Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

“Ah.”

“We’ve driven right through the night to get here so we’re rather tired, and the doctor’s not feeling well. Would it be too much trouble to beg a place where we could rest a little? I do apologize for making such a request.”

Mrs. Kikui couldn’t disguise her bewilderment at being faced with this stranger, but she found herself unable to refuse the persuasive request that slipped so smoothly from Kita’s ex-salesman lips. “Well, if you don’t mind a place like this,” she said. It seemed there was no need hereabouts to lock the door even at night or while people were away. Where would her husband, who knew no one in Tokyo, have had the chance to become acquainted with Kita or the doctor? But around here, even a stranger was accepted once you’d met him, so Kita’s off-the-cuff request met with no resistance.

He called the doctor over, and they both went in to the living room. Mrs. Kikui was in the middle of preparing breakfast. Her daughter didn’t have school that day, but she too was up bright and early.

Kita and the doctor drank down the miso soup with tofu and spring onion that Mrs. Kikui made for them, and tucked into fermented beans and seaweed in soy. They downed two bowls of rice each. Finally, as they sipped their tea, she ventured a question. Just what kind of personal interview was it that her husband had agreed to? she asked, searching their faces.

“The theme of the program is How to Enjoy Life,” Kita explained. “I should confess that I myself am at the end of life. I’m going to die this afternoon. The plan was to consult with your husband about how to make the most out of one’s final time on earth.”

“He’s going to give the advice?”

“That’s right. I’m the one who’s going to die, see.”

In the airless silence that followed, Mrs. Kikui stiffened. It was her daughter who gathered the courage to remark that Kita looked pretty healthy, and didn’t seem like someone about to die. Indeed mother and daughter were looking a lot paler than him by now.

“Well, people can die or kill for no reason, you know,” Kita said in a low voice.

Mother and daughter swung round to stare at him. “There’s no money in the house,” the mother said, her voice trembling as she pulled her daughter to her.

“I’m pretty low myself. I’ve only got two thousand five hundred ninety. Mind you, I have a feeling the doctor there has quite a bit.”

The daughter gazed quizzically at Kita, face to face. “What are you here for?” she demanded. The doctor, meanwhile, was taking out his wallet. He produced twenty thousand yen, and laid it on the table.

“Thanks for the excellent food,” Kita said. Then he rolled over on the floor where he sat, settled himself in a prone position, and became engrossed in the television. A singer was playing reporter, chatting to the local fishermen in some seaside village.

The doctor finally opened his mouth. “Don’t worry about us, we’re just normal guys.”

But the mother and daughter looked incredulous. These two men in front of them were surely anything but normal. Whatever they were up to, robbery or sexual assault, the two women felt a definite danger in the air.

“We’d very much appreciate being able to take a bath and catch some sleep, if that’s okay with you.”

Mrs. Kikui’s worried face forced itself into a polite smile. “Well, we’re not a B&B, I’m afraid,” she said.

“I’m aware of that,” the doctor replied coldly. “We’ll pay ten thousand each,” he added.

“You’re going to, er, stay the night?” Desperate to protect herself and her daughter, she’d decided to do her awkward best not to aggravate these men.

“I’m just asking you to provide some rest for this gentleman before he dies. All we need is for you to draw us a bath, lay out some bedding, and keep quiet. We’ll be gone this afternoon.”

Mother and daughter looked at each other, seeming to read each other’s minds. The mother set about clearing up the breakfast dishes, while the daughter went off to run the bath.

While Kita was in the bath, the doctor apologized to the Kikuis for the sudden visit, and explained that he was there to try to talk Kita out of committing suicide. He had no intention of causing any harm to them, he explained. After all, they had nothing to do with Kita and his problems. Still, this was a man facing his own imminent death, and he was unpredictable. If they could help to soothe his nerves, he may calm down enough to see the folly of his suicide plans. Kita had no doubt come into the house on impulse, but his motive was surely a desire to spend a few last peaceful hours before he died. They didn’t need to do anything really, just let him rest. “I’ll guarantee your safety,” he finished.

Mother and daughter nodded as they listened, then laid out bedding in the guest room, plus some beer and two jerseys. The doctor asked the daughter if she could lend him either a Bible or a dictionary. She hesitated over the choice, then brought in a Bible, having decided this would work best to calm the heart of the intruder. The doctor proceeded to find a page of psalms that had a substantial margin of white page around the print, then tore it out and cut it into four. On each piece he laid some of the marijuana leaf that he’d picked back there on the plain and dried on the car hood, and these he deftly rolled into four joints. His idea was that a good bath, a drink of beer and a hit of marijuana would soothe and relax Kita physically and mentally, and inevitably lead to a weakening of the suicidal impulse. Then, when the moment was right, he’d telephone Shinobu and get her to talk Kita out of the whole thing. It was sheer chance that he’d found that marijuana, and that Kita had rocked up to the Kikuis’ home, but the doctor was following the ninja rule of seizing the opportunity as it arose.

After the bath, the two sipped beer, and drew on their biblical joints.

Next thing they knew, their eyes were drooping. A warmth invaded them, and their face muscles relaxed. The rays of the sun shining in through the window crept slowly towards them. Kita breathed in, and suddenly the room flashed bright. He felt he was in a noonday pool of sunlight. The doctor’s eyes were unfocussed. The corners of his eyelids were deeply creased.

Whenever Kita tried to move, his nerves twanged. His limbs felt like spaghetti cooked al dente . His torso felt fine, but his legs and arms flopped carelessly about. He stretched out his hand, but it seemed to move in a slowed down skip-frame motion. His brain felt as soft and wobbly as tofu in his skull. Any sudden change in the position of his face caused his grey matter to hit the side of his skull with a shudder. His mouth was dry, and the membrane clung to his tongue and upper jaw like cling film. Even a swill of beer didn’t unstick it.

It seemed to Kita as though his whole body had been plugged with sensors that responded vividly to the slightest stimulus of sound, colour and light. Each tick of the clock beat against his temples. His arms and feet responded to this steady rhythm, so that even though he was sitting cross-legged on the bedding, he felt as if he was dancing. Each time he poured a glass of beer, he was astonished at the huge sound it made. He began to hallucinate a waterfall close by.

The doctor turned on the radio, and the room filled with the sound of a Bach unaccompanied cello suite. The deep notes reverberated in every corner of Kita’s gut. He could even hear the slight friction of the bow as it came down to bite the string before a note. Soon the melody began to insinuate itself about the little room like a cat. Then before he was aware, Kita was chasing the cat, dancing a kind of Kita-style gavotte or saraband as the air tossed him gaily about.