The light is barely shining through and the window ajar. I wonder if he went to the roof again? I look at my son sleeping, it’s been years both here and there. I still remember when he was young. He was a sensitive child easily afraid of the dark. Now, nothing scares him, he’s learned that different kind of strength. The false one, reserved for the weakest of constitutions.
I light a cigarette and smoke. It was my fault wasn’t it? I didn’t spend enough time with him when he was to inherit the Fujita house and today that house is all but gone. His mother Tokio had always set the highest aspirations for our oldest, lofty just like the old glory days of Aizu. While for our second son, she managed to find for him a place where he would be second to no one. After all, a second son has little to look forward to in a house that barely had enough. In that sense, I cannot fault Tokio.