Ryuichi Mori dimmed the lights in his office and looked out the window. His eyes focused on a brightly lit building two miles away as he recalled every inch of the structure in his mind. Dark bricks and marbles graced the morning side of the building while the opposite side was in white stonework that reflected the red of a sunset. Two years it had taken him to draft out a perfect and practical form. Now there she stood, a beautiful sculpture, and his first great work. Newspapers and architectural magazines which had been in awe of his technique called him an artist living within the shell of an architect for they observed that his genius had been in finding a balance between traditional and contemporary styles, thus creating beauty out of that which was old and new. The structure that rose out of the ground like a samurai sword pointing to the sky also showed his great passion for his homeland. Or at least he had believed that Japan was his homeland until a year back.
He opened the high rise office window. The sudden breeze blew into his face and teased strands of hair that were long due for a cut. He closed his eyes and imagined Midori blowing kisses into his face. She loved running her fingers over his short cropped hair, reminding him every now and then that he needed a haircut. Now her soft fingers were on his brow and he breathed in her scent of jasmines. He kissed her soft white palm and tasted its warmth.
That evening, a year ago, they had ordered dinner in a restaurant with a panoramic view of the commercial centre of Tokyo. Ryuichi had looked out and gazed at the growing structure of the building he designed. He decided that it would be ideal if he could bring a wife along with him for the opening ceremony. It took him two weeks to find the perfect diamond ring and he proposed to her on his knee. His action had elicited a dinner invitation from Midori’s mother.
An autumn evening, when late summer green leaves still shone silver under the street lamps, had brought Ryuichi to Midori's home. As a gardener opened the wooden gate for him, he readjusted the flower bouquet on his arm so that it would not hide the bottle of expensive whisky underneath. He had selected the roses and snapdragons with great deliberation, making sure to choose blooms that would not leave pollens on his dark jacket. The walk down the garden path was far too short and before he had managed to calm his anxiety, an old woman opened the sliding door of the main entrance and introduced herself as a servant of the house. She took the gifts from his arms and passed him a pair of house slipper. Midori was not there to welcome him. Ryuichi took off his expensive shoes and placed them to the side. He fidgeted with his silk silver and blue tie, but finally it was the stiffness of his starched white shirt that steadied his nerves. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath before following the servant to the dining room.
A long corridor of aged, polished wood bore his soft footfalls. He took another deep breath as the servant showed him into a small room made perfect by the house master’s strict observance of zen tradition. The soft colour of its tatami floor merged beautifully with the rock garden outside, creating an air of idyllic harmony. To one side of the room was a hearth for a tea ceremony, which was also home to a century old kettle. One large scroll decorated the wall with the words "Perseverance in Adversity" written down its full length. A portable heater kept the room warm. The servant introduced him to Midori’s father, Mr. Tanabe.
Ryuichi bowed to the scowling man sitting in front of a wide low table. The sixty-five-year-old man had his arms crossed over a dark grey kimono. Mrs. Tanabe came in at that moment, like new sunrise, in a pale orange kimono. She brushed an imaginary hair from her face as she took a seat next to her husband.
Ryuichi bowed to her and said, "Thank you for honouring me with an invitation for dinner."
She bowed but would not look at his face. Ryuichi looked about nervously; where was Midori? He folded his legs under him and sat across from Mr. Tanabe, all the while making sure that he kept his back straight and his shoulder square. A servant girl came in with tea. As Mrs. Tanabe raised her face to give further instructions to the girl, Ryuichi noticed that her eyes were red and swollen. His discomfort increased when he saw her passed a small item that glittered to her husband.
Mr. Tanabe slowly rolled the ring in his palm as he spoke, "Mori-san. I do not wish to waste our time together. Let me be frank with you. I do not want you to see my daughter again."
Ryuichi stared back in shock as he stammered, "I do not understand Tanabe-sama My father is himself a renowned businessman and his architectural firm is well regarded. In fact, I am now undertaking a very large project which will bring great honour to my family name."
"Your father? As far as I can recall my old friend, Mori-san, has no children of his own."
The young suitor was bewildered but when the meaning of the old man’s words sank in, his face paled.
Mr. Tanabe continued, "I find it strange that the introduction of you to polite Japanese society should be right after the death of his secretary. Mori-san was working in Korea at around the time of your birth. His Korean secretary, it was rumoured, became pregnant but her lover did not wish to be burdened with the responsibilities of raising a family. Many accused your father of being the sire, but I knew otherwise. Miss Kim took her own life after the baby boy was born."
Ryuichi almost rose from his seat as he said, "That could all just be a coincidence."
"Mori-san is a friend. One time he came to me broken-hearted because the doctor said that he can never have children."
The exertion of trying to control his shock had turned Ryuichi’s face red. He looked down and clenched his fist until the knuckles were white. He stared into the tea in front of him as he tried to understand what he just heard. The traditional mug, that was lacquered in spiraling blocks of ivory and browns, gave the translucent green tea the appearance of a peaceful pond. A gentle vapour rose in a straight line from its surface and Ryuichi felt that even the very air of that house would not give him the relief of a cool breeze. The architect could think of nothing to say in defence. If Mr. Tanabe was telling the truth, then he had no right to marry Midori for he was imperfect.
He looked up - studying Mrs. Tanabe’s bowed head for a moment before turning to face Mr. Tanabe again. With a quiver in his voice he said, "Thank you for making your feelings known to me. I will talk with my father, maybe there has been a misunderstanding. Please give me another chance to prove myself."
