," he said
softly.
* * * *
Naoto's heart beat a bit faster as he unlocked the back
door to the White Tiger. This day had been surreal somehow.
From the moment he'd woken up on top of Koji-san to the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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