“I turned everybody down, and now I’m thirty-two and I’ve never done anything,” the stewardess sobbed in the aisle.
A man at the rear of the plane began to dance and sing:
All my life, I worked myself sick.
So when I finally got some money, I left on a trip.
The journey of a lifetime, that’s what they said.
But if the plane crashes, I’m going to Hell instead!
Izumi pushed the babbling man aside to look out the window. What he saw was not the ground, but rather the slanting horizon where the sea met the sky. The creaking body of the plane was heading straight down into the water. Izumi couldn’t bear it any longer. He screamed and stumbled out into the aisle. Stewardesses and passengers were embracing one another, crying and yelling that they were going to die, they were going to die!
Izumi was repulsed, but in the next moment decided to join them. He yanked off his pants before climbing on top of the sobbing stewardess in the aisle. He told her he would make love to her, and she begged him to do it quickly, quickly. The entire cabin was an ear-shattering pandemonium of screaming and raving.
“Damn that Murakami! Damn that Maeda! They think they can take over the board when I’m dead! I’ll come back and haunt them!”
“Oh, Goro and my dear little Vera! If I die, no one will love you the way I do! I don’t want to die! Please, take these other people, but not me! Not me!”
“I wish I’d never gone to France. Those damn French women never really liked me. They never had any problem taking my money, but they laughed behind my back. I worked hard for that money! So hard… It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”
“I made twelve miniatures and now there’ll never be any more! Oh, my precious miniatures! I can see the sea coming up to meet us! It’s so empty! Just like my last drawer! We’re going to fall into the ocean, and it’ll be all over!”
“Haramafundaramahandara, fundarafundarahandarama, handarafundarahandarake, funfunhandarafundarake, fundarahondarafundarama…”
“Ha ha ha! I went and made it ‘medium’ just because the board of health told me to! How could I have been so stupid? That warning was bullshit! I should’ve just ignored it! If I had known I was going to die, I would’ve done whatever the hell I wanted! If I had kept it ‘spicy’, my family would’ve been set for life! They could’ve lived in the lap of luxury! Damn it, damn it! And because I went to France to expand our business, I’m going to end up dead! Perfect! Ha ha ha!”
“But if the plane crashes, I’m going to Hell instead!”
“Let’s do it! Come on, let’s do it!”
“Sir! I just can’t do that!”
“I turned everybody down, and now I’m thirty-two and I’ve never done anything.”
“The pink lips of her pussy. Those little pink petals. They were perfect. It was paradise. So wet. So wet. If only I could bury my face between her breasts and come come come one more time!”
There was a bright flash and a burning smell, and the next thing Izumi knew, he was back in his seat. He looked dumbly around him as if he had just woken up. He felt strangely calm. The cabin was dry and cool, and the tranquillity surrounding him made the frenzy of moments before seem like a dream. No, that madness and confusion had been real, Izumi told himself. He looked around to see the other passengers also sitting in their original seats, each with a peaceful expression on his face.
Izumi did his best to analyse his own feelings. Where had this sudden calmness and resignation come from? Where were they? He couldn’t see any of the stewardesses – they must have gone back to their stations. And there was no sign of the few non-Japanese who had been on board. What could have happened to them? And how had the plane escaped what seemed like certain destruction? They should have already crashed into the ocean.
Then he understood.
They were dead – all of them. The plane was no longer a part of the real world. They were flying to the world of the dead. Of course. The sudden serenity in the cabin made sense. It was death that had brought about this resignation, this feeling of release from the affairs of the real world, this tranquillity that came from being freed from all worldly desires. He was dead and the only thing left was his immortal form – his spirit. He was really dead. This realization caused him no sadness. The chaos of moments before, and indeed his entire life, seemed like something that had happened to someone else. It was almost funny. Why had he felt such strong feelings of attachment to his life? Why had he dreaded the other side so much?
No, he thought to himself. Now the world of the living was “the other side”. This was his world now. But where exactly was he? Could this be the “Hell” that everyone talked about? No wonder the non-Japanese had disappeared. They had each gone to their own version of the afterlife.
The man who had been speaking in tongues now sat quietly with his eyes closed.
“Can you see anything out the window?” Izumi asked him.
The man opened his eyes and looked at Izumi before turning to peer out the window. He moved his eyes slowly up and down before speaking in a flat, unemotional voice. “There are no clouds in the sky, but there’s mist everywhere. I can’t see anything on the ground. It’s a flat yellowish brown.” He then sat back in his seat and closed his eyes once again.
The plane kept flying smoothly, although Izumi could not imagine who was piloting it. He couldn’t hear the sound of the engines. After a while, the plane seemed to descend. He half-expected to hear an announcement come over the PA system, but there was nothing. After a sudden soft jolt, they were on the ground. Izumi hadn’t been wearing his seat belt, so he stood up and stretched while the plane taxied to its destination.
“I guess that means we’re here,” said a man who looked like an executive. He had been sitting three rows ahead of Izumi, and now stood up, nodding and smiling to Izumi. The passengers talked to one another amiably – dying together seemed to bring them close to one another. They acted almost like family members or close friends.
