Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

Kita emptied out the backpack. Somehow, she’d managed to assemble a knife, a rope, an enamel cup, an aluminum pan, and some chocolate. Seemed like she was trying to tell him to go hiking.

Now that the two girls were gone, it was so quiet his own breathing began to get on his nerves. It was quite hot, but the room felt chilly. Was this that empty feeling that comes after a good feast? At such times maybe the only thing to do is skulk about in bed. If only someone was there to stand by his pillow and watch over him, hold his hand. He should have employed a partner he could lean on when he needed to.

He was just dozing off when the phone rang. It was Heita Yashiro. The first thing he said was, “Still alive, eh?”

“That Mitsuyo tells me she’s gone and left you alone and gone back to Tokyo,” he went on. “I really told her off. You all by yourself there?”

“All alone.”

“That’s bad, that’s bad. If someone’s not there beside you all the time, you’re likely to follow through on your plan and pop right off to the other world.”

“You’re worried?”

“Sure I’m worried. You’re not insured yet, and we never finished discussing that business deal. I’m askin’ you.”

“Asking what? I’m not interested in the deal, and I’m sure I refused to take out life insurance.”

“You oughta get it. Who’d turn down the chance to get money if it’s owing you?”

“I wouldn’t be getting any money. Nor would you.”

“I’m not interested in getting it. But if your mother or your brothers and sisters are still around, surely you should send twenty or thirty million their way? After all, you’ve done your old Mum quite a bit of wrong to date, haven’t you?”

“Too late now, surely. I’m a homeless man these days, after all. Those insurance guys are no fools.”

“Something could be managed. You could say you were a live-in employee in my company.”

If he left some money to his mother, would that really erase his debts to her? Kita was letting himself be convinced by Yashiro again, and accepting help he’d rather do without. Still, it was hard to take Yashiro’s goodwill at face value. Kita was inclined to suspect him of ulterior motives.

“This wouldn’t cause my mother any problems, would it?”

“Don’t be crazy. You’re trying to say it’s unfilial to name your mother as the recipient for your life insurance? Now let me tell you just one thing, don’t you go letting on to anyone that you’ll be committing suicide next week. And if by any chance you’ve told someone already, make it clear to them it was a joke, right? Hell, it’s not the sort of thing most people really mean when they say it, after all.”

“I haven’t said a word to anyone personally.”

“Ah yes, those girls. There’s no saying they won’t find themselves hard up for something to talk about and use your story as fodder.”

“You did the same yourself, if I may say so.”

“No, I’m different. Me, I think you should leave some proof of the few decades you’ve spent on this earth. I just want to help you leave a really vivid memory for all those people who’re planning to hang around and grow a bit older in this life. Surely you’d like to be someone that people recall with fondness – ‘Oh yeah, that guy called Yoshio Kita. He was a bit odd, wasn’t he?’ That sort of thing.”

“Not particularly.”

“You wouldn’t like to do one really important thing in this life, to make people remember you fondly as the guy who passed away kind of intentionally?”

“It’s not that kind of romantic thing at all.”

“Don’t knock romance. We men have lofty convictions women know nothing of.”

“That so? Well I don’t. You’re too late.”

“Come on, you could put your death off a bit longer.”

“No I couldn’t. I’ve made my decision.”

“I don’t imagine you’ve promised anyone though, have you?”

“I’ve promised myself.”

“You sure are stubborn for a youngster. OK. You’re coming back tomorrow afternoon, right? You get to meet Shinobu Yoimachi at nine tomorrow evening, so drop in at my office before that. I’ll take you to the meeting place. I’ll have all the insurance papers here ready. Let’s have a meal together, eh?”

He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but it seemed like he was going to have to meet Yashiro again. But why was the guy so eager? Was he just having fun, or was this some complex plot to make money? Never mind, why worry? He could break the appointment tomorrow if he chose, after all, Kita told himself. He was about to put the receiver down when he heard Yashiro’s voice continuing, “By the way, what are you doing this evening?” He hung up without replying. Immediately, the phone rang again. Kita left the room.

At the hotel’s sushi bar he mutely picked away at what was probably his fifth last evening meal. Raw lobster, raw octopus, conger eel, bluefin tuna, bonito, abalone, salmon roe, wrapped up with a miso soup with sea bream. He chuckled when he realized that somehow everything he’d chosen had felicitous associations.

The bar lady looked at his face and remarked on how shiny his skin looked. When he explained he’d just had it scrubbed in the spa she took him for an actor, and asked him to sign a square of poem paper for her. He couldn’t be bothered turning her down, so he wrote his name down in careful script. He stared at the remaining blank space for a while, then imitated the old gentleman he’d met at the noodle house by writing a little poem:

By the time he left Atami, Kita had spent three hundred thousand yen. It had taken him two days to spend what he’d normally spend in six weeks. Living sumptuously takes it out of you, though. Even if this decadence suddenly tipped him into insolvency, come what may, it was no big deal. He’d always had the habit of doing things on the cheap, so he couldn’t be bothered letting expense worries overshadow things now . Besides, luxury was no doubt an irrational pleasure. What meaning beside irrational pleasure could there be for a guy to choose to drink an eighty thousand yen bottle of French Romanée-Conti wine rather than an eight hundred yen bottle of Chilean? If you were curious about the difference, why not at least try them both? Mind you, if you downed three bottles of each on your own and ended up defiling the Bible with your vomit, it would be all the same anyway. Yes, it was all irrational. A real connoisseur probably would regret nothing even if he drained three bottles of Romanée-Conti then threw the lot up again. Irrationality is the very thing he’s after.

So what about himself, wondered Kita? He was still scared of the irrational.

He bought a gift box of assorted dried fish at the station shop, and hopped on the bullet train. He had to be systematic about how he spent his time from now on. Sure, other people’s expectations were part of it, but he’d begun to think it would be a waste to idle away his remaining time like that old couple in the noodle house. If he met up with Heita Yashiro again, it would set the clock ticking smartly towards the appointed hour of his death, he decided. The guy was eager to make some money out of Kita’s voluntary death. Before long, Kita would become a valuable item for a death merchant. He didn’t mind that much. After all, he was the one who got to die, and Yashiro was the businessman who used him. It was only right that their perspective on death should differ. If Kita didn’t die, Yashiro wouldn’t turn a profit. Kita, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about Yashiro’s interests. Nevertheless, while Kita was alive, Yashiro could apparently be helpful in all sorts of ways, so why not put himself in his hands for a while? After all, come Friday Kita would be released from all such worldly calculations, and he wouldn’t give a damn what happened after that. This was the freedom of the dead.