[Between Writing Sessions] My Grandfather's Back

My grandfather was born in the Meiji era and was as strict as a picture-book character.
He was extremely sparing with his words; if I spoke to him, he would either reply with a grunt or remain silent.
He was like a living example of the saying, 'A man should be silent...'

'A man should only smile with one side of his face once every six months.'
'For a woman to click her tongue is absolutely unthinkable.'
He would occasionally mutter things like that.

His lifestyle was like clockwork; he woke up at the same time every day, carried out his daily routine solemnly, read books in the evening, and went to bed at a set time.

Because I was raised in such a household, even when I became a university student, I was the type to leave a drinking party in the middle of the first round.
Even so, if you asked my grandfather, 'For a woman to go out drinking is absolutely unthinkable.'
However, perhaps because of the changing times, he seemed to turn a blind eye for a little while.

Even when I hurried home like that, my grandfather would often still have the lights on in his room later than usual, staying up while pretending to read a book.

'I'm home.'
Feeling as if I had done something wrong, I would scurry past his room.
The sound of my grandfather's voice answering with a grunt while keeping his back turned always sounded terribly stern...

He was that kind of grandfather, but when he was just past eighty, his chronic heart disease worsened and he passed away.
When I think of him, both then and now, I find myself wondering.
'Was my grandfather truly happy...?'

My grandfather lived 'righteously' and was known in the local community as a man of character.
By his own values, he might have been 'satisfied'.
But what did that 'righteousness' mean to him?

Had he never thought, even once, that he wanted to let loose, do something foolish, get drunk and make a mistake, or laugh until his stomach hurt—had he never thought of such things...?

My grandfather, who loved alcohol despite his heart condition, would sometimes steal away from my grandmother's watchful eye to have a drink with my father, becoming just a little more talkative than usual.

Rarely, he would smile properly instead of just with one side of his face, sing a few lines of an old song, or recite a passage of the Noh chants he was once skilled enough to teach others.
At those times, my grandfather seemed like a completely different person...

Perhaps that time alone was a modest freedom for him.

I am gradually approaching the age my grandfather was when I was born.
Even so, I still do not understand his state of mind.

That is why I sometimes wonder.
What kind of thoughts were hidden inside that back of his?