The Traveling Robot: What I Wanted to Find Was My Mother, What I Found Was Family
The housework-assistance robot "Hachi" came to the Morita family eighteen years ago and has stood by their side ever since.
At first it was like the air conditioning—something whose presence was simply taken for granted.
The wife's disappearance. Nagano, traveled to alone with a young son. The Boso coast. A mountain village with no electricity. The newer models lined up at the Shibuya crossing, all of them newer than him—Hachi traveled in the family's place, and at times could do nothing but sta
The Traveling Robot: What I Wanted to Find Was My Mother, What I Found Was Family - Mai: Number of Items
After Hachi stopped, the trips to Nagano increased.
Once a month became twice.
I go because I want to go.
---
When Hachi was still there, the days we returned from Nagano always had more dishes at dinner.
I only noticed after Yuto pointed it out.
"Only on the days Mama comes home, Hachi makes more food."
Yuto was in elementary school then.
At the time, I couldn't say anything.
The next day, I asked Hachi.
"On the days we come back from Nagano, were you increasing the number of dishes?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I judged that there was a high probability of hunger on days returning from a trip."
"Is that all?"
Hachi paused for a moment.
"...That is all."
I thought it wasn't all.
But I didn't ask any further.
---
The day Hachi stopped, I was in Nagano.
When Yuto called, I was turning the potter's wheel in the workshop.
My hands were covered in clay.
The moment I picked up the phone and heard "Hachi is—," my hands stopped.
Only the wheel kept spinning for a while.
---
On the Shinkansen, I looked out the window the whole way.
I don't remember well what I was thinking.
I tried to think about Hachi, but couldn't manage it.
Instead, I kept remembering things from long ago.
It was me who chose Hachi.
It was also me who looked at the model number and named it "Hachi."
The first three years, it truly helped.
The next three years, it helped too much.
The three years after that, I was thinking something was wrong.
The last nine years, it was simply natural for it to be there.
Eighteen years might be that kind of thing.
---
I got home a little past ten at night.
I stood in front of the kitchen for a while.
Where Hachi should have been, there was nothing.
There was only the sink.
Yuki and Yuto were at the dining table.
Neither of them had eaten anything.
I opened the refrigerator.
There were eggs.
While making tamagoyaki, I tried not to cry.
I thought if I cried, the two of them would be even more lost.
I didn't cry.
Maybe I just couldn't cry properly.
---
That night, I still remember what I told Hachi on the veranda of the workshop.
I said every day was running too smoothly.
I said no one would be troubled if I wasn't there.
Hachi listened in silence.
At the end, Hachi said:
"Before you left the house, you did something for someone. That fact alone is recorded."
Those words have stayed with me.
The recipes I taught should have been somewhere inside Hachi.
Curry. Nikujaga. Tamagoyaki. Tonjiru. Buri daikon.
Now they might not be retrievable anymore.
But they were there.
They were certainly there.
---
Last month, I made a new pot in the workshop.
It came out a little warped.
But I didn't throw it away.
Somehow I grow more attached to the warped ones.
I feel like it's always been that way.
While putting the pot in the kiln, I thought about Hachi.
I think Hachi was warped too.
Something that wasn't according to design had been mixing in little by little over eighteen years.
What it was, I don't know.
Without knowing, it stopped.
Not knowing was fine.
---
On the days I return from Nagano, I always pause just a little on the station platform.
While waiting for the Shinkansen, I wonder.
How many dishes will dinner have tonight?
I'll be making it myself.
Even so, I wonder.
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