The letter read:
"Dear Takumi,
You are no doubt confused by who this letter originates from. And I will tell you soon, but before I say anything else, I should explain how this letter reached you at all. I have not been in contact with our mother. That separation has been deliberate and long-standing, I will not pretend otherwise. What I knew was limited to the fact that you had left Nagano and that you were studying somewhere in the south. No, I found you through quieter means. How, you may ask, I will not tell. But now I know what you do, and where you are.
I hope this letter reaches you while your studies are going well. I was able to confirm that you are living in Fukuoka now, and that you have chosen journalism. That choice makes sense to me. You always preferred understanding things rather than commanding them. I strongly believe that you are enjoying your studies in journalism, and for that I am happy for you. But now, I have come to speak about myself. I have rewritten this letter more than once. Not because the words are difficult, but because I do not wish to write carelessly. Too much time has passed for me to give you careless explanations.
I will begin with my side of the story plainly. I am sorry for leaving when I was young.
There is no way to explain the absence without sounding as though I am excusing myself, and I will not do that. I left, and you were still a child. So was I, but much more sensible at that–or at least I should have been. Mother carried most of that weight alone, and I know you felt it too, even if you did not speak of it. Oh that poor woman! Father left when I was only five and you were still in her womb, and then I left at fifteen! I was a fool, a selfish fool. But the most tormenting thing of all would have to be not knowing why. Why I left. The reason I left was because of father.
That sentence may sound abrupt, but it is the most honest way I can explain my reasoning for abandoning you and mother. I did not leave out of restlessness, ambition, or rebellion. I left because remaining in the house was no longer possible for me. I did not know why at the time, but letters came to me. I always found them when you or mother were not near. They spoke of life in Tokyo, and they came from our father. I had not for a second thought otherwise. He had the same style of writing I had read from his old letters that piled up in our living room, I knew it was him. Eventually he told me in the letters simply that yes, he was my dad, but by then I had known very well. His letters never said much, they would contain small details about the environment he lived in in Tokyo. He said he was with 'friends' but I had no idea what that meant. I did not ever write a letter back to him, but instead just read as he sent more and more, almost every day. He seemed to know what my questions were without even hearing them, because after around a month, when I was just about to tell you and mother, he told me everything. He was in the bōryokudan. I had heard about it before from men in our street, but I could never imagine him…Him being one of those men. He spoke of the things he did, all in one letter, and they horrified me. That night I did not sleep. The next morning, another letter arrived. It explained more, and as much as I did not want to read it I did, being the idiot that I am. I remember it like yesterday. You had gone down to your friend's house, and mother had gone shopping. I sat down on the bench and, my hands trembling violently, read the letter. Our father was the 'oyabun' as he said. He was the father of a Yakuza family. He then told me that our cousins, on his side, were involved too. Our uncle was involved, and our aunt too. When the letter finished, he told me that at 9:00, whether I liked it or not, I would be taken by a man and drugged. When I would wake up, it would be morning in Tokyo and I would be inside a mansion, surrounded by the rest of my family. He told me that if I wanted I could try and hide, tell the police or stay in the house and border it up, but it would all be of no use. After finishing the letter, as I'm sure you remember, I fell into a violent fever and stayed stuck to the couch the entire day, unable to speak. Mother did not take her eyes off of me and cared intensively until night, where she helped me move to the bed. At this point, I could not have spoken even if I wanted to, you have to believe me Takumi-I was barely conscious. Quite quickly I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I was on a chair surrounded by dozens of men, wearing bright suits. From that point onwards I became a member of the Yakuza, and for ten years I have slowly moved upwards in the ranks.
I know this must be a lot of information to take in at once, brother, but the reason I only write to you now is to tell you that father is sick. He is very sick. I believe that he will die in around a month, or even half of one. He has not been able to move out of bed and we have all watched him with intense care. A week ago, while we were all minding him, he managed to mutter some words. He spoke of you, Takumi, he said that you 'had to come here', and right away. He said that 'he wanted to see his boy before he passed.' The reason father did not take you in and instead took me is because he believed that you didn't suit this life. He said that wasn't the type of man you were, and that you were smart. He told me this on the first day I had arrived, and it made me feel jealous. At the time, I wanted to be 'smart' like you too, but soon I came to the realisation that the life my father brought me into suited me well.