A young man who looked like an engineer walked up to Izumi. “It looks like there’s an air-port terminal over there,” he said. “I don’t see any people though.”
Even after the plane had stopped taxiing, most of the passengers remained in their seats, dozing or fidgeting.
“Let’s get off,” said Izumi. He gathered his carry-on bags and, following the other two men, made for the exit.
The door of the plane was open, and when he stepped outdoors, Izumi was enshrouded by mist. There was no wind, and the air was stagnant and warm. Izumi walked down the steps to the runway and looked around. There was no sign of human life anywhere. Who could have lowered the steps? The terminal was a plain, sterile building, marked only by a neon sign that read “HELL”. It glowed crimson even in the middle of the day. Of course, thought Izumi. This wasn’t the real world. Anything could happen. The three men walked to the terminal.
“I used to run a food-processing company,” said the middle-aged man who had been cursing the board of health minutes before. “For years we made instant soups. Then last year we came up with a line of spicy ‘lunch soups’. First we came out with ‘mild’. It had a hint of consommé to it. It wasn’t very spicy at all. Now, as you know, hot pepper can be addictive. So the next thing we knew, our ‘mild’ soup was selling quite well. Then we came out with ‘medium’. You might not guess it from the name, but ‘medium’ was actually pretty spicy. That sold even better than ‘mild’, so we decided to release a ‘spicy’ version. Now that was really hot. We came out with it six months ago, and it was a huge hit. People all over the country loved it. They couldn’t live without it.
“Finally, some young people started complaining that their throats hurt because they were eating too much of it, and the board of health gave us a warning. So we stopped making it and switched back to ‘medium’. But it didn’t sell at all. Once people tasted the spicy stuff, they just couldn’t go back. My company was on the brink of bankruptcy, so I went to France to
see if we couldn’t sell it there. Then this happened on the way home. Just my luck, huh?” He paused and chuckled. “But now that I’m dead, I couldn’t care less about any of it. Actually, I can’t believe I spent so much of my life making such ridiculous products.”
“I ran an architectural firm,” said the young man who looked like an engineer. He was the one who had been screaming about the twelve miniatures. “We mainly designed apartments. It was my dream to design a hundred apartment buildings in a hundred cities across Japan, and I had finished twelve of them. I was so proud of them that I made a miniature of each city with my apartment building right in the middle. I put each of the miniatures in a drawer and whenever I had guests over I would show them off. Then one day I opened the thirteenth drawer – the one that should have been empty – and I saw the sea. I don’t know if it was a hallucination, but I was so surprised I slammed the drawer shut. Maybe it was a sign.” When the young man had finished talking, he smiled cheerfully and waved his hand as if to dispel any misconceptions the other men might have had. “But now I realize how meaningless that all was. I was like a child, naive and selfish. I always had to have my own way. I guess it’s no surprise that I ended up here.”
The three men entered the terminal while Izumi was telling his own story. The building was nearly empty. There were no demons waiting to meet them – not even an immigration checkpoint. A few people who looked like airport employees stood about, but that was all. There was no sign of other travellers in the cavernous lobby area, and there were no duty-free shops or restaurants.
“Visit hell – where you never need a passport,” said Izumi. The three men laughed loudly and proceeded to walk towards the exit.
Izumi stepped onto a city street surrounded by tall office buildings. His two companions had disappeared from his side. The pedestrians and the cars in the street looked exactly as they did in the real world. There was nothing about them that suggested that they were anywhere else. Izumi conjured up the faces of people who had died before him. If he was really in Hell, he might be able to meet some of them again. He began to walk slowly along the pavement.
The lift doors opened, and before Mayumi Shibata and Yoshio Torikai could press the button to shut them again, the buck-toothed reporter and his photographer forced their way in.
“Get out of here!” Torikai screamed.
But the reporter just shook his head and laughed, “We’re just a coupla morons. You can’t expect us to understand you.” He ordered the other man to hurry up and take some pictures. The photographer pushed Torikai out of the way and began to shoot close-ups of the horrified Shibata.
“No! No! Stop!” she screamed.
“Stop it!” cried Torikai, trying to push the photographer away.
The reporter tried to pull Torikai off, and in the tussle all four fell to the floor of the lift as the doors closed. The lift began to ascend, perhaps called by someone on a higher floor. Thirty-five… thirty-six… Inside the lift, the struggle continued.
“You think because you’re a so-called novelist, you can treat the press like shit? You’ll be sorry when my article comes out! Just wait! You’ll regret this!”
“I’m not scared of some little piece-of-shit peeping Tom! The literary press will protect me! I’ll be the one writing about you! You’ll never work in this town again!”
“I can’t believe a pretty young thing like this would screw an old geezer like you. In fact, the idea of it makes me sick. But I’ve got the proof right here on film! The tabloids are gonna eat this up! Your marriage is over, and don’t think your little friend here won’t leave you when the shit hits the fan!”
“Please,” screamed Shibata, “my career will be ruined! I’ll do anything! Just stop!” Half-crazed, she began punching the lift buttons at random, causing the lift to come to a bouncing halt as a piercing alarm went off. The lift went dark and yellow emergency lights started blinking.
