My father put down his chopsticks. He looked first at the photograph, then at

me.

 

'Your mother.' His voice had become very hard. 'Can't you recognize your own

mother?'

 

'My mother. You see, it's dark. I can't see it very well.'

 

No one spoke for a few seconds, then Kikuko rose to her feet. She took the

photograph down from the wall, came back to the table and gave it to me.

 

'She looks a lot older,' I said.

 

'It was taken shortly before her death,' said my father.

 

'It was the dark. I couldn't see very well.'

 

I looked up and noticed my father holding out a hand. I gave him the photograph.

He looked at it intently, then held it towards Kikuko. Obediently, my sister

rose to her feet once more and returned the picture to the wall.

 

8

 

There was a large pot left unopened at the centre of the table. When Kikuko had