“This was at the end of the 1960s, the peak of the counterculture era, when the student movement was upending universities. “When my father was young, he spent a year wandering around Japan,” Haida began. It’s a long story, and it’s already late, but do you mind if I tell it?” You can take it as folklore, or a tale of the supernatural, I don’t mind. Just understand that this is what he told me. But you don’t know my father, Tsukuru, so feel free to believe it or not.
I’m his son, and I know him really well, so the only thing I can do is believe what he said. So I think it must be something he actually experienced. But my father’s story, from start to finish, was always exactly the same, each time he told it. You tend to embellish things, and forget what you said before. I’m sure you know this, but when you make up a story the details change each time you retell it. Or the type who would concoct such a story. It’s a really strange story-it’s hard even now for me to believe it actually happened- but my father isn’t the type to lie about something like that. I’ve heard the story so many times I can remember every detail. He said it was an actual experience he had when he was in his early twenties. “I have a kind of weird story related to death.
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