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Although a certain part of northern Japan marked 40 degrees Celsius in the daytime, there was some breeze felt in the park after the sun being set. We went along a gentle slope in the darkness of the forest led by our dog Jiro sniffing forward. Beyond the thicket by the slope came the jingling of the Summer Festival and one swallowtail butterfly hovered out of the bush, danced on the ethereal waves of the sound. The festival music was mixed with fireworks popping up somewhere else, distance away.
We followed the path and came deep in the forest. As we passed by some parents and children with an insect net and an insect cage, we came across as many dogs. The sight of Jiro and those dogs chasing around and greeting each other was what I dreamed of these few weeks. Somehow we were speachless all along just being satisfied cherishing Jiro taking lilting steps and content with the fading sound of the festival.
When we got to the bank of a pond in the middle of the forest, we started talking, somehow. She started telling her story of what she had been thinking about these past few days. It was a long interpretation on her side of what he had said to her the other day. She chose her words so carefully that it took us another lap of walk around the pond to finish the tale. She took her pace and talked in plain words with no intention of looking smart. She was trying to tell her view of his mind, not from her point of view but from her son's point of view. The way she told the story was reminiscent of the painting of Claude Monet who tried to give shape to the shapeless sunrise with the plain touches of paint. It convinced me of the amount of time she had put in making her own story.
Finally she said, "So I think he climbed up another step of the ladder, mentally and therefore physically."
I replied, "Now again, I'm sure he will be alright as long as he's with you."
We looked at the clock. It was time for us to go home, for her of her own and for me of my own. I couldn't help but feel sad that I had to leave the hustle and bustle of this suburb and return to the coldness of the city alone, but I persuaded myself to get back to the basic which I set 14 years ago. No matter what, when your son is happy, you are.
Although the atmosphere of the festival was far away from us, it was supposed to be in full swing.
He may have met some old friends who went to other schools. He may have met some OBs who had retired from the baseball club. A girl might have told him that she recently had gone for a dog walk for the first time. A friend of his might have given him a sneak peek at his new dog. His friend's dad would have told him, "You know what, my son really likes you". Those young friends would be at the festival site forever, reluctant to say goodbye.
So, we went back to the parking lot and got into separate cars.