The old man was feverishly summing up his life to his three young listeners, determined not to let them get a word in edgewise. He was obviously an old hand at talking, and it was easy to sit back and listen, but at this point the owner of the restaurant came over and said firmly, “Come on, Mr Naito, let’s leave it at that eh?”
“You’d be sick of hearing it all, but these youngsters don’t know the story.”
Mr Naito turned an ingratiating smile on the owner, but when this failed to work he sulkily picked up his sake cup, and turned a soulful gaze to Mitsuyo. She poured him a fresh helping of the top grade sake, and waved the bottle in front of his eyes.
“So did you chalk up the thousand lovers?”
In answer to her question, the old man gave a choking laugh, and nodded. “Finally got there just before I turned sixty. Yep, took me forty years.”
“And how old are you now?”
“Seventy-six.”
“I bet you’re past it now.”
“No way, I’m still up for it. You’ve got a nice little body there. If you’d care to spend the night with me tonight, you’d be my one thousand fiftieth.”
“I’ve had enough of dirty old men. I’d advise you to just settle down and await your Maker, at this stage.”
But Mitsuyo’s scolding went right past him, and he went blithely on with the talk about the thousand lovers.
“I’ve known girls from all over Japan, y’know. I’ve tasted ’em all the way through, from Wakkanai in northern Hokkaido to Miyakojima in southern Okinawa. You get the beauties in Akita, Niigata, Amami and Okinawa. My second wife was an Akita wench. Born back in the Taisho era, but she was a tall one even so, five feet six she was. A big girl, but sickly. She went through a lot. They say a beauty dies young, and sure enough, she died at thirty-five. After that I took to the road and had a wandering life all over, north and south, hawkin’ this and that. Spent some time doing it rough and sleepin’ out. But there’s a reason I never gave up goin’ after the girls. Women are what bring luck, good luck and bad, so nothin’s going ta happen unless you sleep with women, see. I can tell fortunes. Open up yer legs a bit and watch me. I’ll see if I can tell you what kinda guys you’ve been with. I’ve told the fortune of any number of actresses before – I can tell if they’ll sell or not, when their career’ll hit the skids, what kinda guy they should marry…”
It seemed there was no end to the old man’s boasting, but Kita was in a hurry to move on, so he stood up and went over to pay the bill. They left the premises with the old man’s gravelly voice still following them, “Hey, you guys’re still young, ya know. I ain’t finished talkin’ yet.”
Down the street, they came across a couple of black Mercedes Benzes parked in front of a shop selling dried fish. A bunch of gangsterish guys with tight punch perms, comb-backs and shaved heads were standing about inside, glaring at the dried fish and buying up big.
“Oh yeah, Hatayama the Third was crazy about dried mackerel, wasn’t he?” Kita remarked softly in a reminiscent tone.
“Eh?” said a strapping skinhead.
“The old guy in there says, why not drop in and say hello,” said Kita, pointing back to the restaurant they’d just left, and he walked out, with Zombie and Mitsuyo following a little behind, turning back to look at the shop as they left.
“Hey, those scary guys have all gone over to where the old man is,” Mitsuyo announced. Kita broke into a run, and grabbed a passing taxi. When the other two were settled in there with him, he asked the driver to take them to some hotel where they could take a rest.
“You don’t want to get yourself killed, eh?” laughed the driver.
“Right, he’s aiming to die peacefully. Says he wants to pass on without a fight. That’s why we want you to take us to some hotel that’ll give him some good memories to take to the grave. It’d be even better if it had a beauty spa and a nice big bath for us girls, and great food.”
There Mitsuyo went again, telling the whole world his story.
“You’re in the grip of nihilism, are you? It’s a popular thing these days, nihilism. Especially with youngsters. You don’t look exactly young, mind you.”
For an instant, the driver locked eyes with Kita in the rear view mirror. His eyes behind their black-rimmed glasses were two horizontal slits. His vacant face nevertheless had a foppish, girlish look to it. It somehow made Kita angry to have a face like this accusing him of nihilism.
“Sensitive kids get too easily attracted by nihilism, you know,” the driver went on. “I’ve got a girl in middle school myself, and I can’t bear the thought that she might fall for it without my knowing, and go and kill herself. They do say great souls suffer greatly, you know. But there’s no progress without overcoming suffering.”
“That’s enough of the talk. Just take us to a hotel where we can take a rest,” Kita repeated.
“Dangerous stuff, nihilism,” the driver muttered balefully. At this, Zombie suddenly gave a cry as though she’d remembered something. On impulse, Kita swung round to look behind him.
“My stocking’s got a run in it. Could you stop off at a convenience store?”