“Stop it! What the hell are you doing?” yelled the reporter.
“We’re gonna fall!” cried the photographer.
“What difference does it make if we fall?” Shibata screamed. “I don’t care if I die! I’ll take you all with me! Ha ha ha ha!” Her maniacal laughter was enough to send shivers down the spines of the men.
“Settle down, Mayumi,” Torikai said, trying to calm her.
“Yeah, just stop it!”
The alarm stopped ringing, but immediately the lift began to shake. Then suddenly it fell. Mayumi screamed and clung onto Torikai. Then the lift jerked to a halt. The control display still read “30”, but the lift continued to shake as if it would fall at any moment.
“What do I have waiting for me at home?” cried the photographer. “A wife like Godzilla and three snot-nosed kids! I’m sick of being a slave! Capitalism, the media – it all can go straight to Hell! Let the lift fall, and get it over with! I don’t have any reason to live! But if I have to die, I wanna screw a nice piece of tail like this, just once!” He lunged at Shibata, who clawed at his face.
“This is a nightmare!” Shibata started screeching again. “I just bought a double bed and ordered a dress from Chanel! I can’t die! A body like this doesn’t come cheap! I went to the best spas and hairdressers and had all that expensive plastic surgery, and for what? Get your hands off of me, you sweaty middle-aged lump of shit! You make me want to vomit!”
Meanwhile, the reporter and Torikai had their hands around each other’s necks.
“I can’t die like this! Now I’ll never be the next Shugoro Yamamoto! I was going to be the king of Japanese literature! I was going to sleep with all the actresses I wanted! I can’t die with scum like this!”
“Give me a break, you phoney! You just like the idea of being a novelist! The king of Japanese literature? Ha! I bet I got better grades than you at school! I don’t care if we die! With teeth like this, I’m screwed for life. But at least they’re good enough to bite your ear off, you son of a bitch!”
“You weasel! You spend your time digging up dirt on people. I bet you get off on causing trouble for young women like this. Does it get you all excited? This is probably the closest you’ll get to a woman without paying for it!”
With a shower of sparks, the lift began to fall again, but thudded to a halt just as its four occupants had begun to scream. They writhed in the darkness like zombies at the bottom of a grave. What floor were they on? They couldn’t tell. Panicked, their hearts in their throats, they felt a queer mixture of love and hate for one another.
“Are we dead yet, Mother?”
“No! No! No! Get this beast off me!”
“Smile! Smile, Maupassant!”
“Pompous fraud!”
“My parents warned me about bourgeois types like you!”
“Come on, you little tramp!”
“Is this the end?”
“Oh Amida, oh Kannon, oh Jesus!”
“Amen! Miso ramen!”
“The bon dance at dusk…”
“When will the purple lotus bloom?”
“I feel such loss…”
“Get away from me! You’re swarming with germs, you prick!”
“But if I die…”
“Will my memories of her disappear?”
“I was always there to get my story.”
“The lion sleeps tonight.”
“Who will remember me?”
“Is this the line between life and death?”
“I wish something would happen. This wait is killing me!”
“I think I can see stars.”
“There’s a dog walking by the side of the river.”
“I’ve waited so long, my dick’s swollen like a blowfish!”
“Someone’ll come sooner or later.”
“No, no! I can’t stand this much longer!”
“Can you pry the doors open?”
“It’s no good! I can’t get any leverage with my fingers!”
“Why don’t you try hitting it?”
“No, don’t hit it!
Don’t hit it!”
“The shock could make the whole thing fall!”
“It doesn’t seem like anybody’s out there!”
“Is anyone there?”
Finally the reporter, desperate, punched the doors, and the lift started to fall once again, accelerating until a deafening roar surrounded them.
“No! Stop it!”
“Here it comes!”
“It’s bye-bye blackbird!”
“I believe in the three treasures of Buddha and the grace of Amida!”
“We’re going to die!”
Just then the lights came on, illuminating the fear-contorted faces of the four people huddled in the corners of the lift. The lift had stopped falling.
“What happened? Why have we stopped?”
“Are we on the bottom?”
“It seemed like we were falling for ever!”
“Oh my God. Look at that,” said Shibata, pointing to the control display.
Everyone looked up silently. It read “666”.
“Oh, come on! There can’t be six hundred sixty-six floors to this building! The shock of the fall must’ve caused the display to malfunction. That’s all it is.”
“Come on, let’s get this door open.”
“No, don’t. I know it’s Hell,” said Shibata.
The three men took turns telling Shibata not to be silly. Again they tried to pry the doors open with their fingers, but succeeded only in scratching uselessly at the metal. The doors wouldn’t move. Dazed and silent, the four of them looked at each other.
At last Torikai groaned, his voice sounding like it was being squeezed out of his throat. “I think we’re dead,” he said.
The photographer sighed loudly. “You think so too?” he said without expression. “All my desires, everything I cared about. They’re all gone. I don’t feel anything. That’s proof to me I’m dead.”
“You’re right. I feel the same way,” the reporter nodded.
“What are you all talking about?” said Shibata. “I’m alive. I’ve got plenty of desires. There’re still lots of things that I want to do.”
Hell Page 9