The Japanese Bowl

She seemed to be unable to give up on that bowl. She forbade anyone to throw it away and asked the cleaning lady to bring her strongest glue. She even put it away where no one could do the bowl any further damage. “It was a present from my ex-boyfriend who was Japanese” – said she.  I couldn’t help but sympathise with that nostalgic attachment. She didn’t strike me as someone familiar with the concept of Kintsugi. Everything in her house had to be perfect, spotless, whole. Could it be that she was hoping that by keeping the pieces of a shattered bowl together, she could keep her marriage from falling apart? 

It was just a few weeks since he had told her. She’d just recovered from the initial shock and started eating again. She’d almost stopped drinking every night. At least openly. After twelve years of marriage, he was in love, but not with her.

***

I rewound back to one evening a few months before. It was his mother’s Birthday. They had just finished another endless dinner when she said: “Let’s call Grandma”. She fetched the ipad, both the kids crawled onto her laps, and they began the video call. Obviously expecting the call, the Grandma picked up after the first beep. Her son stayed in his chair. “Weird” – thought I. Though, there was sweetness in the fact that the wife initiated the congratulation. There was no “she’s your mother, not mine”, and I guessed that must’ve what it meant to be a family. So, the kids and the wife began singing their ou-of-tune birthday song. He sat alone at his side of the table, right opposite me, not joining in on the merry musical disaster. She and the kids were too focused on the screen, and that’s when he gave it away. Just for a few seconds, when he thought that nobody was watching, he let go. His wife, the mother of his two children, was singing to his mother, both their kids fidgeting on her laps – such a family moment. And he was crying. “He’s touched” – was my first guess. He shook his head no and hid his gaze behind his hands. 

“He’s…ashamed?” – my thoughts slowed down. His face was the face of a tormented man. As he was pressing his lips trying not to let a single sob out, a thought passed my mind: “He’s done something”. Back then I didn’t give it a second thought. After all, it could’ve been a one-time mistake. Besides, he seemed to repent it. So, was it worth bringing it up? Whatever he’d done, he regretted it. And who was I? I was staff. No, they were going to yell many more happy wishes to each other’s extended families and eat loads of never-ending dinners, while babysitters would come and go.

***

The cleaning lady brought her best glue. It couldn’t even keep the pieces together without any fruit in it. The bowl was thrown into the rubbish bin. Always a perfectionist, she was ready to try and see the beauty in the broken bowl. She was ready to accept the cracks as the part of its story. Despite her effort, there wasn’t going to be a second life for the Japanese bowl. They filed for a divorce that month.