Mother never was the same with me after that. She was not successful in bringing my father back. And it was in me that she saw his rejection of her. If it weren’t for me, Hideki would have stayed, would have left his real family, would have taken her out of Beppu and to a new life in the capital… all of the dreams that she had kept inside herself were blown out when he walked away. And it was all my fault.

“You ungrateful brat,” she would spit. “I told you to be good, but you weren’t. You were bad. Bad! And now your father has rejected me. He saw you, he saw how bad you were, and he left. Damn you.” She started to hit me the day after my father left, and she didn’t stop until I stopped her myself.

Every day became a routine of hatred. Mother stopped preparing meals for me before work, and sometimes when she came home there was no dinner. Often she stumbled home drunk, other times she did not come home. I know in retrospect she was sleeping with patrons of the tavern, probably for extra money, but as a child it seemed as if she had left… just as my father had. Still, I wasn’t exactly happy when she did come home, because she was so hateful to me. If anything I said was unpleasing to her, I got a kick in the shins. If I should happen to get in her way when she cooked, I would be hit on the head with the spoon.

Once, and only once, I asked her if daddy would ever come back. She twisted towards me with such ferocity that her hair whipped around like a fan opening. A hand appeared in my vision and struck me down. Then, as I lay on the floor, Mother stood over me. Her eyes, red-rimmed and burning into me, narrowed into twin slits. Suddenly, without warning, her mouth opened and she spat down onto my face. I never mentioned my father again.

Perhaps if anyone should ever read this, they will find such a change of personality impossible. But she did not change over months of years. It was instantaneous. When my father walked out into the rain, something snapped. I hated my father so… he came and took my happy mommy away.

Young Kentaro in a saddened state.

 It is hard to believe now that I lived in that house for six years. But in truth I did, putting up with Mother’s abuse all the while. I think the only thing that kept me going was Father’s yari, which I had taken the night he left it outside the door. I kept it out of sight when my mother came home. During that time, I kept waiting for her to leave, so I could see it again. That weapon was magnificent. At six, I could do nothing but uncover it and run my fingers along the sharp edge. But as the years passed, I grew strong enough to hold it with two hands. When Mother was working I would take it out and play soldier. I was a noble lord, leading a lancer division into battle against my father. Every time the story was the same: our forces would be unstoppable, and I would thrust the ivory yari deep into Father’s heart. Sometimes a tree was him form, sometimes the side of the house, but I always stabbed the weapon into it, feeling a rush of release as I did.

By age twelve I was able to wield the yari without falling over from the weight. In fact, I could hit rabbits with it if they did not take notice fast enough. I spent more and more time with it, and as I did I was less careful of keeping it hidden from Mother. One day, as I was going through my battle with the evil Hideki, she walked up the path from the tavern and saw me. I stopped at the sight of her, looked left and right to see if there was a place to hide. There was none. I stood there, yari in hand, waiting as she rushed up to me.

“What do you think you are doing? What is that?” She did not recognize Father’s prized possession at first. But as she looked at it, the memory flooded back. “What in hell are you doing with this? Give me that, you worthless child!” She grabbed it and pulled it away. Now, I must explain that this was the only thing I had in life. My father did not want me, my mother blamed me for everything wrong…She would not take this from me. I held it firm with both hands, and soon we wrestled for it. She was a hardworking woman - her hands were strong. But I had held this weapon every single day, and my anger at all the hits that she had delivered over the years grew. I saw her kicking me for saying I was hungry. I heard her voice saying “I hate you.” I felt everything well up, and I screamed. I grappled the yari away and swung the butt end at her face. It landed loudly on her cheek, and she went down.

I was so shocked at what I had done that I dropped the yari and knelt to see if she was allright. The hand not holding her face flew at me violently. “Get away from me, you bastard!” she screamed. “Go! Go now! Leave just like your father. You are nothing to me but a bad memory. Go away and take that damned thing with you!” I did nothing for a moment. I was used to her screams, used to her hatred. But as she kept ranting I slowly took hold of the yari and walked backwards towards the road. I still feared that she would jump up and beat me unconscious. But she did not, and eventually I turned around and headed down the road, not looking back at the home I had lived in my whole life.

(More may come in the future)