by John Kelly
There were now three cars in the driveway.
As soon as George Balwyn received word that Amanda was on her way to see his father, he knew he had to get there first. He also knew that he would need some partisan testimonial to help his case and in a moment of panic chose to make his peace with Quentin Avers. If he agreed to Quentin's demands, he thought, and gained his support, it would soften any blow Amanda might land his way. George believed the two of them could develop a strategy along the way. When he contacted Quentin and explained what he believed had happened, Quentin agreed to come with him to Lillico. Beyond that, Quentin promised nothing.
When George drove into the yard, he pulled his car up ahead of the others but Michael Balwyn, his heart pulsating furiously, looked to just one as he stepped outside the house and peered down the pathway. Expecting the worst, George jumped out of his car ahead of a more casual Quentin Avers and quickly approached his father. Despite his wealth and status in the corporate world, he was still the son of his father who at the end of the day commanded more respect and consideration than George could ever muster for himself. He quickly took note of the traffic in the yard and surmised his parlous position.
'Dad, don't worry, I can explain everything,' he pleaded. It was a child's plea for compassion in the face of undeniable misdemeanours, all the more pathetic coming from someone nearly sixty years of age. But Michael passed him by, barely hearing him, barely noticing him.
'Not now son,' he said, his concentration fixed firmly elsewhere.
Almost simultaneously, two figures emerged from the rear car, one a middle aged lady quick to assist the more elderly one. As Michael walked toward them, he did not notice the sixty years of life's journey that had turned the more mature lady grey, bespectacled and wrinkled. He saw only her. Shigeko stood there smiling, waiting to greet the man she once loved with a passionate expectation. She too, looked past his ageing features, some hair loss, a sun-wearied complexion, a slight stoop, to see only the dashing young soldier who first comforted her, then consoled her and later won her heart on Miyajima Island a lifetime ago. They walked toward each other until close enough to embrace, but resisted momentarily to absorb the tenderness of the moment. Yoshiko, still clutching her mother's arm, looked upon the man she now knew to be her father. Her emotions were broiling with intense fervour. Nevertheless, she would not allow herself to speak. It was not her place to speak. This was her mother's moment in time; her time would come later. Michael wanted to speak but struggled to clear the lump in his throat and hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes. It was Shigeko who took control of the moment.
'Michael,' she said simply, softly, tenderly.
Michael wavered erratically, his arms trembling, his head nodding and shaking intermittently. It took time but eventually the words he searched for so desperately, finally came.
'My love,' he replied, unable to conceal his distress.
Shigeko held out her arms and beckoned him to come to her. He responded, moving forward and enveloping her. There, they remained for what seemed another lifetime; such was the warmth of the welcome each passed to the other. Yoshiko moved away and allowed them their special moment together. Amanda came from the house and stood by Yoshiko, who by now had also lost her emotions to the poignancy of a truly tender moment, the nature of which was utterly lost on both George Balwyn and Quentin Avers. The two men mumbled together asking of each other what was happening; George impatient for his opportunity to explain himself, Quentin not knowing. Amanda turned to both men and glared with a furious hush, turning her eyes to the house and leaving them in no doubt as to where she thought they should be. They responded in kind, George grudgingly accepting that his long rehearsed day in court had been sidelined, by matters far more important than his petty antics, at least for the moment.
The embracing couple allowed the tranquillity of the moment to linger until Michael found his voice again.
'Forgive me for deserting you,' he said, attempting some explanation for his sixty-year silence. But Shigeko would not hear of it. She quickly placed her fingers across his lips and shook her head gently. 'There is nothing to forgive, Michael.'
'I should have come back for you,' he said, accepting all the guilt.
'You were ill. You did not know what happened. When you became well enough, it was too late. Life dealt us a cruel blow but we both survived. You must not be troubled.'
Her tenderness, her understanding, was extraordinary, a product of her faith, a faith that never deserted her, even in the face of despair.
'Do you remember that first day you came to my island and I told you about the Buddha and the path to inner peace?' she asked him. He nodded although he did not remember.
'All things,' she continued, 'are a journey to a greater understanding. Both you, and I, are better people for what we have suffered.'
'How am I better for leaving you?' he asked.
'Leaving me was not your intention,' she replied. 'You were trying to rescue me. Matters beyond our control took over.'
He looked upon her, astounded by her compassion, grateful for her understanding, for he was a simple man, a product of his time and place in the world. He realized too, that her inner depth of spirit went well beyond his own and he yielded to her superior wisdom.
'I never stopped loving you,' he said.
They embraced once more before Shigeko turned toward Yoshiko, now brimming with anticipation.
'Michael,' Shigeko said proudly, 'this is Yoshiko, my daughter.' She then waited a moment, allowing him to absorb her words before adding, 'your daughter.'
For Michael this was too much. He sobbed as he looked at Yoshiko, a mature woman, and saw her likeness to Shigeko. He held out his hand toward her, beckoning her to him, and Shigeko. She came, the tears running down her face. The three of them grasped each other and all wept. Amanda too, could not restrain her emotions.
'This,' she thought to herself, 'this makes everything worthwhile. No book could ever replace this.'
Epilogue