Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

“What do you think, darling? Shall we?”

Her husband inclined his head thoughtfully. “Well it’s a bit late to hope for salvation at this stage,” he said, and he too gave a soundless laugh.

I get it, thought Kita. The post-retirement couple indulging themselves in refined travel. Just then their order of cold noodles arrived, so Kita returned to his own private world of hangover woes. Still, the couple continued to prey on his mind, and his eyes moved between the two as they ate their noodles, and the flowery garden opposite.

The old couple ate as though they’d forgotten what appetite was. This restaurant did a pretty filling tempura noodle dish that seemed to be a particular favourite with the clientele, and the customers who ordered it were gritty, no-nonsense types. But these two had not a trace of grit on them. The way they sat there politely sucking in their noodles, they could have been performing Zen meditation. It took quite some time for a single noodle to pass through their pursed lips. Watching from the sidelines, Kita was beginning to get annoyed. They sucked gently away at their food, sipped the side cup of noodle water as if sunk in meditation, then carefully replaced the throw-away chopsticks in their paper covers, remarked to each other how delicious it had been, and turned once more to look at the flowering garden.

“You must be lonely, all alone like this.” The husband was casting a lure in his direction again.

“No, the only problem’s the hangover,” Kita replied with straightforward frankness.

But the old man wouldn’t accept this. “I imagine there’s more to it,” he said, and soundlessly produced a complicit smile.

“Where will you go after Atami?” Kita asked, resorting to the usual question.

“I’d have loved to climb Mt. Fuji if only the old body would do as it’s told a bit more. Maybe we’ll head off to Kyoto.”

“I’d like to see Okinawa before Death’s messengers come for me,” his wife cut in.

These messengers kept cropping up in the conversation, so Kita made an attempt to say something in keeping with the tone.

“So the final destination of the trip is Hades, eh?”

It was intended as a joke, but the husband gazed at him levelly and said, “Actually, it’s a Fall By The Wayside tour.”

The original idea of falling dead by the wayside involved a great deal of poverty and misery, thought Kita, while these two retained an astonishing luxury of time, money, and sense of enjoyment.

“You no longer have a home to go back to, then?”

“We don’t.”

“Well then, you’re the same as me.”

“You have nowhere to go back to either?”

“I’m just into the third day of the journey. What about you? How long since you both set out?”

“It’s only been a week.”

“Really? And how long do you plan on continuing?”

“What do you think, darling?”

“Well,” replied the husband, “it’s hard to calculate that.” He fell into silent thought for a moment, then announced that he’d composed a little verse.

The wife added the explanation that they’d sold their house and were using the money to travel, so they could keep on going for a year or even two if they felt so inclined.

“But my husband’s determined to fall by the wayside, you see.”

“‘Fall by the wayside’ doesn’t have quite the right nuance, perhaps. The fact is, we’ve decided to simply quietly disappear, without causing anyone any inconvenience.”

“I see…” Kita couldn’t think what more to say.

“But it must be hard for you, having nowhere to live. We could be of assistance, if you’d like.”

“Thank you very much. But I’ve left a few things undone in Tokyo that I have to go back and attend to.”

“What a shame. So you go East and we go West, it seems. We meet only to part once more. But it was very nice to meet you.”

“Take care,” said Kita, putting out his hand. The old man held it in a feeble grasp. “You too,” he said, and watched him leave. Take care and die, was what it amounted to for both sides.

On his way back to the hotel, Kita reflected that he’d made the right decision when he decided on next Friday for his execution date. If he went on not managing to die, day after day, he’d get to be like this old couple and no longer capable of really getting the best out of his last days before the execution date. Their appetite for food and sex had faded, there was no youthfulness, no yearning, not even the strength to really throw around the money they’d made on the sale of their house – all that was left was to pursue their pointless journeying. Maybe by the time you reached that age you were inclined to be attracted by those old wandering poets of yore like Basho or Saigyo, but somehow Kita couldn’t imagine himself there.

Still, that pair were intent on achieving their last great undertaking, to disappear and die quietly by the wayside. Once you got beyond a certain level of debility, it was just too much trouble to die. You could no longer die by your own hand, you had to rely on a doctor or a virus to get you there.

While you were young, on the other hand, you could do it under your own power. If something nasty happened, well you could probably finish yourself off that very day. Cancer loves vital young cells. Be it by accident, or illness, or suicide, young people could die all too easily. If an old death was decay, then a young death was more like an explosion.

When he got back to the hotel, geishas one and two, fresh from the bath, took him by both arms and marched him off to the beauty spa, where he was given something called “a roamer therapy,” and had his hair cut and his nails done. Looking at his freshly peeled and glowing face in the mirror, Kita thought he didn’t look too bad really.

Once out of the three-hour confinement and over his hangover, he went back to their room, looking forward to his next feast. “Here I am,” he called, but there was no answer. On the bed, he found a note:

Dear Kita, I’m really sorry to disappear on you without saying goodbye. There’s some stuff I just can’t get out of back in Tokyo. These last two days have been amazing, a kind of trip to the Dragon King’s Palace. You’re a great guy, Kita. I really mean it when I say I hate the thought of you dying. Still, it’s really cool that you’ll meet your death the way you’d visit the Dragon King’s Palace. It’s a bit on the B class side, with occasional fantastic moments. I’ll keep my promise, don’t worry. I’ll follow through by checking out that Finance Ministry fellow’s address and getting that high-class lady to come meet you . But how will we communicate with each other? I’ll leave you my cell phone number. I’d love to meet you one more time. This necktie’s a present for you – it’s so cute, with all those tropical fish swimming around on it. It’d make me happy if you use it when you hang yourself. Finally, from my heart, merci beaucoup . From Izumi Mizusawa (aka Zombie).

I hadn’t really thought about dying before, but after meeting you I’ve started wondering if I should do it too. Thanks for all the delicious food. If you feel like making a meal of me again, just give me a call. I’m happy to have sex with you one more time. I mean it this time. The world’s full of rotten guys, but I just got the feeling you’re really struggling with something. I don’t really get it, but anyway, hang in there! Sorry to leave you behind in the beauty spa like this. But I just thought maybe you somehow want to be alone, so I decided to go back to Tokyo a bit early with Zombie. I’m not running away, believe me. I know there’s not much you want in life, but if you do want me to do something, feel free to tell me. There’s only five days left before Friday, so make sure you really get the best out of them. No regrets, OK? If you want to do something bad, try not to make people hate you for it. I remember there was this thief once called Umegawa Something, who murdered someone he was holding hostage, by shaving off her ears, stripping her naked, and torturing her. They finally shot him dead. Don’t you do anything like that, will you? But hey, you’re a nice guy, I’m sure you wouldn’t. My present to you is a backpack. There’s various things inside. Please use all you can before you die. Bye bye. Love, Mitsuyo.”