Lucy was already home. She was lying in bed, reading a book. I undressed and joined her on the bed.
“Do you mind if I just lie here?” I asked.
“I don’t mind,” Lucy answered, not for a second taking her eyes from the pages of her book.
I buried my head in the pillow, face down, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, my back completely naked, exposed. I waited for a while, waited to see how long it would take for Lucy to rub my back. Touch my body. Feel my naked skin with her soft hand. If the situation was reversed, with her there next to me, half naked by my side, I would have had my warm hands on her back within seconds, sucked in by the temptation of flesh. Unable to resist that touch.
I stayed in the same position for a while, before the world faded to nothing but simple thoughts of rejection. Me, waiting. Her, ever cold.
Ten minutes drifted by and not once did Lucy touch me. Not once did she break the undisturbed silence, break through to my emotions. My mind continued to drift, before Lucy finally interrupted.
“Darling,” she said. Maybe at last she had noticed me waiting there. “Can you please pass me my bag?” Perhaps not.
That was how our relationship had been for a while. Her, always cold, unloving. Me, waiting for something to happen, though it dawned on me that it unlikely ever will; constantly succumbing to her negativity. I reached over and handed her her bag.
“Thank you, darling.”
“You could touch my back,” I told her, hoping that she would get a hint of my wanting.
“When I’m reading,” she told me, “I need a hundred percent concentration.”
“When I’m reading,” I said, “I need a hundred percent concentration, but I would still be rubbing my girlfriend’s back.”
“Impossible,” she argued, “it would have to be less than a hundred percent concentration.” She did have a point, mathematically.
“I can concentrate and rub your back at the same time,” I told her, one last attempt to receive her loving touch.
“We are all different people,” she explained, as if trying to diffuse the situation, avoiding yet another argument. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep now, goodnight.”
With that, she put her book in her bag, put it by the bedside, turned off the light, and went silently to sleep.
That night was the last time I would see Lucy for a while. As if by intuition, I knew. The next morning she was gone and she never came back. That night, the man without a face also vanished from my life.
***
My dream felt different. It was still Tuesday. The bridge was still there, but the lucidity seemed to have lessened completely. The wind whistled and the ants continued to crawl. It wasn’t too clear what else had changed, if anything.
I walked as always to the Bridge at the Centre of the Universe. The man wasn’t there. The three ducks were quacking hungrily. I became overwhelmed by a terrible sadness, it was in my chest, I could feel it. I knew its exact location. A small burning ball of sorrow.
Looking over the edge of the Bridge at the Centre of the Universe, I wondered how that place came about. How that dream came about. Why I was there, suffering to find meaning, suffering in both the physical world and the spiritual world.
Some form of instinct told me that it was probably time to leave that place forever, like all the work had been done, like the time was coming.
The intensity of the ball of sadness grew stronger, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. The three little ducks continued to dabble in the shallow water, oblivious to what was about to happen.
As the sky began to collapse, I said goodbye to the town, I said goodbye to the ducks.
“Quack,” the smallest one said.
***
Two days later, I woke up to find that there was a sealed white envelope sat by my front door. It contained a single business card, hand written on plain white cardboard. To the right of the text was a hand drawn picture of a duck. The note read:
For answers that you only dreamed of.
Meet me at Takasakiyama Monkey Park.
Next Tuesday at three. I will wear a hat.
I wondered if Jun had sent the card, after all, he was the only person who I had told about my dreams. But Jun was never the practical joker sort-of-type. I reached for my phone for clarification.
“Hey man,” Jun answered as cheerfully as ever.
“Did you send me a card about a Monkey Park?”
“A Monkey Park?”
“Yeah, Takasakiyama.”
“Near Beppu,” he explained, almost.
“What’s a Beppu?” I asked.
“You’ve never heard of Beppu? It’s a place in Kyūshū. Ōita Prefecture.”
“Oh,” I replied. “I’ve never really been outside of Tokyo. How do you know it?”
“I spent a year there when I was overcoming my schizophrenia. Remember, I told you about the place, famous hot spring resorts and surrounded by nature.”
I do recall him mentioning such a place when he came back from whatever problems he had to deal with at that time.
“But you didn’t send me a card? The handwriting looks familiar, I’m not saying it’s yours, but …”
“I haven’t sent you anything, why would I?” he continued before I had a chance to respond. “What did it say?”
I read him the card.
“I think it has something to do with the dreams, like they have crossed over from dream to reality.”
“Either that or my best friend wants to me to travel to the middle of nowhere for an elaborate prank involving monkeys.”
“Look, I’m serious, I didn’t send you that card. Maybe you should go and check it out, you sound like you need a vacation.”
Two days previously I had called Jun to give him an update on the sky falling in, and had told him that Lucy had gone.
“A vacation could be good,” I told him in agreement.
“And, you never know, you might get some answers after all.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, “I honestly will.”
