In my childhood, my family lived on an unnamed island in the Seto Inland Sea. I often went fishing with my father.
The area where we cast our nets was the main shipping lane, constantly bustling with passenger and cargo ships. For safety, whenever night fell, we would light a set of red lights to warn oncoming ships.
Being a novice, I was tasked with monitoring the ships and signaling for help with the light.
The winter night sea was fierce, with biting winds and frost. I wore extra layers of clothing, but they absorbed all the moisture from the sea, making them feel even heavier and colder.
Our small boat rocked on the waves, struggling to rise and fall.
My father went to sleep, and I continued to watch the sea. In my weariness, I suddenly noticed shimmering waves on the surging surface. Looking closer, I saw a brightly lit, luxuriously decorated passenger ship approaching. It saw my red light and seemed to be avoiding us.
As the passenger ship approached, the men and women on board, dressed in fashionable attire, flocked to the railing, leaning against it and looking down at the small fishing boat illuminated by colorful lights. The men were in suits, the women adorned with jewels. They stared with curious eyes at a small fisherman, like they were looking at a monkey in a zoo. A wealthy woman laughed and tossed a withered branch, which landed lightly on my shoulder, yet burned in my mind like fire.
I looked up at the diverse group of men and women on the passenger ship, conveying my resentment and frustration, but they couldn't see my expression. They remained unmoved, focused on decorating the ship with the colorful lights. What remained in my mind was a cold, indifferent impression.
The passenger ship sailed away, but the raging waves it had deliberately created relentlessly crashed against us.
I watched the luxurious ship disappear into the darkness, wondering where it was headed… Oh! I remember now, there's a bustling metropolis ahead! What a magnificent and splendid metropolis it is!
In that instant, I felt a wave of sorrow, a sorrow so profound I wanted to weep.
I am the descendant of a poor fisherman with rough, bronze skin. The men and women in their finery who flashed past me were not meant for me, nor were the dazzling, glittering cities of the distance. Only the withered branches discarded by noblewomen drew near to me, and I felt an overwhelming sadness.
Twenty years later, I miraculously settled in that dazzling metropolis, Tokyo, and became a writer.
I am a son of the sea. Every evening, I would stroll along the Myōshō-ji River, returning home with the scent of water clinging to my skin. The river flowed slowly, the glittering lights on both banks casting gentle reflections on its surface, like shimmering silver ribbons undulating in the wind. It evoked memories of my childhood, holding me captive, making me stand on the bank, gazing into the distance for a long time. I felt that the shimmering waves on the river were exactly the same as those on the river in my hometown twenty years ago, and a part of it seemed to still exude the distinct atmosphere of the Seto Inland Sea of the past.
Suddenly, a cold wind blew by, as if a heavy, icy garment had been wrapped around me.
As I marveled at the biting wind, I caught a glimpse of a small fishing boat bobbing on the river. On the boat, a fisherman was casting his net. Unlike 20 years ago, the fisherman's son wasn't doing the work I had done in my youth; he was helping his father cast the net, and together they explored the Myoshōji River's contribution to the city.
After a while, the boy began to look up at me, making me suddenly feel as if I were in the position of the men and women on that luxurious passenger ship 20 years ago. I couldn't see the boy's subtle expression, but I could sense how humble and uneasy he felt facing the "suit-wearing" men on the shore. In that instant, as a writer, I deeply felt how the sorrow of the lower classes permeated every stretch of the Myoshōji River from the Seto Inland Sea to Tokyo! I took out a business card printed with my writer's credentials and tossed it to the boy—I imagined that one day, the boy would find a writer from a fisherman's background by following the address on the card. I saw the business card flutter briefly in the dim night sky before settling on the boy's thin shoulder.
I hope the boy can understand the business card, understand the meaning behind me tossing it down, just as I understood the meaning behind the withered branch that the noblewoman discarded on my shoulder 20 years ago.
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