When the train left Tokyo Station, Tengo took out the paperback that he had brought along.
Tengo paid his check and went to the platform to wait for the Tateyama train.
Where Tengo had a relaxed and generous look, his father appeared nervous and tightfisted.
Tengo stood up, went over to his father, and put his hand on his shoulder.
Such experiences were not the sort of thing that Tengo could share with friends.
Tengo had no intention of taking anything from him or giving anything to him.
Throughout his childhood, however, Tengo had never once viewed Sunday as a day to enjoy.
Math was, for young Tengo, an effective means of retreat from his life with his father.
While math was like a magnificent imaginary building for Tengo, literature was a vast magical forest.
Eventually, the bespectacled nurse came to tell Tengo that he could see his father now.
This man is envious of me, Tengo began to think at a certain point.
This was because Tengo in no way resembled his father, the stellar NHK collections agent.
Tengo did not realize at first that the old man seated by the window was his father.
Tengo arranged and rearranged words in his head until at last he was ready to speak them.
Tengo was a tall, strapping man with a broad forehead, a narrow nose, and tightly balled ears.
Tengo thanked her and went to wait in the lounge by the entrance, reading more of his book.
Tengo had many more questions he wanted to ask, but he knew that he would get no answers.
Instead, he looked straight at Tengo as if he were reading a bulletin written in a foreign language.
Tengo got up to scan the spines of the volumes in the bookcase.
Tengo sensed from the beginning that this was the role he was expected to play, and he absolutely hated it.
On weekdays and Saturdays, Tengo could go to school or to day care, but these institutions were closed on Sundays.
Tengo wanted to get up from his chair, walk to the station, and go back to Tokyo then and there.
Tengo had started going on these rounds before he entered kindergarten and continued through fifth grade without a single weekend off.
It was a shame that it had come to that, but there was absolutely nothing that Tengo could do about it.
Still, it was not their physical features that made it difficult for Tengo to identify with his father but their psychological makeup.
Tengo would return to the real world with that suggestion in hand.
Like an unfortunate child in a Dickens novel, Tengo had perhaps been led by strange circumstances to be raised by this impostor.
His eyes focussed on Tengo as if they were observing something unfamiliar.
The man Tengo saw before him was nothing but an empty shell.
He might not leave behind any sizable inheritance, but at least he would be taken care of, for which Tengo was tremendously grateful.
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