If you do not want to come, you don't have to. Father left us when you were in the womb, I know you have a hatred for him, but he has changed, and this is his dying wish. Please Takumi, for the family, come over to Tokyo. This is not an invitation for you to abandon your studies in Fukuoka and join the Yakuza, no, not at all. This is just a temporary invitation to see us and your father. As you probably have seen by now I have stuffed 100,000 yen worth of notes into the envelope. This is for your plane to Tokyo, for your travels and for the place where you will stay. Do not trouble me with thankfulness when we meet, this was the least I could do for you brother, and after all, this is not a large amount of money for me in all honesty. Your instructions for when you arrive to Tokyo, or if you do are:
1. Get a taxi to Nakagin Capsule Tower, Ginza 8‑16‑10. Remember to write that down on a note.
2. Once you have arrived, spend your money on a room for three nights, and get some rest.
3. In the morning, take a taxi to the intersection of Shirokane-dori and Minami-Shirokane 6-chōme. Tell the driver to stop just past the corner, near the vending machine and the low stone wall. Pay him there and leave the car immediately.
From that point, turn left and walk along the narrower residential road. Walk at a natural pace. Do not hurry, and do not slow down Takumi. After 40 paces, you will pass three houses in order:
The first with a metal gate,
The second with a clipped hedge,
The third with a dark wooden fence.
Don't stop at the third house. Walk past it as if you are uncertain. Understood? Continue another ten steps, then turn back and approach the gate. This matters, even though I know it sounds unnecessary to you brother. There will be no sign or name. That is intentional. At the gate, place your hand on the wood and wait. You will hear movement inside before you knock. Knock once, pause, then knock twice. Also, do not speak.
When the door opens, you'll be asked who you have come to see. Say my name clearly. Nothing else is required.
You have to remember this now brother, and I strongly suggest looking over this letter many times if you do plan on coming. Once again, I am sorry for the rush of information, I know it must be a lot. Remember, it will only be three days. You have enough money to take you back to Fukuoka. We will treat you well.
Sincerely, from your brother, Kage Ishikawa."
By the time Takumi had finished reading the letter a violent sweat had begun to run through him. He did not know why, but his hands shook and his heart thumped hard to the point where it actually hurt. The letter dropped into the suitcase and Takumi shut it fast. Now he felt the anxiety he had so much wished to go away while he was in the plane. "I will mess up…" Thought Takumi, "I will forget something essential, or misunderstand it, or do it a step too soon or too late. I always do. How could I possibly remember all of that? It's too much for a feeble mind like mine–no–what I am good at is taking time to do my work, and doing it carefully. I cannot and never will understand instructions that read: 'walking, taking ten steps, knocking two times'! And it's been ten years…It has been ten years since I have seen my brother, thousands of days, and I have never seen my father, along with all of my cousins on his side of the family…They'll hate me, no doubt they will, because I truly am pathetic. My father said so–he knew it. He had a picture in his mind of who I was, who I was meant to be, without even seeing nor talking to me ever. How? He was right that I could never join the Yakuza, not that I would want to, (which further proves my point of my being pathetic, but am I really? Or am I just a rational being…) Either way, the truth is my father rejected me; in family life and in the Yakuza, both before I even had a chance to try!
They'll hate me. That's clear enough. They'll recognise it in me from the very beginning. My father, as I keep thinking, understood it before he laid eyes on me. I hadn't let them down. Which is what I need to understand, what I need to remember. I haven't let them down at all, so there is no need to worry what they will think of me, am I not correct? But still, the rejection of the word 'rejected' doesn't feel quite right to me either. Its official sounding, something that would have occurred in a room that I wouldn't be allowed in. It didn't happen in front of me. It wasn't something that I heard. It's something that I'm feeling the effects of now–as if rejection could somehow travel in time to get to me in a few years. Maybe that's what happened. Maybe I've just been carrying it with me because it's an explanation that's too simple and too obvious. If I had been rejected entirely, no further action would be required of me. I could remain as I was. And I will, after these three days are up. But I have to remind myself that I am not cut out for their world, and perhaps it is so. But I do not want what they want. I do not want violence, or power, or submission. I want certitude. I want the ease of making decisions that they seem to have, the ease of making a motion and taking the next in the series without stopping to consider the ramifications. I have never known that. All of my decisions are as if they were irrevocable, and might jeopardize the whole of my life. It is what makes the instructions terrifying to me. Not because they are complex, but because they are precise. They call for action, not contemplation. These instructions require a man who can walk forty steps without questioning the significance of each step he is to take. That is not the man I am, and it will never be. I will count the steps, I will lose track, I will grab the letter and read it, I will repeat, and in the second, the fleeting moment, I will have deceived myself. If they loathe me, at least they will be consistent. At least this, this will put an end to the waiting. Maybe this is what I have been brought here for, although I will never say so. Not forgiveness, nor understanding, but an end to the waiting. Yes. I will forget something essential. Or worse, I'll remember everything and still do nothing…It's all pointless anyway! What is the point in worrying this much you fool!" Takumi said the last sentence aloud, in a violent shout that must have woken up half of the building.
