(no subject)
015
Photographs seemed to tell the story, Shige realized. It was a photograph that led him to admitting his reasons for leaving the country, and it was a photograph that led him to knowing who Koyama really was.
"Can you come with me to the attic? I have to put away some old things," he said one day while they were out having tea in the balcony. Shige was putting away some books in the old bookshelf up in the attic (and taking some for his own reading because Koyama didn't seem to mind) when something slipped out of one of the pages of a book: a photograph.
"What's this?" he flipped it over and brought it nearer to his face for a clearer view. It was Koyama, and a young Japanese lady at his side carrying a little girl. It was taken seven years back, the time before the war broke out.
"I haven't seen that in awhile," Koyama looked over his shoulder and asked Shige for the picture. He looked at it and smiled, but Shige could see the inability to take that in. "I looked so young!"
"Your family?" Shige asked.
"My wife and my daughter," she was only fifteen when they married, his wife, and Koyama was almost seventeen. "Her parents disliked me even if she never had an arranged marriage."
"Why?"
Koyama shrugged. "They didn't want me to take their daughter, I suppose. She was so young then." They had a daughter the following year, she being the little girl in the picture. "She's our third; my wife's had two miscarriages before her. You know what they say, third time's a charm."
They went back to work, the silence struggling between them again. Shige was overwhelming with curiousity, it was hard to contain, but.
"We separated just as the war had started," Koyama finally blurted, "I told her to run wherever she could, somewhere far where the war wouldn't hurt her and our daughter. I stayed in Germany and coped, and here I am."
"...where are they now?"
Koyama shrugged again, looking at the photograph. "I haven't seen them ever since. I'd almost forgotten about them, tried to forget about them. I didn't want to hope and finally find out...you know."
Shige stayed quiet.
"This photograph," Koyama held it tight in his hand, "It's all I have left of them."
Photographs seemed to tell the story, Shige realized. It was a photograph that led him to admitting his reasons for leaving the country, and it was a photograph that led him to knowing who Koyama really was.
"Can you come with me to the attic? I have to put away some old things," he said one day while they were out having tea in the balcony. Shige was putting away some books in the old bookshelf up in the attic (and taking some for his own reading because Koyama didn't seem to mind) when something slipped out of one of the pages of a book: a photograph.
"What's this?" he flipped it over and brought it nearer to his face for a clearer view. It was Koyama, and a young Japanese lady at his side carrying a little girl. It was taken seven years back, the time before the war broke out.
"I haven't seen that in awhile," Koyama looked over his shoulder and asked Shige for the picture. He looked at it and smiled, but Shige could see the inability to take that in. "I looked so young!"
"Your family?" Shige asked.
"My wife and my daughter," she was only fifteen when they married, his wife, and Koyama was almost seventeen. "Her parents disliked me even if she never had an arranged marriage."
"Why?"
Koyama shrugged. "They didn't want me to take their daughter, I suppose. She was so young then." They had a daughter the following year, she being the little girl in the picture. "She's our third; my wife's had two miscarriages before her. You know what they say, third time's a charm."
They went back to work, the silence struggling between them again. Shige was overwhelming with curiousity, it was hard to contain, but.
"We separated just as the war had started," Koyama finally blurted, "I told her to run wherever she could, somewhere far where the war wouldn't hurt her and our daughter. I stayed in Germany and coped, and here I am."
"...where are they now?"
Koyama shrugged again, looking at the photograph. "I haven't seen them ever since. I'd almost forgotten about them, tried to forget about them. I didn't want to hope and finally find out...you know."
Shige stayed quiet.
"This photograph," Koyama held it tight in his hand, "It's all I have left of them."