Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

The doctor held out his handkerchief for Kita to wipe his hands on. “I have something I’d like to discuss, you see.”

“How did you know I was going to Hokkaido?”

“Oh, sheer coincidence. I was after a holiday in Hokkaido myself.”

“That’s a lie.”

“You’re right, it is.”

“You’ve been asked to follow me, haven’t you?”

“No. I’m accompanying you out of mere personal curiosity.”

“I’m not some kind of exhibit, you know.”

“And I’m not here as audience, I assure you. If there’s anything I can do, I’d be glad to help.”

Kita drew a deep breath, then suddenly took off at a run. The doctor ran beside him. At the taxi stand, Kita turned to face him. “Stop meddling in other people’s business! Get lost!” he gasped desperately.

“I understand,” the doctor nodded expressionlessly.

“You! I’m talking about YOU!” yelled Kita, leaning threateningly over the doctor, but the doctor merely continued talking in a soothing tone.

“I’ve followed your instructions, and dispatched that man who tried to take advantage of you. You’re now quite free to be your own man. I won’t meddle, don’t you worry. But you know the saying, ‘Companions on the road.’ Just allow me to have dinner with you, that’s all I ask. I was wanting to discuss methods of payment with you. You’ll be setting off on a long journey tomorrow, Kita. Tonight’s the last time you’ll have a business conversation, you know.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re headed for the city centre? I don’t know when you plan to die tomorrow, of course, but tonight’s your last night, isn’t it? I was wondering if you’d care to have a sympathetic ear for any last words you may have.”

The doctor was clever not only with his hands but with his tongue. Kita couldn’t very well turn him down, since he’d come for his promised payment, so he meekly followed the doctor’s beckoning hand and got into the taxi with him.

This last week felt like an endless series of changing vehicles. How many taxis had he taken by now, he wondered? Looked like it took a lot of changes to get you to the next world. Maybe in New York or Rio de Janeiro you could get a taxi that would take you straight there.

“So what are your plans for tonight? You must be rather weary,” the doctor said.

“Kidnapping’s an exhausting business. Is it all sorted now?”

“I’d guess Shinobu is being mobbed by the press right about now. It’s the rebirth of a star.”

“Did I do the right thing, then?”

“You did, I’m sure. And you got away without being caught, what’s more.”

“True. By the way, Mr Killer, you mentioned back there that you’d dispatched Yashiro. You actually killed him?”

“He’s still alive. But I’ve shortened his life considerably. He’ll go another three years at the outside, could be six months, then he’ll die.”

“What did you do?”

“I stole a kidney. You can’t sell a life if you steal it, after all, but you can get some money for a kidney.”

“And how is he?”

“I couldn’t really say. We exchanged greetings after the surgery, that’s all. I imagine he’s probably in hospital by now. I had to perform the surgery in that filthy office of his, so I’d guess quite a few bacteria got in. How he gets along will rather depend on how good his immune system is, but you can be sure he’ll be befriended by quite a variety of illnesses from now on, and forced to spend his days contemplating approaching death.” The doctor sounded positively gleeful.

“Does this count as murder?”

“I wonder. I could maybe be convicted of robbery and grievous bodily harm. Maybe negligence leading to death. Although it wasn’t negligence, it was intentional. The question comes down to whether there was any intent to kill. You ordered me to kill him, so I guess the answer is yes, but I didn’t in fact kill him at the time, so it would be hard to prove intent to kill. You’re going to die tomorrow, so you won’t be in a position to bear witness. Therefore, I can only conclude it can’t count as murder.”

“So what did you really want to do?”

“I couldn’t say. I simply chose the most rational approach.”

“You weren’t sure whether to kill him or save him, so you stole his kidney, is that it?”

“That’s what it amounts to, yes.”

“In that case, you can’t claim to have killed him, so I’m not obliged to pay you.”

“Ah, I see. That’s what you’re driving at. Never mind. I got a decent sum from selling his kidney on the black market.”

The taxi was stopped at a red light, and the driver was eyeing his two passengers in the rear view mirror. He met the doctor’s eye, hastily averted his gaze, and turned up the radio.

“We’re practicing our parts for a play,” the doctor informed him drolly.

“Truth is, I’ve got no money.” Kita opened his wallet and showed the doctor. He had less than three thousand yen there. There was money enough in the bank, of course, but no way of getting it out.

“OK then, we’ll have to steal some. You borrowed two hundred thousand from me, Kita. I still haven’t been paid the outstanding two hundred fifty thousand from Yashiro either, so something has to be done about that as well.”

“I’ll pay you with my organs. Organ extraction’s your specialty, after all.”

“I guess that’s all we can do then. I’ll need to accompany you to your execution ground. Will you permit me?” The doctor spoke as if he was reading from a score he already knew.

Kita pulled at his hair in despair. “Why the hell should it cost me all this money to die!” he cried.

“That’s capitalism for you,” murmured the doctor.

“Oh shut up,” said Kita crossly.

It seemed the doctor really was upset that Kita had eaten that curry. He was still harping on about it even once they were settled at the table for Kita’s last supper.

“Do you have something against curry, is that it?” asked Kita. “So what could I have eaten that would make you happy, eh?”

But the doctor only came back with the same thing, over and again. “Curry’s just the pits.”

“So I should confine myself to sashimi and crab, or something?”

“Well that’s better than curry, at any rate,” muttered the doctor. He stripped the shell from the horse crab that had just been delivered to their table, flipped it over, and set in on the ovaries and crab butter. Both suddenly grew taciturn as they settled down to commune with their crab. But neither had much of an appetite in fact. The doctor tipped some warm sake into his crab shell, mixed in some orange crab butter, and sat there sipping. Kita imitated him. This was called “crab shell sake,” he learned. “I’ve never come across it before,” he remarked. At this, the doctor launched into an enthusiastic lecture. Had he ever tried charfish bone sake? Or blowfish roe sake? You could also mix sake with salted sea-cucumber entrails… on he went.

“You’re some sort of gourmand, I see,” remarked Kita, sounding bored.

“You can’t have eaten any decent food in your whole life,” the doctor retorted firmly.

“I always had strong likes and dislikes as a kid.”

“Me too. Up until I was about twenty-seven.”

“So you turned around and became a gourmet at twenty-seven?”

“That’s right. My physical make-up changed with the death of someone I knew. He was a doctor, my teacher actually. The immediate cause of death was rupture of the heart, but his body was in such a bad way he could easily have died of any damn thing. Diabetes, cirrhosis of the liver, hypertension, bowel cancer, he had the lot. And how did he get that way? Overeating, nothing more nothing less. In the hospital he’d be handing out warnings on diet to the patients, but he exempted himself from his own rules.”