For some reason, Kita couldn’t shake the feeling that Nothingness was pursuing them in a black Mercedes Benz. He could see how stupid he was being. So his death impulse was because he’d fallen into the grip of nihilism! What a fine explanation that was. If nihilism was one of those viruses that brought on cancer or immune deficiency, and crept into the host cell and killed it off, he’d welcome it with open arms. But nihilism was just nothingness. And nothingness was actually nothing. What a fraud, to use something that was nothing to explain everything! It gave nothingness a kind of bizarre reality. Real nothingness had nothing to do with death. It was just a pure zero floating way off over the edge of infinity. Nihilism was different from giving up. And it was different from the cessation of thought. When people claimed to have a sense of nothingness, they were simply talking about the effects of giving up. The effects of giving up did have a direct connection with death. It wasn’t the same thing as the essential connection between nothingness and death, though. There was some obstacle in between them in this case. What you want is to get hold of that obstacle and remove it, so you can merge with pure nothingness. That’s how those young girls felt when they got suicidal. And that’s what this taxi driver believed too. But despite the fact that humans hate nothingness the way they hate a virus, nothingness has sucked up to the system. It’s corrupt. Ever since people discovered nothingness, they’ve been putting all their vague impulses and fuzzy feelings down to it. The result was that these days nothingness was just another cute commodity on the market. Mickey Mouse and all those other cartoon characters were eyeballing nothingness while they carried on, fought, died, and were resurrected.
The taxi halted in front of a convenience store. The three got out, and scattered among the shelves, breathing in the rich scent of winter oden stew simmering on the counter. Zombie picked out a packet of stockings, while Mitsuyo began to browse among the magazines. Kita slipped into his shopping basket two pairs of underwear and socks, one of each to replace the ones he’d been wearing for the last two days, the other set in reserve. As he wandered down the shelves, he scooped up a few other things he noticed that he might need—a bandage, some condoms, a pair of nail clippers—then carried them all to the checkout counter.
“Somehow we don’t seem to be keeping up this slave and secretary thing any more, do we?” remarked Mitsuyo, coming up behind him to the checkout counter with some Haagen-Dazs Belgian Chocolate.
“Just give me your orders. You’re the queen, remember.”
Mitsuyo nodded in agreement with Kita’s proposal, but then added with a laugh, “But I’ve still got a long time to live.”
“Yes, I’ve been slack about being secretary too,” Zombie broke in. “Give me something to do please.” She was determined to keep to the letter of her promise.
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll remember something that need
s doing once we’re all in a hot spring tub.”
The three jumped back into the pseudo-nihilist’s taxi cab, and he drove them up to a hotel that towered high on a cliff. As Kita was paying, the driver removed his glasses, fixed his horizontal slits of eyes on Kita’s face, and said, “I get the urge to die every week myself. But I’ve got a family.” Was it just Kita’s fancy that those slit eyes were gazing at him with envy? Guys who want to die should just get on with it, that way they’d at least be doing their bit for the population problem. Though mind you Kita wasn’t convinced that the world’s population really needed thinning out. Nor did he think that those folks who talk about the population problem ought to throw themselves into the struggle. The point was probably that it’s harder for a guy who loves his family to stay alive for them than to die for the sake of humanity, he decided.
“There’s no need to talk about living and dying if you love your family,” he said, getting out of the cab and turning to follow the two girls who were headed for the hotel.
The nihilist driver shot back a disgruntled response to his departing back.
“That’s what a guy with money would say. It takes money to die too, ya know. You can’t die for free in this world.”
Kita turned with a heartfelt nod, and replied, “OK, so start saving. Me, I’ve got together a million yen.”
“The family’s not going to get far on a million yen after I’m gone.”
What a pain the guy was. He didn’t have a clue. Kita went back to the pull-in bay, stood up close and said in his ear, “If you’ve got yourself a million yen, and the energy to more than match it, you’ve got no worries. You could die just like me if you wanted to, you know. The family would get along just fine. You say you love your family, but I’ll bet they love you more. As long as you stay alive you bring in the money, after all. That family of yours will be thinking your life isn’t just your own. Just wait a bit, and you’ll get to my position. I’m not that old, but I got no wife and no children, and no father or brothers and sisters either. I’m an only child, and my mom lives in a public housing block downtown. She’s told me she’ll be happy just so long as I do what I want to. You need the family’s cooperation to die, see. I’d guess you’re a nice guy. That’s why you can’t get the family to be with you on this.”
The cab driver rested his chin on the steering wheel. “Listen buddy,” he began, obviously still wanting to keep the conversation going. “No one can stop you dying, huh?”
“Nope, there’s no hope. I’ve made my decision.”
“Those two girls couldn’t do it?”
“We’re not that close.”
“Who needs to be close? It’s only human kindness to save a guy who looks like he’s going to die. It’s just coldness to let you do it.”
“Hey, you’re singing a different song now, aren’t you. You were just saying before how you wanted to die yourself.”
“Talkin’ to you’s made me change my mind.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Here, have this.” Kita held out a five thousand yen note.
“I don’t need it,” said the driver, making no move to take the money. He drove off, clucking his tongue in disapproval.
Sitting in the hot tub outside the hotel, Oshima Island floating off the coast in a vague mist before him, Kita finally managed to rid himself of the toxins of the old gangster and the nihilist cab driver. Back on the bed in their luxurious room, he drifted into a doze under the hands of the masseuse. After a while he was aware that breathing had grown difficult, and he realized the woman was walking about on his back. On the next bed Zombie was lying flushed and exhausted.
