Farewell to Taro

The meal before us felt unusually tasteless, each bite lacking the usual burst of flavors that typically danced on our tongues. It was as if the very essence of the dishes had been subdued, and I couldn't help but wonder whether my hand in preparing the meal contributed to this subdued flavor. Perhaps my emotions had spilled over into the dishes I had a hand in crafting, reflecting the somber atmosphere that clung to the air. Or maybe it was simply the gravity of the occasion, casting a pall over our taste buds and making it difficult to savor the food as usual.

Four trim, perfectly grilled fish adorned with crispy and flavorful skin shared the plates with an array of freshly cooked vegetables, still vibrant and colorful from their recent preparation. Alongside them, a generous portion of steaming, fluffy rice beckoned us. The food before us was a symphony of flavors, a testament to the culinary skills of our family.

This meal wasn't extravagant or elaborate but contained wholesomeness and comfort. Each bite of the grilled fish offered a delightful contrast of textures, with the crispy skin yielding to succulent, tender flesh underneath. The vegetables, cooked to perfection, retained their natural sweetness and a hint of crunch. The rice, a canvas for the flavors around it, absorbed the savory juices, creating a harmonious blend of tastes.

This simple yet satisfying feast filled our bellies, ensuring we had enough sustenance for the day ahead. It was a refreshing meal that left you feeling content and reassured. The intention was clear; this wasn't just any ordinary meal; it was Taro's farewell feast, a way to honor him and provide the energy he needed for his journey.

"I... I think you're too young to join," Mother said, her gaze locked on Taro. A longing for her firstborn's childhood emerged in her eyes, fresh tears welling up and spilling over, impossible to contain, driven by her motherly concern. Fresh tears welled in her eyes, which were impossible to contain, driven by her maternal concern. "It's difficult, my dear, to see you venture into the world so soon."

A palpable silence descended upon the room as we collectively halted our meal, our attention shifting to Mother and Taro. The clink of Taro's chopsticks against his bowl ceased, and his gaze, filled with unspoken words, locked onto Mother's. In that silent exchange, their eyes conveyed a depth of emotion that transcended words.

"Okaasan, please, let's not forget our meal. Taro has a significant day ahead, and we must also discuss our tax plans," Hana gently insisted in a ladylike manner, her tone masking a touch of annoyance and hunger. I glanced at Hana, understanding her resolve to address important matters before they became urgent.

Mother nodded, her tears subsiding as if determined to regain a sense of normalcy. She signaled for everyone to begin their meal, attempting to find solace in the routine of everyday life. Strangely, today's food seemed to lack its usual flavor, leaving me to wonder whether it was due to my role in preparing the meal or if the solemn occasion had cast a pall over our taste buds.

After the meal, we went to the Genkan, a traditional Japanese entryway with sliding or folding screen doors. It was the place where we prepared to see Father and Taro off. As we gathered there, the atmosphere was somber, each of us aware of the significance of this farewell.

"Taro, please remember to enjoy three square meals a day or whatever sustenance they provide, my dear," Mother urged gently, her eyes reflecting her care and concern. Her words were laden with maternal care. "And don't forget to take care of yourself. It's important not to go hungry, for an empty stomach brings discomfort. Be mindful not to overexert your body—rest whenever the opportunity presents itself. Furthermore... You know how much I worry about you."

Mother's wisdom-filled guidance was ceaseless, her love for Taro apparent in every word. However, Father interjected tenderly, understanding that time was of the essence and that it was crucial to bid Taro farewell.

"Okusan, it's time to head to the military base," Father interjected gently, raising his hand as a signal for Mother to pause. We all walked outside, awaiting our moment to say goodbye. Father offered a comforting pat on her back as she began to cry once more. He turned to Taro, Father's expression mixed pride and emotion. Taro nodded and hugged us, his hands softly patting our heads as he held us tenderly. It was an emotional farewell, as it marked the last time we would see him for an uncertain duration.

"Take care of yourselves and our parents," Taro instructed as he departed for the military base with Father. Unfortunately, we couldn't accompany them, as the fathers were the sole individuals privy to the base's location due to their previous military service.

As they embarked on this journey, Mother and the rest of the family shed tears, acknowledging the lengthy separation we were about to endure. There was hope that Taro would return safely, unscathed by the perils of war should it arise.

"He'll come back. I'm certain of it," I thought, my eyes dry but filled with a profound sense of conviction. I couldn't help but feel proud, my emotions mirroring those of my father and brother, Taro

------

After a few weeks, we received news about Taro, which was incredibly positive. He had not only met their expectations but exceeded them. Taro's outstanding performance earned him a teacher position, responsible for training other samurais. He was at the top of his class. He was privileged to choose his group for the post-graduation ceremony assignment.

"I knew he could do it!" I exclaimed, unable to contain my pride and joy, and I excitedly jumped towards Father with a broad smile.

"Harumi, please, be more ladylike and behave yourself," Mother scolded me gently. However, a subtle smile tugged at the corners of her lips, revealing her pride in Taro's achievement.

"Hai, Okaasan," I nodded obediently, a bit bashful, and fiddled with my fingers in response.

Father affectionately patted my head and winked at me, reinforcing our shared happiness. He discreetly passed a small note to me, which piqued my curiosity. I excused myself, retreating to my room to read it in private.

The note read, "Harumi, I hope you're training hard with Father daily. Please remember to tell Father and Mother to eat and care for themselves. And remind the rest of the family not to overwork themselves. As for Hana, let her know that we should have all the necessary tax funds before the harvesting season begins. Remember, when I return, we'll have to spar to see how much you've grown. Don't miss me too much; we'll see each other sooner than you think."

With excitement bubbling, I eagerly took the note, its contents like a treasured secret. Rushing back to the common area, I couldn't help but share its contents with my other siblings, who had been waiting for the news with bated breath. Their eyes sparkled with joy and curiosity as I read the note aloud.