His general presence was not one which encouraged relaxed conversation; neither were things helped much by his odd way of stating each remark as if it were the concluding one.
When the narrator is picked up by his father from the airport after spending some years abroad, the conversation is strained from the beginning. In an emotionless, matter-of-fact manner of speaking, Father informs the narrator of his mother's death and of his business's collapse. In this passage, the narrator makes note of his father's ability to control the conversation by speaking in a way that makes it sound as though every statement he makes is the last he will make. With no opening to respond or probe, the narrator is left to sit in awkward silence, returned immediately to the position of subordinate child.
"I am—in retirement. I'm too old to involve myself in new ventures now. Business these days has become so different. Dealing with foreigners. Doing things their way. I don't understand how we've come to this. Neither did Watanabe."
When the narrator asks his father whether he will start another business, Father admits his inability or unwillingness to adapt to the modern way of doing business. Having grown up with conservative Japanese values in the pre-war era, the narrator's father is accustomed to codes of conduct and honor that have been replaced by American standards to which he cannot relate. Alienated from the world of work, Father only has his children to keep him company as he grows older.
"If we go, we're going to hitch-hike." Kikuko waved a thumb in front of my face. "People say it's dangerous, but I've done it in Osaka and it's fine."
Unbeknownst to her father, Kikuko plans to travel to the United States, just as her older brother did. Sharing her plans with the narrator when the father cannot hear, Kikuko reveals that she has merely upheld the image of the "good girl" to appease her oppressive father. In reality, she is likely to choose personal liberty over filial obligation, thereby disappointing her father in the same way the narrator devastated their mother.
He took some fish to his mouth and started to eat. Then I too chose a piece and put it in my mouth. It felt soft, quite fleshy against my tongue.
"Very good," I said. "What is it?"
"Just fish."
"It's very good."
During the family dinner, the father serves an unidentified type of fish, answering his son’s question about the kind of fish in opaque, blunt-sounding words. Because the narrator's mother died from eating improperly prepared fugu, a sinister implication hangs over the scene. Has Father chosen to punish himself and his children by poisoning them with fugu, committing a murder-suicide like his business partner did? Or is he merely testing his children's trust by declining to tell them what they're eating? By ending the story before the poison would have had time to take effect, Ishiguro leaves the reader to make up their own mind about what the father is capable of.
My father put down his chopsticks. He looked first at the photograph, then at me.
"Your mother." His voice had become very hard. "Can't you recognize your own mother?"
"My mother. You see, it's dark. I can't see it very well."
During dinner, the narrator's hands go still when he glimpses a photograph of an old woman in a white kimono—the same ghostly figure he once saw in the garden. The narrator's father is irritated by the disrespect his son shows by failing to recognize his own mother. By way of excuse, the narrator says that it was too dark for him to see her clearly. His words echo what he told Kikuko in the garden, saying the same of the ghost, whose identity was also obscured because of a lack of light when he saw her.
"I hadn't meant to tell you this, but perhaps it's best that I do. It's my belief that your mother's death was no accident. She had many worries. And some disappointments."
We both gazed at the plastic battleship.
"Surely," I said eventually, "my mother didn't expect me to live here forever."
During their tour of the mostly empty house, the father tells his son that he doesn't believe the son's mother's death was an accident. In this statement, the father implies that his mother used the fugu poisoning as cover for what was actually premeditated suicide. The son understands his father is blaming him for her death, but he can hardly believe his decision to cut ties with the family and live in California would be devastating enough for her to end her life. Nonetheless, the presence of the ghostly woman in the white kimono suggests the narrator carries guilt for having caused such emotional strife.
"Kikuko is due to complete her studies next spring," he said.
"Perhaps she will want to come home then. She's a good girl."
"Perhaps she will."
"Things will improve then."
"Yes, I'm sure they will."
In the final exchange between the narrator and his father, the father expresses a restrained optimism about his life improving after Kikuko moves back home. The moment is significant because the reader knows, in an instance of dramatic irony, that Kikuko has other plans. The narrator goes along with his father's suggestions, but it is clear the children are too alienated from their father to want to return home to keep him company.
