"I don't love you Ishmael. . . . When we met that last time in the cedar tree and I felt you body move against mine, I knew with certainty that everything was wrong. I knew we could never be right together . . . I wish you the very best Ishmael. Your heart is large and you are gentle and kind, and I know you will do great things in this world, but now I must say good-bye to you. I am going to move on with my life as best I can, and I hope you will too."
This is the same letter that I have read countless number of times - the same letter that sparked and fuelled my hatred for her. But now, after all that I have witnessed along with the whole town, I think I understand the meaning of everything that went wrong between us on a higher level.
Ishmael Day's marker
Don't Call Me Ishmael
Français : Agar et Ismaël dans le désert (1820)...I have carried a false prejudice deep inside my heart for a long time now. I have to let it go and understand that what Hatsue did was what she thought was appropriate for both of us. But, I will never be what everyone expected. I will never be half the man my father was. All expected a lot from me. Hatsue did too. But I ended up getting my arm cut off in the war. I ended up reporting petty functions and little inaugurations instead of writing glorious editorials. Hatsue left me with a hope for my better, expecting the best from me. Maybe, I faltered and ended up like this. Maybe this is the time to make up for it.
Greatness is, indeed, a thing that did not come to me as a heirloom from my father. My father, the great...