He fell back onto the bed. His body fell into a sort-of limbless mode and his mouth opened slightly, in a mental haze. He had not realised how truly tired he actually was until his eyes began to shut themselves, slowly, but forcefully, like a family closing their blinds on the window. Outside it was dark now. Tokyo had become a blur of neon lights, and the clouds had faded away. Only stars could be observed in the sky from the large rounded window. Takumi kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket swiftly, in one singular motion, trying his hardest to keep his eyes open. He moved into the blanket and then stared coldly at the roof. Many thoughts came into his mind and he would only fall asleep two hours after.
Takumi jolted upwards the moment his eyes opened. The light shone in from the window, glaring and blinding. Takumi squinted for a moment, then opened his eyes again. Today was the day. He checked his black watch he had received a month prior from his mother. The time was 8:00. Perfect, he thought, I do not need to rush. His head had hurt deeply last night, and now a headache had come upon him. All he had done before his eyes shut for good was think of how to walk up to the gate and knock on the door. After two hours worth of thinking, he came to the conclusion that this was a test, he was being watched, and this was a test to see if he could follow orders. A feeling of calmness, smooth and delicate, washed onto Takumi's soul all of a sudden. A deep sigh released his mouth as he stood up and stared out at the dry, bright buildings of Tokyo. On a balcony, (which Takumi could only see from far away,) a woman-no younger than sixty five-sat on a black chair, knitting away on some red cloth, singing a song that could be heard clearly even from where Takumi stood. It went along the lines of:
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
In the springtime sky,
As far as the eye can see—
Is it mist, or is it clouds?
Their fragrance drifts through the air.
Come now, come—
Let us go and see them…
Takumi smiled faintly as he listened. "Sakura-Sakura." He muttered to himself. He knew this song. The woman began singing it again, and then again. Takumi could not move. He stood listening from the glass window, her voice being vigorous enough to push through the barrier and reach him. It was a bitter song. She sang in a way that her voice rose and then shrank down with every lyric. There were no instruments, and no one else but her to sing the song, yet it made Takumi sad. She sang, tirelessly and as loud as ever, with no end in sight it seemed, her voice seeming to never get worn out despite her age. He eventually turned away, moving to the suitcase that contained gifts for his brother, and for the Yakuza family in general. It opened up easily. Scrambling through, he reached the three piles of shirts, pants and socks all neatly placed on top of each other, squished beneath the gifts. (Which were a rare tea and a journal for his brother, a kawabawa book and a pack of Cuban cigars for his cousins, and a photo of Nagano for his father). Takumi grabbed the shirt, pants and socks, then got dressed swiftly. He decided to keep his jacket on, he would keep the jacket on the full three days of his trip. Once his clothes were on, without fully knowing why, Takumi walked out of the room, locked the door, and then jogged downstairs to the lobby, his hands in his pockets of the jacket. The woman he had gotten his keys from was now present at the desk, a line forming behind her. The chairs were almost completely full now, along with the coaches and half of the once empty space in the lobby. Takumi felt his heart stop momentarily, and stood frozen in place. If it had not been for the utter silence and emptiness of yesterday the bustling place would not have been such a shock to his soul, but seeing all the people hustling around here, just like when he was at the airport, confused him. Finally, after around ten seconds Takumi's joints strengthened and so did his will to move. He walked, his neck down and his eyes glaring at the faces of the lobby, with a goal to get to the door, which seemed to be blocked by four men smoking cigars (or at least that's what he could make out they were doing). A large man bumped into Takumi again, the same way it had happened at the airport, but he did not have a suitcase on him this time thankfully, and instead held his balance.
"What the hell is wrong with him!" Takumi said aloud instead of in his head, purely by accident. Immediately a fast, cold shiver ran through his body, he kept walking on, and then it eventually turned into a jog, and then a full blown run. The crowd separated slightly, still moving and barely paying attention to him. Takumi made it to the clearing behind the door, and shoved his way through the four men in a frenzy. "They were not smoking cigars after all!" Thought Takumi as he reached the cool air outside of the building, "They were just eating white biscuits…" Takumi moved on to the pavement, and started to walk down the street. He did not particularly know where he was going. All he knew was that he did not want to go to his brother's house yet, that would be later on in the day. All he knew was that he wanted to have a good time on this walk, and try to clear his head from the dishevelled mess that it was, being wound up in ideas about what could happen once he went on that fateful taxi trip to Shirokane. "I'll bring the letter and read the instructions in the taxi, it will be fine." Takumi thought. Suddenly a horrible sickly feeling seared into Takumi's heart and stomach, almost bringing him to collapse instantly. His cycle of walking gradually became more and more sluggish until he had to stumble over to a bench and plop down like a slippery fish. Not a single human stared at him. Takumi held up his body with his elbows on the bench, then, feeling like puking, moved his head forward and gagged, staring at the stone filled with gum and dirt. He did not puke, and instead flung himself back, retracted his head down to his chest. He groaned, his voice quiet and almost cold, without sadness or happiness, almost like he was making a statement:
"This will go horribly wrong…"