I really love sentos (public baths).
It is a small luxury, a treat for myself.
I like small sentos, but it’s fun to go to super-sentos too.
There seem to be lots of new super-sentos springing up everywhere these days.
I have some bitter sweet memory from the time when super-sentos became popular.
It is one of the few memories I have with my father.
I had been a daughter who could not communicate well with my father for a long time.
He was a quiet and a serious father. I remember he was always watching strictly over his three children with a strong sense of justice. He was not scary or scolding or anything like that, but rather, he was gentle, and spoke very little which gave the impression that he always maintained an air or dignity just by sitting there, and as a child, I felt overwhelmed go up and speak to him.
When my mother sometimes playfully fooled around beside him, father usually would smile and gently say to her “That would be enough.”
It was when I gave up the violin and stepped away from music for a while that I began to take distance from him in my heart.
At that time, the whole family was supporting me saying things close to my heart, when my father quietly said to me “That’s a pity. Are you going to give it up? Life is a long race. It would be better to keep making efforts.”
I felt lonely. I wanted my father to acknowledge all the efforts I’d made up to that point…I started taking distance from my father, as I thought he was the only one who didn’t understand me. After two years taking distance and not talking to him, his words “Life if a long race” had always remained hanging in my mind. When I started to pick up the instrument once again, I slowly began talking to him once more.
I might have finally grown up a little, as I started appreciating my father’s kindness and I heard that he was actually very worried about me all through my difficult times. I was the one who didn’t understand anything.
One day, I asked my father if he wanted to go to a new sento that had opened close by. I did so because I wanted to get closer to him. I knew that he often spent quite a long time soaking in the bath at home, so I assumed he must like bathing.
‟Daddy, would you like to go for a bath together? A big sento has opened near by.”
My father gave me a happy smile, one that I’d never seen before.
The calm and quiet father said in an unnaturally loud voice, “Oh! That sounds great! Let’s go and have a look.”
My mother, who was preparing dinner, laughed happily.
After that, I frequently asked my dad out to go to the sento together.
“Who’s driving today?” We would take turns in driving the 15-minute drive to the sento, and we enjoyed the conversations too.
But there was one concern about the sound of my father’s breathing when he came out of the sento. His face was red and looked swollen, and he seemed to have difficulty in breathing.
But when he saw me, he gave me an awkward “Hi” with a big smile on his face. I got worried and took him to the hospital, where they found a heart condition.
It happened soon after that. His condition rapidly deteriorated, and my father passed away.
“I must have made my father’s condition worse.”
Regrets and mortification, memories of his kindness and love came all at once flooding back and I couldn’t hold back the emotions inside me.
Super sento.
After a long time, I had the chance to visit my favourite super sento with a friend, earlier this year. With the various baths and saunas, and my very first experience of a hot stone bath, the delicious meal we had there, I was able to relax thoroughly, and it was though I got back to my student days.
And I always remember my father’s smile.
That reddened, slightly puffy smile, which he kept as long as he could manage, was his kindness towards me. Coming together to the sento with me though he awas struggling to breath, was his love. Remembering those things made my heart feel even warmer as I gripped the steering wheel on the drive home from the Sento.