Frank
Hello, I’m Frank.
Here is a brief summary and a sneak preview of my short and slightly mysterious anthology, “Taxman Bei”. I hope you enjoy the read.
【Summary】
This is the second installment in the “Slightly Mysterious Anthology” series. A man visits his aging father to finally share a long-buried story—an incident he experienced as a child. But through their quiet conversation, he learns something new… What exactly is “Taxman Bei”? And what does his father’s silent presence truly reveal?
Please enjoy this short story from Frank☆World, totaling approximately 7,744 characters.
【Sneak Peek】
“What’s wrong with you? You’re just staring into space.”
My father’s voice rattled like gravel, clogged with phlegm. He was turning eighty-three soon.
It had been three years since I last visited my family home. Somehow, the curt tone in his voice felt comforting.
He lounged against his reclined chair—tilted about twenty degrees—and stared at the television from just a foot away, sitting at an odd angle. It was a Friday, Labor Thanksgiving Day, and his deep navy sweater matched the season well.
The cushion beneath him had burn marks—three or four spots—probably from cigarettes he had dropped.
He switched his gaze back and forth between the TV and me, showing a version of himself that seemed somehow out of focus.
Though I’d come to check in on my father who lived alone, it felt like I was the one making him uncomfortable.
“What was that?”
Between us flowed a quiet, special atmosphere—just father and son.
“Shall I make some tea?”
I gestured rather than spoke, as his hearing wasn’t what it used to be.
In the middle of a yawn, he nodded slightly, his mouth still open.
It was around this time, twenty years ago, that my mother passed away.
Up until then, the three of us had lived together. But shortly after her death, I moved out.
Not because I wanted to leave him alone—he had encouraged me to live on my own.
“You’re on your own now.”
At the time, I thought he’d gone mad. But now, I finally understand what he meant.
It wasn’t that he wanted to get rid of me—it was that he wanted to cherish his memories with my mother.
That was the choice he made.
An only child, I’d gone on to work for a mid-tier trading company after university.
Ten years into the job, I was assigned to a post in Africa.
Without hesitation, I accepted and relocated to Johannesburg, South Africa.
Two months into my assignment, in October, I got an emergency call from the company—my mother had collapsed.
My father told me she didn’t have long to live, so I rushed back to Japan.
A doctor coldly told me it was terminal lung cancer. Of course, my mother didn’t know how serious it was.
My father tried to act normal in front of her, but there was a certain stiffness to him that made it almost painful to watch.
Three days before she died, while we sat in a hospital waiting room, he said something quietly.
—”Ever since you started flying around the world in your second year at the company, your mother was constantly worried. She’d read the newspaper every day, terrified you’d been caught in some accident or crime.”
I pictured her bent over the paper, eyes narrowed, and my chest tightened.
Stepping into the tiny, old kitchen, I was hit with a wave of memories.
Everything was just as I remembered: the old gas stove, the wooden dish cupboard.
Images long stored in the back of my mind flooded back all at once.
I placed the small kettle my mother used to love on the stove and lit the flame.
A blue-white fire shot up beneath the kettle’s belly.
—”Turn the heat down!”
I could hear my mother’s scolding voice again, just like when I was a child.
Lost in the memory, I didn’t even notice the water boiling.
I poured the tea in front of my father; its green scent wafted gently into the air.
He stretched out the morning paper, trying to put distance between us through the act of reading.
And yet, looking at me—perhaps seeing traces of the past—his face showed a faint, wrinkled smile.
There’s something I still haven’t told him.
It happened when I was in third grade.
My mother took the secret with her to the grave.
Though the statute of limitations has long since passed, for me, it remains a haunting incident.
My heart has never fully healed.
It was forty-four years ago to this very day.
And it all began with one very strange morning…
（To be continued）
You can read the rest at the link below. (Japanese version)
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新品価格 |
If you are interested in an English version of this novel, I would appreciate it if you could let me know in the comments section below. I am considering publishing it as a Kindle edition.
Thank you for reading today.
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