n the portrait displayed on the family altar, Takeaki Aoyagi was wearing

his golfing clothes and had a smile on his face. The family had chosen it

after a discussion because they thought “he looks happiest in this one.” In

actuality, though, Takeaki wasn’t that enthusiastic a golfer.

The wake started at six p.m. As the Buddhist priest chanted the sutra,

the mourners lined up to offer incense, one after another.

The body had been returned to the family sooner than expected and

they had been very busy since early in the morning. The undertaker from

the firm that Kotake, his coworker, had found came to the house. Fumiko,

as usual, had been incapable of making up her mind about anything. Things

had got only worse when Kotake, who was helping out, had to leave

midmorning when the news came that a detective had shown up at the

plant. After that, every decision Fumiko made was in line with the advice of

the sly-looking, bespectacled undertaker. While Yuto had no idea what a

funeral would normally cost, as he listened in, he couldn’t help feeling that

his mother was being taken for a ride.

Once the meeting was finished and the undertaker got down to work,

Yuto had to admit that he was a true professional. All the different tasks

proceeded with assembly-line efficiency, and by the time Yuto and the rest

of the family had changed and taken themselves to the funeral hall, the

body was already in the coffin. The body was beautifully laid out and there

was no visible evidence of the autopsy. Yuto even thought that his face had

a better color than when they’d last seen him in the hospital.

Relatives and a number of Takeaki’s work colleagues were there to

help with various tasks. Listening to their discussions, Yuto realized that determining who gets to offer incense first at a funeral was a far more

difficult question than he’d thought.

Kotake reappeared in the late afternoon. He put his subordinates to

work, and they handled reception and gift duties briskly and efficiently.

Fumiko followed the instructions of the undertaking staff to the letter. As he

watched his mother, Yuto remembered having read somewhere that the

whole point of funerals was to keep the family so busy they wouldn’t have

the time to grieve.

Yuto spotted various of his high school friends, including Tatsuya

Sugino, among the mourners. He had sent a text to Sanada and Sugino,

letting them know about the wake. When they shuffled past him to offer

incense, Yuto bowed at them both, feeling a surge of genuine gratitude.

Some of his junior high school friends had also shown up. Most of

them were friends from the swim team. Standing behind them in line was

Itokawa, who was the coach. As usual his hair, prematurely flecked with

gray, was cropped short. He still looked as lean and muscular as when Yuto

and his friends had graduated.

After the offering of the incense was completed, Fumiko thanked

everyone for coming, bringing the wake to an end. The relatives and

Takeaki’s colleagues moved to the next-door room where drinks and a

simple meal had been laid out for them. Yuto was on his way there when he

bumped into Itokawa and his old swim team buddies in the corridor. Sugino

was with them too.

“You doing okay, Ao? Are you eating enough?” Sugino asked, rushing

up to him. Something about the expression on his face made him look

surprisingly mature.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Just got to get on with it. Nothing I

can do will bring the dead back to life.”

“What’s happened to that guy? Is he still in a coma?”

Yuto guessed he meant Yashima.

“Think so. The police aren’t telling us anything.”

“No? What’s his status? Is he going to regain consciousness?”

“I’ve no idea. Honestly, they don’t tell us anything.”

The other boys from the swim team came over and offered him their

condolences. Yuto thanked them all again.

His friend Kurosawa pulled a face.

“It’s too bad. The attacker still being unconscious like that. Him

getting run over serves him right, but we don’t want him to die on us. When

it comes to payback, dying’s no good.”

“I don’t care so much about revenge, but I’d like to hear what he’s got

to say for himself. Like why did he target my dad. I still can’t figure that

out.”

“Right. That’s what we wondered. Why your dad of all people? The

world’s full of middle-aged men no one would miss.”

Kurosawa’s indignation sounded heartfelt. Good to have friends at a time like this, thought Yuto, responding to the other boy’s anger.

“Bad luck, Aoyagi.” Itokawa came up to him.

“Thanks for coming, sir.” Yuto bowed to his favorite junior high

school teacher.

“I was horrified when Sugino gave me the news. I’m so sorry for you.