“Hey Kita, isn’t there anyone you’d like to meet?”
He paused to think about it, but no one sprang to mind, so he tried out the same question on the masseuse.
“Someone I’d like to meet? I’d like to meet my dead husband again.”
“When did he pass away?”
“It’ll be seven years now. Cancer.”
“What would you like to do if you could see him again?”
She looked bashful for a moment, then said, “I’d like to sleep with him.”
Kita nodded silently, and tipped her ten thousand yen. She took it reluctantly, explaining that she’d use it on a pilgrimage to Ise Shrine.
After she’d left, Kita and Zombie were alone together. Mitsuyo was apparently getting a total body beauty treatment.
“There’s got to be some famous person you want to meet, Kita. Some famous singer or baseball player?”
“Not really. What about you?”
“If there’s someone I want to meet I just go and do it really. There’s quite a few novelists I like, so I just go along to some lecture or signing session they give, and go up and ask a question and shake their hand.”
“Is that all it takes to satisfy you?”
“Sure. It’ll do. I did get a free meal out of someone once.”
“That’s a special privilege you young girls have. I don’t imagine any pop star would bother to meet me.”
“Who knows? If you really beg them, they may well go for it. I’ve managed it. I telephoned Junichiro Nabefuta and begged him to see me, and he didn’t bat an eyelid, just told me to go to the Imperial Hotel bar at nine on such and such a day.
“You’ve slept with Junichiro Nabefuta?”
“Yep. He said I was the three hundred thirteenth.”
“I’d die to be able to have sex with stars as easy as that.”
“So who’ll it be?”
For the last ten years Kita had been a secret fan of Shinobu Yoimachi, and he’d always been comforted by her photos and CDs whenever he felt gloomy. He’d had intimate conversations with her in dreams, even gotten her to clean his ears for him, but still she was no more than a fiction. Her breasts had always been the object of lust for men, but voluptuous as they were, somehow they left you with a D-cup’s worth of emptiness.
“I’d love to bury my face in Shinobu Yoimachi’s boobs before I die.”
Mitsuyo had returned to the room in time to hear this muttered confession. “You’re after some pretty high-class boobs there,” she said with a laugh.
“D’ya think I could get her?” Kita was beginning to warm to the idea.
“Well with your money you’d probably beat down the competition if they were up for auction, anyway. Shall we have a try? We can try using Yashiro’s connections, you know.”
At last, Kita was getting the feeling he could spend his remaining time before his execution just as he chose. Mitsuyo quickly rang Yashiro. They talked, and it was arranged that Yashiro would call back.
Kita took Yashiro’s return call while the two girls were out taking a walk on the beach.
“Hey there. Having fun?”
Kita wasn’t keen on the idea of Yashiro stepping back into the story again, but he had to admit the guy was useful. “So what was the answer?” he asked, getting hastily to the point.
“The production manager suggested a figure of a million. How about it? A million yen just to bury your face in her boobs… I’d say it was a bit steep.”
“My budget won’t run to that. Couldn’t they halve it?”
“That wouldn’t be easy, I’d say. It seems she won’t do a special deal for just the boobs, you gotta pay the full package rate. If you pay a million, she’ll spend the night with you, see. Shinobu’s on the way out as a star. She’s a third of what you’d pay for the likes of Naomi or Norika. Judging from the way the guy was talking, I’d guess you could beat them down to eight hundred thousand.”
“I see. Good. I’ll be needing the money for other things yet, see.”
“Hey, cool it. Cool it. Mitsuyo’s all you need, surely. Her market price is just fifty to a hundred fifty thousand a night, after all.”
“Last night was free.”
“Wow, that’s rare. She must like you. I’d say she wants to give one last warm glow to a guy who’s made up his mind to die.”
“You’re wr
ong, that’s not how it is at all. Well anyway, if that’s the deal they’re offering then I’m out.”
“Wait a moment there, just hold your horses. The guy said if all you wanted was to have a cup of tea with her, it’d be only one hundred thousand. You can negotiate things from there and see how you go. So why not just pay the hundred grand to the manager and at least have tea together?”
Kita took up the offer on the spot. “OK, go ahead then please,” he said.
Yashiro seemed to want to continue the conversation, but Kita hung up on him, and set off still wearing his bathrobe to chase down the two girls. As he wove his way through the crowd around the lobby shop, he heard a child sobbing. A boy of around three was plumped down on the floor refusing to move, clutching a big box containing a combination robot. His mother had evidently run out of patience, and simply left him to it.
“You want that?”
At Kita’s question the boy tensed up and stopped crying. Still hiccupping up a sob or two, he nodded. Kita slipped a ten thousand yen note from the sleeve of his robe, handed it to the child, and said encouragingly, “You go and hand this over to the lady and buy it yourself.” The boy looked bewildered. “Go on,” urged Kita, and at this the boy simply nodded, and ran off to the counter holding the robot and the note.
Death By Choice Page 6