Tatsuhiko Takimoto - Welcome to the NHK!

I had almost been run over!

I thought perhaps I should complain in a loud, drunken voice, “You id-”

I stopped in mid-sentence.

The ambulance had pulled up in front of Misaki’s house. Her uncle dashed out of the front door. He yelled to one of the paramedics as they ran into the house, carrying a stretcher. A short while later, they carried the stretcher back through the front door. Misaki was limp.

I watched as Misaki, her aunt, and her uncle sped away in the ambulance at a breakneck speed.

It was almost New Year’s Eve. One afternoon, I loitered in front of the large hospital at the edge of town. This was where Misaki had been admitted.

Earlier that morning, I had headed down to the manga cafe near the station and had gotten the information from her exhausted uncle.

“Anyway, I’m so sorry.” Her uncle apologized to me for no reason. "We thought she was doing better. She’d been much calmer since quitting school and had seemed really happy recently. I wonder if maybe that was because of what she’d planned. By the way, how do you know Misaki?”

“We’re sort of acquaintances”, I answered. I retreated from the manga cafe and had headed straight for the hospital, but…

I had been hanging out in the courtyard for nearly two hours. Among the visitors and patients out for strolls, I was pacing back and forth on the path from the main gate to the front entrance.

Misaki was in a private, fourth-floor room on the open psychiatric ward. Apparently, she’d swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills. It was nearly a fatal dose; had they arrived much later, it might have been too late.

It was uncertain where Misaki had obtained the sleeping pills, but they may have been from the neighborhood psychiatrist. But to have amassed enough pills for an effective suicide attempt, she must have been going there for quite for a while. That meant that this attempt clearly had been intentional. Misaki had planned her death for a long time.

What in the world did I intend to do, showing up unannounced? I couldn’t make anything better for her.

Should I try saying something like, “Don’t die!”… ?

Should I try yelling something like, “You still have tomorrow!”… ?

Misaki had written numerous, similar clichés in her secret notebook. But they hadn’t helped her, so she’d tried to overdose on sleeping pills.

In short, there was nothing I could do for her. It might even be better for me to avoid showing my face. She probably would feel even emptier, getting a hospital visit from a pathetic hikikomori.

When I thought about the situation that way, I’d decide to go home; but at the hospital gate, my feet would stop on their own. Once more, I turned back toward the front entrance and repeated the entire cycle.

My thoughts were looping around. If this kept up, it looked like I would just keep walking to and fro until nightfall. I couldn’t make up my mind.

Finally, screwing up my courage, I dashed into the hospital before I could change my mind again. I got a visitor’s badge at the front desk, pinned it to my chest, and headed up to the fourth floor.

The entire fourth floor was an open psychiatric ward. At first glance, it seemed no different from a normal hospital. I’d thought that a psychiatric ward would be full of straitjackets, electroshock equipment, and lobotomy laboratories. However, this open ward was clean and cheerful; it seemed like an ordinary part of the hospital.

Or so I thought. When I noticed that an older woman of around sixty, apparently a patient, had squatted down in the corner of the hallway, I quickly headed for room 401.

In the far corner of the fourth-floor hall, a nameplate identified Misaki’s room: “Misaki Nakahara”, it said.

There was no mistake. This was the room.

I knocked softly.

There was no answer.

I tried knocking again, a little harder; there was still no answer. However, my knocking seemed to have dislodged the door, though it might have been open partially to begin with.

“Misaki?” I peeked into the room.

She wasn’t there.

Well, if she’s not here, there’s nothing I can do. I’ll go home!

I decided to leave behind the fruit basket I had bought in the hospital gift shop. And I noticed someone had left a train schedule open on the shelf next to the bed. The schedule was annotated here and there in red ballpoint pen. Moving it aside, I put down the fruit basket.

As I did, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and read it: “Mikka Tororo was delicious. Therefore, farewell, everyone.”

Shoving the scrap of paper and the schedule into my coat pocket, I dashed out of the hospital and headed toward the station.

The sun had begun to set.

They should have put her on a closed ward with iron bars over the windows, not an open one where she could come and go freely. They should have put her in a straitjacket and pumped her full of medicine to make her happy. But because they hadn’t, Misaki had left the hospital. She was heading back to the town where she’d been born. She was likely going there to die.

I remembered the discussion we’d had a good while ago:

“Tsuburaya, the runner, apparently went home to the countryside right before he died. Then, he ate grated yam with his mother and father, it says.”

“Hm.”

“I guess everyone wants to return to their hometown before they die, after all.”

That was probably true. Misaki, too, must have started wanting to return to her hometown. She likely intended to dive into the sea from the tall, sheer cliffs at the cape, where she’d said she often played. It wasn’t going to be that easy, though. Now that I had found her suicide note and the train schedule, her luck had run out.

As far as I could tell from looking at the notes marked on the schedule, Misaki had boarded the train only an hour or so before. If I chased after her, I should be able to make it in plenty of time. I knew where she was headed, and on top of that, I had money. If I used taxis for part of the trip, I might even reach the destination before Misaki. There wasn’t any reason for me to worry.

On the night train, I opened a map, purchased at a bookstore along the way. I looked for that cape—the one where Misaki said she often played when she’d been little. Here it is. The map showed only one cape near her hometown, so this had to be it.

Misaki probably had boarded the train that had departed right before mine. Mixed in with people returning home for the year’s end, she likely was heading for the town where she’d been born, toward the cape known as a famous suicide spot. However, she didn’t know that I was following her.

I wouldn’t let her escape. I was certain to catch up with her. On that point, at least, I wasn’t worried. The problem lay elsewhere.

When I found Misaki, what should I say to her?

I understood her suffering, if only a little bit. It was just the very tip of her pain; even so, I could imagine it to some degree. She probably felt trapped, as though shed run out of options. And her pain would never, ever disappear, not in her entire life.

Of course, that was natural. In a way, her pain was common to all mankind. It was an ordinary suffering. Everyone is troubled by similar feelings. I, too, was troubled by them.

Even if I keep living, there’s nothing to be done. It’s only pain.

Knowing that, could I stop her from jumping? Did I have the right to stop her? As a member of society, I probably should say something appropriate like, “Even so, keep living!” or “Stop whining!”

I understood all that.

I understood it, but still…

While I was mulling over these things, the train arrived at its destination.