Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

He’d better crash the car before the gasoline in the spare tank ran out, Kita decided. He’d find a bit of coastline just right for plunging the car into, and give himself a sea burial. After all, his kid brother had drowned. Where was he now? How far would wind-blown Cape Erimo be from here? That would be a good place to drive off a cliff. But at this rate, he was likely to grow old worrying over irrelevant questions. Better be quick. He’d had a pretty good last week. It was great to have thrown everything to the wind for once. He’d put up with too much in his boring life, God knows. This person called “Yoshio Kita” was a pretty bankrupt specimen. But this last week he’d been on a really good roll, so let’s say it had been a good life. He had loved. He’d had lots of great sex. He’d eaten his fill of seafood and curry. He’d donated lots of money to the Red Cross. He’d almost been poisoned to death. He’d gone to two hot springs, and smoked dope. The memory of this reminded him what a weird guy that doctor was. He hadn’t ever learned his real name. The guy would probably die a lousy death. He despised life, after all. Why should there be room in this crowded world for people like that? True, the world had turned out to be a crazier place than Kita had assumed. By average standards, Kita was a pretty regular guy after all. Well then, he should die the death of a normal citizen. Spur of the moment, and no second chance. Just slam the foot down on the accelerator. If he took off from the cliff edge at about a hundred thirty miles an hour, he’d probably achieve about the same distance as a ski jump. But maybe he should just take a peep over the edge before he went. There was an ideal curve right there. And – a lucky break – no hospital in sight.

Kita got out and looked over the cliff edge. It was about fifty feet high. Down below, foaming waves washed up over the black rocks. If he smashed through the guardrail and went over, he’d have to be pretty unlucky not to die. He’d probably need a run-up of no more than three hundred yards or so.

Right, was there anything else he needed to do before he took off? Not really, but why not pause and look at the sea? This was the sea that would be his grave, after all. That weedy stuff floating over there beyond the rocks where the waves were breaking must be kelp. It looked somehow like it was beckoning him with its long slippery arms. He’d soon be taking his eternal sleep cradled in those arms like a sea otter. A seaweed burial, eh? Not a bad thing, after all.

The only worry was how hard it might be to crash through the guardrail. It didn’t look all that solid, so he guessed he’d get through without any problem if he hit it at around a hundred thirty miles an hour. What did professional ski jumpers think about before a jump, he wondered? They always looked as though they were mourning lost love, but that was surely due to the tension. They were probably imagining the parabola of a perfect jump.

Why not take a piss? There wouldn’t be any public toilets on the banks of the Styx where he was going, after all. But for that matter, there were none here either. OK, his last piss by the side of a street. His last meal had been curry. His last companion in life had been Shinobu. The last person he’d shaken off in life was Aki. His last lover was Shinobu. His last love was Shinobu. The last thing he’d read in life was… the Bible, right? This looked a bit too good. OK, how about singing a last song? The old Shinichi Mori number ‘Nothing happens in the spring at Erimo.’ I guess nothing happens in summer there either. And Fall? Winter? Right, he’d taken his last piss. Now was the time for his last drive. No, hang on there. He hadn’t stood on his head for the last time yet. Why not try it? He hadn’t stood on his hands in quite a while. He checked left and right in case a car was coming, then put his hands down in the middle of the road.

He twisted his back as he went up, but he still managed to walk a few steps on his hands. In the old days he used to make it to fifteen steps. He’d aged. OK, exactly how long had he lived now? Let’s count up. Today was Friday the 13th. His birthday was also the thirteenth, so that made him exactly thirty-five years and six months old. What would he be doing tomorrow, if he were still alive?

Enough! Thinking about this on the day of your execution just made you sad. It was important to enjoy this Death By Choice. Yoshio Kita was going to go out with an erection and a blissful expression, like Saint Sebastian. Although he was feeling a little tense. Right, let’s try a bit of muscle relaxation. His last loosening-up exercises.

The sun peeped out from between the clouds. Come to bless him, eh? This needed some kind of fanfare. Shame the only audience was himself.