"Of course, talk with your father. Maybe he has something to add to your past. The only reason I even allow you to step into my house is because Mori-san is a friend. Remind him however that friendship does have its limits, especially for things which involves my family at such an intimate level."
The old man reached forward and placed the diamond ring in the middle of the table. Ryuichi stared at it for a moment before he stretched out his right hand and picked up the ring, making sure not to scratch it against the polished surface.
He left before dinner was served. The old servant, who showed him out, would not look into his face. He walked down the garden path and into the street with his head bowed. He was too ashamed to look up, for he was afraid that he might catch the eye of a passer-by who would expose him as an impostor.
His heart led him away from home and he took the subway to Shinjuku, and walked the streets aimlessly with his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. He paid no attention to a voluptuous Mama-san who tried to get him into her club. He did not brush his jackets when youngsters popped confetti crackers in front of him. Pretty girls in mini-skirts offered him free packets of tissue papers and pamphlets but he would not be bothered to take his hands out of his pockets or even to smile at them. He walked the neon lit alleys of Shinjuku until salary-men started to pour out of bars and made a ruckus as they stumbled their way to the nearest subway station. He trailed behind them and got on the last train heading towards Urayasu. When he reached his destination he caught a taxi, suddenly feeling too tired to walk home. In the light of passing lamp posts, he saw that his carefully polished shoes were scuffed.
The ground floor of his parents' modern double-storey home was still lit. He had hoped that they had gone to bed, but apparently they had stayed up waiting for him. He took out his house-key but before he could insert it into the lock, his mother opened the door for him.
Ryuichi cracked a smile, "Tadaima. I’m home mother."
Mrs. Mori answered, "Okaerinasai. It is lovely to see you home."
His mother’s eyes turned to the confetti on his jacket and the creases on the cuffs of his sleeves. She opened her arms to him like she used to do when he was a child. Ryuichi hugged her back and cried, like he would sometimes do when he was a boy. He felt his father put his stocky arms around them and led them back into the house. Ryuichi stepped into the living room with his scuffed shoes on.
Ryuichi recalled every single moment of that night: The cramps, the taste in his mouth, the smell of the alleyways in late night Shinjuku. He shook his head and took a deep breath to release the tightness in his chest. The air was always better here. Even noise from the street did not travel that high up. A magazine, placed precariously on the edge of the table, dropped to the floor. He picked it up to make his mind think of something else other than Midori. The front page showed a full picture of his building with an inserted picture of him speaking from a podium. He saw that his shoulders were stooped, the knot of his tie was crushed and that his shoes were not polished. Midori would never have allowed him to appear in public like that. He dropped the magazine back on the floor.
A soft knock on the door made him say "Come-in" automatically. A reflection on the glass window showed the door opened and closed. Ryuichi was annoyed; for he had hoped that the knock was from his assistant with a last minute pile of documents for him to sign. He did not feel that he could tolerate another long-winded well wisher at that time of day.
A chair creaked and he turned his head. Annoyance turned to surprise when he saw his father's face. "Why are you still at the office this late, father?"
"I have come to ask if you would like to come home with me tonight."
"But I have made plans for tonight. The fellows living in the same apartment building had invited me over to their place for drinks."
Mr. Mori smiled softly, "That is good. They are good to you?"
"Yes, father. They are good to me," Ryuichi lied. He could not bear to admit to his father that he goes home night after night to an empty apartment. He could not even muster the courage to go out drinking with his usual high society crowd. They might have heard about his family background from Midori. She had not returned his calls or replied his e-mails. When he called her office, the people there had informed him that she had been transferred to a branch in Paris. Her supervisor was also kind enough to add that a manager, who was still a bachelor and of good family origin, had accompanied her for the trip.
Mr. Mori watched his son’s face as he said, "It will be good also if you come home once in a while. Both your mother and I missed your company at dinner. Your mother put the sheets out for you every day, thinking maybe you might want to spend the night with us.’
Ryuichi cracked his face into a smile as he took his seat next to the old man, "Tell mother not to be silly. I am not a child anymore."
Mr. Mori replied, "Yes, you are no longer a child, but you will forever be our son."
A strong breeze blew into the room, making Mr. Mori turned his gaze to the open window. A pained look crossed his face, "I have failed you as a father and I am ashamed of myself because you have never failed me as a son. You have given me and your mother everything we ever wished for, yet we can never give you that which you wish the most."
Mr. Mori smiled as tears rolled down his cheeks, "In all my years, I have learnt that the perfect things of this life are not the things that will fill you with wonder. There is no surprise in a rock garden, only peace. Have we ever told you how beautiful you were when we first looked into your eyes? My old friend, a monk who was visiting me from Osaka, told me that beauty is only seen by those who deserve it. That was why we adopted you. Neither your mother nor I have ever regretted giving our hearts to you."
Ryuichi tried to hold back the flood of emotions building up in his eyes then to his horror, he heard himself sobbing.
Mr. Mori continued, "Your real mother was a good woman. She was very intelligent and very pretty. But she made a mistake and fell in love with the wrong man. Then she made another mistake because she would not allow herself to live another way of life. Do not insist on walking down one path only my son. There are countless roads in life for you to choose from, and many of these paths lead to happiness."
Mr. Mori sobbed as he said, "The life I offer you is inferior to what you deserve. But is it not good enough?"
Ryuichi had no words to answer him. All those months, he had only thought of himself and of his own suffering for being rejected. His parents' feelings had never crossed his mind. He nodded his head: Yes, he would follow his father home. And he decided to sleep in his long-abandoned bed that night, in sheets his mother had aired for him.
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