You’ve got to keep your chin up. We’re all here for you. Any problem you

have, just let us know. We’ll all do whatever we can.”

Itokawa spoke with obvious sincerity. Back when Yuto was on the

swim team, the coach had always had their backs, no matter what.

“Thank you, sir,” he repeated.

Sugino aside, Yuto hadn’t seen his old swim team buddies in ages.

There had been ten boys from Yuto’s year on the team and most of them

had shown up. He wanted to hang out and catch up with them, but tonight

wasn’t the time. Instead, he just escorted them to the door of the funeral

hall.

Yuto’s friends went home, but Itokawa, the teacher, stayed behind. He

shot Yuto a glance. “Could I have a word with you?” he asked. Yuto had a

strange, queasy feeling as he agreed.

They moved to a corner of the lobby and sat down side by side on a

couch there.

“How had you been getting along with your father lately? Did you two

talk?”

“Talk?”

“Uh-huh. When you were at junior high, you told me that you almost

never saw your dad.”

“That’s because he was working in a factory out in Kunitachi. Some

days he didn’t even make it back home.”

“I’m asking what things were like recently. Have you two talked?”

Yuto said nothing. He didn’t know how to reply. Why on earth should

Itokawa be asking him such a question?

“Your father called the school a few days ago. Said he wanted to talk

to me about you.”

“Ah … Well, now you mention it…”

“What?”

“The detective who came by the house yesterday said the same thing:

that the Shubunkan Junior High School number was among the recent calls

on Dad’s cell phone.”

Itokawa nodded.

“That’s what they told me too. A detective from the Nihonbashi police

came today to speak to me.”

“Really?”

“‘I’m worried. My son and I haven’t been getting on recently.’ That’s

what your father said to me.”

“Dad said that?”

“Your father believed that I knew you better than either your current

high school teachers or your old homeroom teacher at junior high. That’s

why he wanted to talk to me. I guess I should be flattered.”

Takeaki wasn’t far off the mark, Yuto thought. None of his homeroom

teachers had ever understood him—and he had never wanted them to.

“All he said was that he wanted to see me so we could discuss the

matter. In the end, we never got that chance. That’s why I can’t get it out of

my head. Did you and your father have a problem? Come on, Aoyagi, tell

me. Perhaps it’s too late to do anything, but if there’s something there, why

not make a clean breast of it?”

“No, it’s not like that.” Yuto shook his head and smiled. “It’s really no

big deal. My dad and me not getting along—it’s hardly like it only started

yesterday. There’s no big secret what was behind it: my dad wasn’t happy

because my school grades were crap. And I didn’t enjoy the way he threw

that in my face every chance he got. That’s all it was.”

Itokawa nodded, grunted, and looked intently at Yuto. His piercing

eyes transmitted a silent, menacing message: I’ll see right through any of

your half-baked lies.

Suddenly, all the intensity evaporated from Itokawa’s gaze.

“Your father is no longer with us. Now it’s up to you to make the most

of your life. I just wanted to let you know that your father was worried

about you. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, sir. I appreciate it.”

“Okay. Well, hang in there.” Itokawa patted Yuto on the shoulder and

headed for the exit. Yuto made his way to the room where the reception was

already underway. Everyone was busy eating sushi and drinking beer.

Fumiko was flanked by Yuto’s grandmother and one of his uncles,

who were both saying comforting things to her. Haruka was at the same

table. Yuto joined them.

“Things aren’t going to be easy, Yuto, but you’ve got to be brave and

soldier on. We’re all there for you,” his uncle said, pouring juice into Yuto’s

glass. “I know you’re worried about your future, but we’ll sort things out.

There’s no need to worry.”

He must be talking about college. “Thank you,” said Yuto, bowing to

his uncle.

Kotake and a load of other people from his father’s work came over to

their table to express their grief. They vied with one another in their

declarations of all that they owed to Takeaki. A guy called Yamaoka even

claimed that he’d probably have quit his job long ago if Aoyagi hadn’t been

his boss.

The other mourners eventually went home, leaving only Yuto,

Fumiko, and Haruka. The three of them were going to spend the night at the

funeral home and had even brought along a change of clothes for that

purpose.

