I have a feeling that I’m going to write a lot, but to be honest, I don’t know when you will be able to read it. You will certainly have to wait a long time; probably several years, or a decade – perhaps even several. I just don’t know. I only know that so long as your father’s file remains classified, you won’t be able to receive this letter. In a very real way, I’m writing a letter I can’t send, and I don’t know when I will be able to. Still, even though this is how it is, I still want to write it, and once it’s done, I will send it. This doesn’t mean I’m being irrational; rather it’s because I am rational and clear-headed that I’m writing it. I mean, I have faith that one day your father’s secrets will be declassified, I just don’t know when. Secrets, after all, are a counterpart to time. Fifty years ago, the Americans decided to hunt down and kill the general responsible for Pearl Harbor, Yamamoto Isoroku. Of course, this was an enormous secret at the time, but now they’ve made a movie out of it and what was once a secret is known to everyone. Time will eventually open a window to all secrets, for there is no such thing as a secret that can never be revealed. Sooner or later everything can come out into the open. Thinking this way gives me faith that this letter might bring you some happiness. I know – perhaps more than anyone else – that you hope that I can explain to you why your father experienced so many difficulties in his so-called golden years, why he endured so much pain and torment. This letter will tell you everything, but when you see it don’t blame me for making you wait so long. This letter needs time, like some old sore that requires patience to heal.