I Left the Cabbage Behind | Short Story

My father died.

Four days ago, when I returned from work, I found my father in a coma at home. I hurriedly called the paramedics.
Looking at my father, who didn't even twitch despite my desperate cries of "Are you okay? Can you hear me?", I realized it was too late.
Nearby, a large 5-liter bottle of "Daigoro" lay empty on the floor.

While in the ambulance, I told them about my father, and they concluded it was acute alcohol poisoning. The color of my father's face as he lay on the stretcher was earthy. It was that familiar color, a mix of yellow and gray.
However, the young paramedic, seeing my father's face for the first time, looked startled, and then his expression shifted to one of realization. It seemed my father's liver function had stopped long ago. I had been living with a man who had the face of a corpse for a long time.
At the emergency room of the general hospital where we entered through the back, the doctor pronounced him dead. He was only 52 years old.

My father, who had suddenly quit the railway company where he worked, spent his days immersed in alcohol. I couldn't blame my father, who had become self-destructive after my mother passed away just a year ago.

I received a long bereavement leave from my workplace, with them saying, "Kurahashi-san, please take a good rest," and I began preparing for the funeral. Only my aunt, Tomoko-san, came, holding her pearl prayer beads.
Tomoko-san was the only person connected to both my father and me; no one else came. No one wanted to get close to my alcohol-soaked father or me, with my gloomy face. The funeral waiting room felt strangely large. No one touched the tea snacks in the center of the table, so it looked like the next bereaved family waiting in this room could use them just as they were.

Perhaps pitying me for being left all alone in the world, the monk kept telling me things like "You must not lose hope," and Aunt Tomoko would place her hand on my shoulder, nodding along as if speaking for my heart.
But in reality, the monk's words and Aunt Tomoko's sentiments were completely off the mark, going in one ear and out the other.

I lived with my father in our one-story family home. It had an awkward layout due to a forced expansion, and I found it particularly difficult to manage during the time I lived alone with him. My father used to boast that in the future, three generations of our family would live there, but since I never had any such marriage prospects, he must have hated me.

He was a strict father. If I left even a single grain of rice, I would be hit. Keep your back straight. The world is not kind to the weak.
Even before he drowned himself in alcohol, he was strict about manners. Every time I was hit, my mother would be flustered. To avoid worrying her, I followed my father's words as if they were etched into my bones. I think it was a household that could be described as the epitome of a patriarchal family. My father would say, "Stay in your parents' home until you marry," and I would naturally answer, "Yes."

After the funeral, I got into bed at home. My mind was restless, and I couldn't fall asleep. However, perhaps because my body was tired, I saw the morning sun streaming in without remembering falling asleep. The one-story house, which felt even larger now that my father was gone, was built in a way that sunlight didn't reach the back of the rooms or the hallways. As if sensing my feelings, the shadows stretched out endlessly.

Usually, I would make breakfast following my father's teaching that "women should cook the meals," but I had no desire to make it myself. My mental fatigue and physical lethargy were severe. I went outside aimlessly. It was the first time I had left the house without eating breakfast, and I felt dizzy, as if I had no strength in my body.

I noticed a nearby Yoshinoya and was drawn into the store, where I felt a bit flustered in front of the ticket machine. I touched the unfamiliar "Morning Menu" and chose the morning beef set meal. The ticket machine spat out a ticket printed with "No. 03" and my change with a clatter. The clock in the store read 5:45. There were no other customers besides me.

My order number was called immediately, and I went to pick up the morning beef set meal.
Shredded cabbage and cucumber salad, beef and caramelized onions in a small bowl, natto, and steaming hot rice. Miso soup.

As a small eater, it was a large portion, and I struggled to finish it. But I thought if I didn't finish it, my father would hit me, so I ate it little by little, keeping my back straight and pretending to be calm.

Then, I realized that my father had died five days ago, and I was startled.

I stopped my chopsticks and looked at the set meal I was eating.
There were about two bites of cabbage left. Everything else was empty.
After staring at the cabbage for a while, I put down my chopsticks.

I left it at the kitchen return counter and said, "Thank you for the meal."
I left the store with such momentum that I didn't even wait for the staff's reply and headed home. I opened the poorly fitted front door with force, kicked off my shoes without lining them up, and then ran down the hallway, laughing loudly.

I left the cabbage behind. Hahaha, I left the cabbage behind!

I laughed like a madwoman. I danced and laughed with a heavy thud. I left the cabbage, but I wasn't hit. I wasn't yelled at. The one-story house watched me in silence. There was no father to order me to go buy "Daigoro," no father to call me a loser. The memories of my mother and the constant comparisons to her are also gone.
The one-story house wrapped me in silence, now that I was all alone in the world. There were no eerie shadows. There was no father sitting in the living room.

Then, I stopped abruptly and cried.
I curled up, huddled together, and cried.

My father is gone.
Oh, that strict father of mine will no longer show me the way. Suddenly, I became a creature that could do nothing. My body, which had been trained until now, would not move at all without the command center that was equivalent to my father's brain. The dishonesty of breaking the rules that had been ingrained in me since I was old enough to understand, all for the sake of two bites of cabbage, suddenly felt terrifying. Who was the person who had been laughing hysterically just a moment ago? Perhaps that person was still lurking in the shadows of this one-story house. Thinking that, it was more terrifying than my father.

For a while, I lay on the floor in a fetal position, waiting for my composure to return. I realized that the woman who had been laughing like a madwoman was me, and I writhed in the extreme sense of liberation and the reaction that followed.

The two bites of cabbage were just the beginning. From now on, I will break many of his "teachings," and each time, I will erase my father's existence from the corners of my mind. It is an overwhelmingly strong reaction. Just imagining that it will attack me many times in the future makes my heart tighten. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I am amazed at myself for only being able to offer such a modest resistance as leaving cabbage behind. I had imagined that I would be filled with a sense of liberation like in a drama, such as going to the sea or going to the city for a shopping spree. But in reality, I was just bewildered by the fact that I had disobeyed my father's teachings. I am convinced that my father is still somewhere in my body. I thought it would be a very painstaking task.

But I will surely change. I will leave my father behind. My father is dead, but the father carved into my body will also die someday. When that happens, will I be able to laugh from the bottom of my heart?

I left the cabbage behind.

I left the cabbage behind.

Telling myself that, I continue to live in this one-story house today.

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