Tatsuhiko Takimoto - Welcome to the NHK!

Exiting the station, I found that the town was deserted. It was already the middle of the night; but even given the time, the area around the station was as silent as a ghost town. There was no sign of anyone on the streets.

On top of that, it was snowing and really cold. As the town was located on the Sea of Japan, it was in something of a blizzard zone. I fastened shut the neck of my coat and headed toward the sole taxi in sight. The driver seemed surprised by a customer’s arrival. The man, poised at the threshold of old age, looked like he’d been sleeping in his seat. Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes.

Getting into the warm car, I pointed at the map to show him my destination. The driver looked at me for confirmation, with an expression that said, “Are you serious?”

I nodded, and the car took off, causing the chains on the tires to clank.

“Sir, why would you want to go to a place like that so late at night?”

“Sightseeing. Please hurry.”

About half an hour later, the taxi exited onto a hilly road that ran along the ocean shore. It headed straight up a steep hill. On the right, the pitch-black sea spread out. When we reached the top of the hill, the taxi stopped.

“This place actually has become quite a famous tourist spot, but there isn’t anything here.” The taxi driver spoke as though in apology.

I paid the fare and got out of the taxi.

“You don’t really plan to… No, the construction is complete, so it should be fine.” With that, the taxi driver pulled back onto the road.

I looked around. There really wasn’t anything here. Or more accurately, it was so dark that I could barely see.

As the ocean was on my right side, I thought I would find the cliff if I headed in that direction, but only sparsely scattered streetlamps lit the area. I felt terribly helpless. For the time being, I crossed the road and, climbing through the space between the guardrails, I set off on a snow-covered path.

Misaki had to be at the other end of this path. Stepping through the snow, which came up to my ankles, and taking care not to slip and fall, I continued down the path cut through the thick brush. With each step, the surrounding darkness grew deeper and deeper.

Before long, the light from the streetlamps no longer reached me, and I could hardly see anything at all. Then, the brush thinned abruptly. The path ended, and in front of my eyes stretched the coal-black sky and the Sea of Japan. That’s right. I had made it to the very edge of the cape. It was too dark for me to see well, but the cliff was about thirty feet ahead. I finally had arrived. I had reached my destination!

But what about Misaki?

I looked around, but I couldn’t see much. A large full moon floated in the night sky, but my eyes weren’t used to the dark yet, so I couldn’t make out anything but vague outlines. There seemed to be no sign of anyone anywhere. That was all I could tell.

What did this mean? Had I arrived first? Or had Misaki stopped somewhere along the way? Or could it be that…

My heart began pulsing violently, and my blood curdled.

No, no, it couldn’t be. There was no way that she could have jumped before I even arrived, right? She’d be here shortly. Soon, Misaki would come walking down that path.

I stepped back and sat on a bench that faced the ocean. With my face turned expectantly toward the little path, I waited for Misaki.

An hour passed. Misaki didn’t come. It began to seem as though she wouldn’t come down the path at all. I put my head in my hands. Without realizing it, I started talking to myself.

“Why?”

“‘Why’ what?”

“Did I arrive too late?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Misaki is…”

“You were off by only five minutes. Maybe you should be a detective.”

I slowly turned my face to the right. Standing there was Misaki. She was wearing a black coat that blended with the darkness.

Perching on the edge of the bench, Misaki explained, “You finally said something. I didn’t know what to do because you were silent for so long.”

A violent rage boiled up inside me. I felt as though she had made an ass out of me. Forcing those feelings back down inside, I said in as gentle a tone as possible, “Well then, let’s go home! It’s cold out here!”

“I don’t want to.”

What do you mean you don’t want to?! You, ah crap, just stop making a fool out of me. I nearly started railing at her as hard as I could; but somehow, I was able to control the impulse.

I tried to remember a book I had read long ago called The Psychology of Self-Injury. It had theorized, “Those who try to commit suicide actually want someone to save them. They want someone to listen to what they have to say, so try and listen to them with a kind demeanor, as gently as possible, without chiming in with any sort of negative comments.”

Those seemed to be the key points.

I turned to Misaki as I fixed my collar. That was proof of my gentle attitude. Then, I said, “Don’t die. Let’s keep living!”

Misaki smiled. It was a derisive smile.

I wanted to tell her just how much trouble I had gone through to get all the way here; of course, I held back. In a kindly voice, I asked, “Why did you attempt suicide so suddenly?”

“It wasn’t your fault or anything, Satou.”

“I know that. So…”

“I’ve grown tired of living.”

“Explain in more concrete terms.”

“I got sick of everything. There was no reason for me to keep on living.” She chanted these abstractions, a smile still on her face. Was she making a fool out of me, after all?

“Yeah, that’s right. I don’t think that I can get help from you any longer, Satou. You’re just a hikikomori, in the end.”

The blood rushed to my head. “Go ahead and die!”

“I will die.”

“No! I was kidding. Don’t die. If you die, you’ll go to hell.”

“You don’t have to be in such a panic. To begin with, I’m basically already dead, seeing how I took all the drugs I’d saved over an entire year. If my uncle hadn’t found me, I would have succeeded. No matter what you do, Satou, I’m determined to go ahead and die.”

There, in the winter, standing at a cape in the inky darkness, we continued discussing whether to live or die. The conversation was light years removed from the normal, everyday world.

It was already past midnight, and it was freezing. Misaki’s teeth chattered.

“Either way, I’m going to die.” She had grown defiant. “Go ahead and try to stop me if you want, even though it’s impossible.”

Clearly, the views on suicide traditionally retained by our society no longer held any merit. Without any shame at all, she was arguing for death.

I rebutted, “If you’re saying stuff like that, Misaki, then you don’t really feel like dying anymore, do you?”

In response, Misaki put her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out a metal object.

“I have a box cutter here.” The blade slid out of the handle. She declared, “Right now, I’ll cut my wrists with this box cutter!”

“That’s dangerous!” I tried to grab Misaki’s hand.

“Don’t come near me!” Misaki quickly jumped up from the bench to avoid my grasp.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m sure that I’ve gone crazy. If you come too close, I’ll probably cut you!” As she shouted this, Misaki stretched out her right hand, which gripped the box cutter, and put her left hand behind her back. She looked like she was attempting some fencing pose.

“What are you doing?”

“I learned it from a book called The Art of Murder that I read at the library. I’m employing the knife-fighting art of the Sicilian Mafia.”