Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

Kita wandered about for over an hour before he found the address printed on Yashiro’s name card. His father was hanging out there in Shibuya too, in fact. It wasn’t that he had any intention of conniving with his mother’s delusions, he just happened to cross paths with numerous elderly men loitering on street corners. They were the kind of guys who wouldn’t be given the time of day in this part of town normally, but for some reason today they all seemed full of a wordless self-confidence.

Close to six in the evening, Kita finally located the block of assorted shops and offices containing the one marked “Thanatos Movie Productions”. Across the way was a private hospital, while next door on one side was a grilled meat restaurant and on the other a florists. The first floor of the building held a sake shop. He took the elevator, which stank of raw rubbish, up to the fourth floor, where he emerged into a corridor stacked with piles of videos all the way up both walls, forming a passage just wide enough for a single person to pass. The scent of perfume hung mysteriously in the air. When he knocked on the door at the end, Zombie came out to greet him.

“Well, well, Kita. Long time no see. How’ve you been?”

Could it really be only twenty-six hours since they’d seen each other last? The sight of her made him oddly nostalgic even.

“You’re late, you know. We were getting sick of waiting for you.”

Seated on the sofa beyond, Yashiro waved him over. A man in his thirties in a businesslike dark blue suit interrupted what may have been chat or some business discussion to stand and greet Kita, as did a pink-suited woman of around the same age, who was providing smiles and the scent of perfume gratis to all around. Kita immediately sensed from their behaviour that there was business involved for them, and he returned the greeting without enthusiasm.

“Hey Kita, that get-up suits you. Sporty, speedy, cool. Got a whiff of Mexican coriander about it somehow,” said Zombie.

Kita sniffed his jacket sleeve. “I can’t smell anything,” he said.

“What’s that backpack for?” Yashiro asked with a serious face. “Something’s rattling around in there. Some kind of emergency bag?”

“I thought I’d carry it round with me so I could start sleeping on the streets any time I feel like it,” said Kita, saying the first thing that came to him. He lowered the backpack to the floor. The man and woman in their thirties were both nodding. Yashiro introduced him to them. It seemed he’d suddenly become the company’s head planning officer. The pair took turns to proffer their name cards to him.

“Organic Transport: Coordinator, Kazuya Koikawa”

“Pacific Insurance Mutual Company, Shibuya Office, Yoshiko Koikawa.”

“You’re husband and wife?” he asked, raising his eyes from the business cards bearing the same family name, and looking from one to the other.

“No,” Yoshiko replied. “Brother and sister.”

“We’ve learned from Mr. Yashiro that you wish to take out life insurance from us,” she went on. “Thank you very much.”

“I see. No, no, I’m the one to thank you.” Kita lowered his head in a slight bow, keeping an eye on Yashiro as he did so. They’d be making quite a loss if they had to pay out the insurance money to his mother a mere four days after he’d taken it out. He planned to apologize to them for it.

When Kita had sat down on the sofa, Yoshiko Koikawa spread out a brochure on the table before him and set about explaining the insurance. She proceeded to talk about how it would give him peace of mind to add a special clause covering the possibility of cancer or Aids, how the version that allowed you to convert the amount into a monthly pension once it had almost reached full term meant that you could plan for your old age, while there was a type that was popular with young people whereby you could take out the money for your own use if you knew you didn’t have long to live. Kita listened with only half an ear. There was something more important than all this that he needed to ask.

“What happens if I decide to commit suicide?”

Yoshiko’s smile froze into an expression of astonishment, but she quickly pulled herself together. “Don’t even think of it,” she said.

“Eh?” said Kita.

The explanatory tone returned. “You shouldn’t consider suicide. There’s no profit in it at all. We do occasionally get young people of this sort among our customers. Someone who asks whether there’s a payout if they commit suicide. Actually, accident and suicide are major causes of death in the twenties and thirties. Suicide’s the top cause in the forties, maybe because it’s a hard time in a lot of lives. My brother and I are about to enter our forties, actually, so we’re being very careful. I would guess you’re in your mid-thirties, Mr Kita, so that’s why the word springs so easily to your lips. I do understand how you feel.”

Yoshiko leaned forward on the sofa and gazed at him, as if speaking to a child. He in turn scrutinized her more closely. She had a rather blank face, a bit like a badger and with moles under the eyes to match, and her plump lips seemed to emanate a confidence in her continuing ability to maintain her popularity with men.

“Come on Kita, cut the scary talk,” Yashiro chimed in with a laugh, wiping a fine sweat from his forehead. “You’re making it sound like this company’s giving you a really hard time. Leave the suicide to Zombie here. You can rely on her. She can commit suicide and still stay alive, after all.”

“That’s right. I’m immortal.”

Everyone laughed. Then, the mirth still hovering at the corners of his mouth, Kita asked, “So if you do commit suicide, is there an insurance payout?”

“It’s all here in detail in the Contract Guide. The fundamental rule is, if the insured commits suicide within one year of signing the contract, no life insurance can be paid. However, there are cases of payout if the insured was of unsound mind at the time.”

So there he had it. No payout if you kill yourself four days later. Kita looked at Yashiro. There was no point in taking out insurance, if that was the case. Yashiro knew this when he arranged for Kita to sign on for life insurance. He was telling Kita to make it look like an accident.

“So you don’t get anything from it if you kill yourself, Kita. Better give the idea up.” Yashiro stuck out his thumb and sent Kita a warning signal as he spoke. He looked satisfied, however. Kita had just been presented with one good argument for changing his mind about suicide. But Kita was still determined on his plan. He just had to change his tactics a little.

“So what other situations are there where the money doesn’t get paid?” This time, Kita thought he ought to find out all the facts.

“Well, I don’t imagine this would apply to you Mr Kita, but if for instance you were condemned to death by the courts, that’s another example. Or if you died in the course of committing a crime. If, say, you hijacked a plane, or holed up in a bank or hotel with hostages, and got yourself shot in the process. The same applies if you try to kill someone and get killed yourself – the other party’s acting in lawful self-defence, and you were asking for it. Certain conditions also apply if you’re injured in a war or a terrorist attack. I believe we limit payment to situations in which general damage is relatively limited – if the damage is widespread, there can be more claims than the company’s capable of paying, see. If you take out a contract with special conditions attached, I’d also mention that there are conditions related to damage from earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and tsunami. By the way, Mr, Kita, do you drink?”