Right, that had the ol’ death hormones pumping now. Turn on the radio. They’d just set in on the prelude to Carmen . Fabulous timing. He was fired up and ready to go. Energy flooded him.

Turn the car around and back up five hundred yards. Another U-turn. Check the clock. Fourteen eleven. That would mean he died at around two fifteen on the thirteenth. That’s if the car’s clock was set right. OK Mr Yoshio Kita, you ready boy? The prelude was reaching its crescendo. Wait, he hadn’t written a will. Oh well, what the heck. He’d told his last wishes to Shinobu. Sorry doc, but my organs are going to be fish food.

Full throttle! Tyres screaming. There’s that tingle, really pumping. Ooh, here comes the erection. Man, this is almost too much. OK, here goes. Bye!

The guardrail leaped towards him. One good solid punch to the jaw and he was through. Suddenly there was something pressing hard against his chest. The air bag. The Camaro was airborne. Now it was falling. Up comes the sea. My God, what a force. Just like an ejaculation.

And then, a shock that went straight through his bone marrow.

Can’t breathe. Something pressing against his stomach. Something sticking into his shin. Pain. Was he in the sea? The car was sinking. Carmen still playing. This some kind of aquarium? Why didn’t the water come in? Goddamn, I’m still alive. Didn’t it work? Maybe I can’t die unless the water comes in. Maybe the glass’ll break if I just wait. Or should I break it? Intense cello music. And some sound like water poured onto a hot fry pan. Water! The water’s beginning to come in. This is going to take a while. Got to break the glass to lessen this pain.

Kick it. And again. What about the power window? Nope, broken. Head-butt it. The head’s the hardest part of the body.

The glass broke. Kita was swallowed by the sea.

Through the band of light above him, he could see a stream of bubbles rising. Fish had already come flocking around the Camaro where it lay on the sea floor, sounding it out. Kita had escaped the car and was floating in the water, bent over. Ah, it’s me, he thought. He felt he’d forgotten something in the car, so turned back to check. There was a child playing there, ducking in and out of the trunk. “Hey, what’re you doing? You’ll drown!” Kita called. “I drowned long ago,” the child replied.

“Are you my little brother?”

“Never laid eyes on you before.” This kid was only three, but he was sassy. Around him was a belt of kelp, covered with minuscule writing. Do you hate me, kid? I pushed you into the river. You must have suffered. I’m sorry. I wanted to see you again. To apologize… But the child had disappeared, leaving the kelp floating empty.

Kita was in a familiar child’s room. On the wall were the letters “WXY,” carved in the wood with a knife. In Kita’s mind when he was a child, this had signified the body of a woman having sex. These letters began to move, and shifted to the figure of his mother washing her hair in the bathroom. His kid brother was crying in the bathtub. Yoshio! Yoshio! came a cry. His father was digging a hole. I’m putting a pole up here for the koinobori carp streamers . Ah, I’m way back in the past. Looking up at the sky. I’ve seen this blue sky full of scaly clouds before somewhere. Sorry, Kita, I just can’t go on being with you any – Stop it, don’t apologize! You’ll kill my love. Now a child yelling, Papa! Papa! I’m not your Dad. Who are you? Is that Shingo? Do you recognize me? Yeah, you used to love Mummy, didn’t you? That’s right. You might’ve lived if I’d married your Mum, you know. No, you’re wrong. I’ve never been born. Shingo goes skating off into the distance. And now here comes Shinobu, riding in an Alfa Romeo. Kita! Come to the hospital with me. No, I hate hospitals. No no, don’t say that. I think I’m pregnant, see. My kid? Of course. So come on, quick, come to the hospital . But hang on there, I’ve just committed Death By Choice. Oh, everyone these days wants to die. Kids, middle aged folks… Did you know, my friend Jesus had a time when he wanted to die, when he was just past thirty. But before that he’d had a life and death battle with the world. He chose to lose the battle, and he won. You’re just like Jesus. Come on, quick! You’re going to be reborn.