Deformity

"I'm home."

As soon as I returned from work and approached my heavily pregnant wife, who was nearing her due date, I received news I never expected, causing me to drop my smartphone from the table onto the hardwood floor with a thud.

"When I went to the hospital, they said the baby has a disability."

At that moment, my wife clung to me, tears streaming down her face, her entire weight pressing against me as she let out a soundless cry. Since our child is inside her womb, the weight of two people pressed on my heart even more than it did on my body.

There were no abnormalities in the prenatal diagnosis. Nor in the regular checkups that followed. And yet,

"Why..."

I lost even the strength to hold my wife. I didn't have any energy left for that. But there was nothing I could do for her right now other than hold her.

"Abort"

I couldn't say something so thoughtless. I've seen it in dramas and movies, but this is a real-life issue. I never imagined I would be in that position.

"I never thought it would happen."

18 years have passed since then. Our child is certainly different.
In some way, not normal.
But maybe that's okay.

"Hey? Peaches and chestnuts take three years, how many years for persimmons?"

The persimmon tree that my wife, now a middle-aged woman, planted in the garden was from the year after our child was born.

Actually, they are blue. To be precise, they are still green, like bell peppers. Though they are smaller than a sudachi citrus.

Since there are many small fruits on one branch, from Golden Week until the rainy season ends, I use scissors to snip off the unnecessary fruits during this season. One fruit per branch. That's how large persimmons grow. This task is apparently called 'fruit thinning'.

"Hey, look at this."

The fruit my wife, who climbed the five-foot stepladder with practiced ease, thinned out has a strange shape.

"It looks like Mickey Mouse. Even if it's misshapen."

"Yeah, it does."

My wife hands the misshapen, Mickey Mouse-like persimmon to me, now a middle-aged man who has also gotten used to the Kansai dialect.

After our child was born, we moved from Kanto to Kansai.
We wanted to raise our child in a place with at least a better environment.

I hope they turn bright red again this year.

I agree.

My wife speaks standard Japanese. However, she was born in Kawachinagano City, Osaka Prefecture.
And yet,

Hey? Help me out.

That child is alive, too. With us. In this town.

(End)