Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

“My stocking’s got a run in it. Could you stop off at a convenience store?”

For some reason, Kita couldn’t shake the feeling that Nothingness was pursuing them in a black Mercedes Benz. He could see how stupid he was being. So his death impulse was because he’d fallen into the grip of nihilism! What a fine explanation that was. If nihilism was one of those viruses that brought on cancer or immune deficiency, and crept into the host cell and killed it off, he’d welcome it with open arms. But nihilism was just nothingness. And nothingness was actually nothing. What a fraud, to use something that was nothing to explain everything! It gave nothingness a kind of bizarre reality. Real nothingness had nothing to do with death. It was just a pure zero floating way off over the edge of infinity. Nihilism was different from giving up. And it was different from the cessation of thought. When people claimed to have a sense of nothingness, they were simply talking about the effects of giving up. The effects of giving up did have a direct connection with death. It wasn’t the same thing as the essential connection between nothingness and death, though. There was some obstacle in between them in this case. What you want is to get hold of that obstacle and remove it, so you can merge with pure nothingness. That’s how those young girls felt when they got suicidal. And that’s what this taxi driver believed too. But despite the fact that humans hate nothingness the way they hate a virus, nothingness has sucked up to the system. It’s corrupt. Ever since people discovered nothingness, they’ve been putting all their vague impulses and fuzzy feelings down to it. The result was that these days nothingness was just another cute commodity on the market. Mickey Mouse and all those other cartoon characters were eyeballing nothingness while they carried on, fought, died, and were resurrected.

The taxi halted in front of a convenience store. The three got out, and scattered among the shelves, breathing in the rich scent of winter oden stew simmering on the counter. Zombie picked out a packet of stockings, while Mitsuyo began to browse among the magazines. Kita slipped into his shopping basket two pairs of underwear and socks, one of each to replace the ones he’d been wearing for the last two days, the other set in reserve. As he wandered down the shelves, he scooped up a few other things he noticed that he might need—a bandage, some condoms, a pair of nail clippers—then carried them all to the checkout counter.

“Somehow we don’t seem to be keeping up this slave and secretary thing any more, do we?” remarked Mitsuyo, coming up behind him to the checkout counter with some Haagen-Dazs Belgian Chocolate.

“Just give me your orders. You’re the queen, remember.”

Mitsuyo nodded in agreement with Kita’s proposal, but then added with a laugh, “But I’ve still got a long time to live.”

“Yes, I’ve been slack about being secretary too,” Zombie broke in. “Give me something to do please.” She was determined to keep to the letter of her promise.

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll remember something that needs doing once we’re all in a hot spring tub.”

The three jumped back into the pseudo-nihilist’s taxi cab, and he drove them up to a hotel that towered high on a cliff. As Kita was paying, the driver removed his glasses, fixed his horizontal slits of eyes on Kita’s face, and said, “I get the urge to die every week myself. But I’ve got a family.” Was it just Kita’s fancy that those slit eyes were gazing at him with envy? Guys who want to die should just get on with it, that way they’d at least be doing their bit for the population problem. Though mind you Kita wasn’t convinced that the world’s population really needed thinning out. Nor did he think that those folks who talk about the population problem ought to throw themselves into the struggle. The point was probably that it’s harder for a guy who loves his family to stay alive for them than to die for the sake of humanity, he decided.

“There’s no need to talk about living and dying if you love your family,” he said, getting out of the cab and turning to follow the two girls who were headed for the hotel.

The nihilist driver shot back a disgruntled response to his departing back.

“That’s what a guy with money would say. It takes money to die too, ya know. You can’t die for free in this world.”

Kita turned with a heartfelt nod, and replied, “OK, so start saving. Me, I’ve got together a million yen.”

“The family’s not going to get far on a million yen after I’m gone.”

What a pain the guy was. He didn’t have a clue. Kita went back to the pull-in bay, stood up close and said in his ear, “If you’ve got yourself a million yen, and the energy to more than match it, you’ve got no worries. You could die just like me if you wanted to, you know. The family would get along just fine. You say you love your family, but I’ll bet they love you more. As long as you stay alive you bring in the money, after all. That family of yours will be thinking your life isn’t just your own. Just wait a bit, and you’ll get to my position. I’m not that old, but I got no wife and no children, and no father or brothers and sisters either. I’m an only child, and my mom lives in a public housing block downtown. She’s told me she’ll be happy just so long as I do what I want to. You need the family’s cooperation to die, see. I’d guess you’re a nice guy. That’s why you can’t get the family to be with you on this.”

The cab driver rested his chin on the steering wheel. “Listen buddy,” he began, obviously still wanting to keep the conversation going. “No one can stop you dying, huh?”

“Nope, there’s no hope. I’ve made my decision.”

“Those two girls couldn’t do it?”

“We’re not that close.”

“Who needs to be close? It’s only human kindness to save a guy who looks like he’s going to die. It’s just coldness to let you do it.”

“Hey, you’re singing a different song now, aren’t you. You were just saying before how you wanted to die yourself.”

“Talkin’ to you’s made me change my mind.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Here, have this.” Kita held out a five thousand yen note.

“I don’t need it,” said the driver, making no move to take the money. He drove off, clucking his tongue in disapproval.

Sitting in the hot tub outside the hotel, Oshima Island floating off the coast in a vague mist before him, Kita finally managed to rid himself of the toxins of the old gangster and the nihilist cab driver. Back on the bed in their luxurious room, he drifted into a doze under the hands of the masseuse. After a while he was aware that breathing had grown difficult, and he realized the woman was walking about on his back. On the next bed Zombie was lying flushed and exhausted.

“Hey Kita, isn’t there anyone you’d like to meet?”

He paused to think about it, but no one sprang to mind, so he tried out the same question on the masseuse.

“Someone I’d like to meet? I’d like to meet my dead husband again.”

“When did he pass away?”

“It’ll be seven years now. Cancer.”

“What would you like to do if you could see him again?”

She looked bashful for a moment, then said, “I’d like to sleep with him.”

Kita nodded silently, and tipped her ten thousand yen. She took it reluctantly, explaining that she’d use it on a pilgrimage to Ise Shrine.

After she’d left, Kita and Zombie were alone together. Mitsuyo was apparently getting a total body beauty treatment.

“There’s got to be some famous person you want to meet, Kita. Some famous singer or baseball player?”

“Not really. What about you?”