When Haruka announced that she wanted to go and take another look

at the altar, Yuto went with her. The coffin stood at the far end of the dark

hall. In front of it, spiral coils of incense sent up smoke.

“I wasn’t looking forward to this. I thought wakes and funerals were

really boring, but everyone’s been so sweet, I sort of enjoyed it—plus loads

of my school friends came,” Haruka said, looking up at Takeaki’s portrait

photograph. “It was good to hear what Dad’s colleagues had to say about

him. They really looked up to him.”

“They can hardly bad-mouth him here, can they?”

“I’m not stupid. I can tell when people are being sincere.” Haruka

frowned. “I should have spent more time talking with Dad. He must have

had all sorts of good points I knew nothing about.”

Thanks for the speech, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. The words were on the

tip of his tongue, but Yuto reined himself in. Maybe his sister had a point.

They were busy from first thing in the morning the next day. With the chief

executive and board of directors of Takeaki’s firm coming, there were twice

as many mourners at the funeral as at the wake the day before. Sanada,

Yuto’s high school homeroom teacher, also showed up and encouraged him

to hang in there. He saw people from the neighborhood he hadn’t seen for

ages. Even if their words of encouragement were no more than a formality,

Yuto was still touched by their kindness.

After Fumiko had delivered her speech, it was time for the funeral

procession. Yuto picked up the framed photograph of Takeaki and took his

position at the head of the bearers. It was his uncles who carried the coffin.

Only the immediate family and relatives accompanied the coffin to the

crematorium. When the coffin disappeared into the furnace, Yuto felt as

though a load had been lifted off his heart. Now he could finally accept the

reality of his father’s death. I’ve got to be strong, he thought.

He wondered if Fumiko and Haruka felt the same sense of relief. As

they stood around chatting with the other family members waiting for the

cremation to end, their faces were untroubled, serene. Fumiko broke into

tears from time to time, but she smiled often enough too.

After transferring Takeaki’s cremated remains to an urn, they went

back to the funeral hall to hold the shonanoka memorial service and the

shojin otoshi banquet. Fumiko made yet another speech, thanking the

mourners. “From today, we three will do our best to get on with our lives. I

will take full responsibility for bringing up our children, and I look forward

to receiving your help and support,” she said by way of conclusion. She

radiated dignity and strength. The wake and the funeral aren’t just about

helping the immediate family and the relatives let go of their grief, thought

Yuto, they also provide spiritual succor.

The three of them said farewell to their relatives, and then it was time

to go home. There were many things to be done, but the first order of

business was getting an altar set up in the house. One of the undertakers

would bring the necessary things around later.

Yuto was busy cramming things into his bag when he heard voices

from down the corridor. One was Fumiko’s; he didn’t recognize the others.

He opened the door and peered out. Fumiko was standing there talking

to a couple of youngish men. One had a camera hanging off his neck.

“I already told you. I don’t know anything about it. You need to ask

someone at the firm.” Fumiko’s voice had an edge to it.

“So, Mrs. Aoyagi, can I confirm that your husband never mentioned this matter to you?” asked the man without the camera.

“No, he didn’t. I’ve already told you. I don’t know anything about my

husband’s work.”

“Right. How do you feel about what I just told you? Does it affect

your feelings toward the killer?”

“I don’t know … It’s difficult when you spring questions on me. I’d

like you to leave. Or I’ll call the police.”

“Fine. We’re going. Please understand, though, that all we want is for

the family to know the truth.” So saying, the man darted a look at his

companion and they moved off.

Fumiko pressed both hands to her temples as if she had a headache.

She sighed wearily when Yuto asked her what was going on.

“Those men were making weird claims. Did I know that the man who

stabbed your father had been fired to cover up an accident at work? Did I

know that he had suffered long-term effects from the accident? Stuff like

that.”

“What are they on about? What’s that got to do with Dad?”

“They suggested that Dad was the person who ordered the cover-up.

And that that’s why the young man hated him enough to stab him.”

Yuto took a deep breath. Words were inadequate to express his anger.

A sense of unease was roiling his chest.