His father was exhausted by the mere attempt at solving the riddle of his son’s moods. He was exhausted by the mere sight of his handsome son’s bored indifference and his cold silences. He searched the memories of his own youth, but he could not recall any torment that had given rise to the kind of instability that ruled his son. Kiyoaki was like a lake whose clear waters reveal the very pebbles on its bed at one moment, only to cloud over the next in a sudden squall.
