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willingness in his father to raise himself up, to deepen himself, to view a wider, larger
world.
But Tengo’s father never seemed to suffer discomfort from the narrowness and the
stagnant air of his cramped little world. Tengo never once saw him pick up a
book at
home. They never had newspapers (watching the regular NHK news broadcasts was
enough, he would say). He had absolutely no interest in music or movies, and he
never took a trip. The only thing that seemed to interest him was his assigned
collection route. He would make a map of the area, mark it with colored pens, and
examine it whenever he had a spare moment, the
way a biologist classifies
chromosomes.
By contrast, Tengo was regarded as a math prodigy from early childhood. His
grades in arithmetic were always outstanding. He could solve high school math
problems by the time he was in the third grade. He won high marks in the other
sciences as well without any apparent effort. And whenever
he
had a spare moment,
he would devour books. Hugely curious about everything, he would absorb
knowledge from a broad range of fields with all the efficiency of a power shovel
scooping earth. Whenever he looked at his father, he found
it inconceivable that half
of the genes that made his existence possible could come from this narrow,
uneducated man.
My real father must be somewhere else
. This was the conclusion that Tengo
reached in boyhood. Like the unfortunate children in a Dickens novel, Tengo must
have been led by strange circumstances to be raised by this man. Such a possibility
was both a nightmare and a great hope. He became obsessed with Dickens after
reading
Oliver Twist
, plowing through every Dickens volume in the library. As he
traveled through the
world of the stories, he steeped himself in reimagined versions of
his own life. The reimaginings (or obsessive fantasies) in his head grew ever longer
and more complex. They followed a single pattern, but with infinite variations. In all
of them, Tengo would tell himself that this was not the place where he belonged. He
had been mistakenly locked in a cage. Someday his real parents, guided by sheer good
fortune, would find him. They would rescue him from this cramped and ugly cage and
bring him back where he belonged. Then he would have the most beautiful, peaceful,
and free Sundays imaginable.
Tengo’s father exulted over the boy’s outstanding schoolwork. He prided himself
on Tengo’s
excellent grades, and boasted of them to people in the neighborhood. At
the same time, however, he showed a certain displeasure regarding Tengo’s
brightness and talent. Often when Tengo was at his desk, studying, his father would
interrupt him, seemingly on purpose. He would order the boy to do chores or nag
Tengo about his supposedly offensive behavior. The content of his father’s nagging
was always the same: he was running himself ragged every day, covering huge
distances and sometimes enduring people’s curses as a collections agent, while Tengo
did nothing but take
it easy all the time, living in comfort. “They had me working my
tail off around the house when I was your age, and my father and older brother would
beat me black and blue for anything at all. They never gave me enough food, and
treated me like an animal. I don’t want you thinking you’re so special just because
you got a few good grades.” His father would go on like this endlessly.