“Good, well next Tuesday is one week from now. You better decide fast.”
“I will, and I will let you know if I go.”
“Great, any more dreams?” he asked, as if as an afterthought.
“Nope, not since the last time I called you.”
“Good. Then this means something. Let me know, okay?”
“I will let you know.”
***
Jun was right, and a vacation was exactly what I needed, more than anything in the world.
The next day I asked my father for some time off, bypassing my immediate boss in the process. It was always an advantage working for my father, preferential treatment when I needed it most. He gave me two weeks off and told me not to worry, he also said he would square things up with my boss.
I packed a small bag of clothes and said goodbye to Tokyo. I headed over to Ueno Station to catch the Bullet Train.
***
On the train, I once again found myself thinking of Lucy. How everything started off so well. The perfect relationship; finally happy. How she started to slowly drift away. Days going by without any intimacy, any love.
The final week we spent together, we had still kissed each other goodnight, but that was all. Wanting nothing more than a passionate kiss or to hold a woman who has fallen out of love can be the loneliest feeling in the world.
The week she left, I didn’t kiss her once with my tongue. Didn’t radiate in any emotion of hers. Just lost, like a broken shell abandoned on some nameless beach. Empty and lost. The tide slowly sweeping toward me, grabbing me in its clutches, dragging me within its infinite reach. It pulled me, and as it did I started to hurt. Not a physical hurt though, instead, an internal pain. My screams echoed through my crescent interior, bouncing of my inner walls, trapped and not wanting to let go. But deep down, I wanted my screams to escape. I needed my screams to escape. To be heard by others around me, but I couldn’t scream. I couldn�
�t even cry. Just a broken shell tumbling toward the ocean. Lost without purpose. Lifeless without words. It was as if I had returned to yet another bleak point in the miserable cycle of life. Always coming and going, always returning. There were rare times when I felt good, happy even, full of love, but those same dark feelings would always return, and I was fated to be just an empty shell, lost to the ocean void.
***
I woke up suddenly. My sleep was finally dreamless. The announcement on the train informed me that the next stop was Kokura, which was my stop. Good timing. I wallowed for a while, basking in long overdue fortune.
As the train pulled into Kokura Station, I grabbed my bag, rubbed my bleary eyes, and exited the train. I bought a simple box lunch from a tiny shop in the train station, before taking the local train bound for Ōita.
I had never been this far from Tokyo before, and even though I had plenty of time, two weeks in fact, Kokura didn’t seem to offer much draw, and instead of spending a few hours sightseeing, I decided to skip it and to take the bus straight to Beppu.
***
Beppu was a small seaside town, about halfway down the east coast of Kyūshū. Famous for its many different types of hot spring baths. The place had a certain air about it, a cleaner air than I was used to. It was the perfect escape from the chaos of Tokyo.
I walked ten minutes downhill from the train station to the beach. My hotel was the Ocean View, a large hotel overlooking a car park. I was somewhat dissatisfied by the misleading name. Having booked the hotel online, and having paid for it already, it would have caused too much trouble to amend the booking. My own fault for not taking the time to trawl through the many reviews.
The hotel was close enough to the beach though, perhaps a two minute walk, so I took a little comfort in that.
I had booked to stay at the Ocean View Hotel for the full two weeks I was in Beppu. The reception was clean but with a lingering smell of sulphur. The man at the reception desk wore a smart suit and was very insistent on carrying my luggage to my room after he had checked me in.
The room was small but adequate. From my window I could see a row of cars neatly lining the fourth floor of a multi-storey car park. I could also see the glow of red and blue neon signs; Asahi billboards that plastered every inch of Beppu Tower.
I had slept for a few hours on the Bullet Train, yet a certain tiredness had set in; perhaps from over thinking, or perhaps from the sulphur. After ten minutes I was fully clothed on my bed, sound asleep.
***
The next few days I decided to wander around seeing what the area had to offer. Beppu was surrounded on one side by glorious mountains, and on the other side, an endless ocean drifted to seemingly nowhere. There were plenty of signs for hot springs, but they didn’t interest me so much. My hotel had a hot spring bath of its own, so if I felt the need to bathe in sulphuric water, then I could do that back at the Ocean View Hotel.
The indoor shopping arcade seemed to be lined with shops that never opened, shutters permanently down. There were only two shops that were regularly trading. One was a florist with no sign of customers, and inside the shop, an old woman slept soundly on an old wooden chair. The other shop was a deserted bar with a Harley-Davidson motorcycle consistently parked outside. The motorcycle seemed to be more decorative than practical.
My first impression of Beppu painted it as a rather dull place. Like a seaside town forgotten by time, and left to slowly decay. The only life was tucked away in one corner of the town, a small area of hostess clubs and brothels, littered with the occasional love hotel. These establishments were overpriced and often Yakuza-run.
On the main road leading to the train station proudly stood perhaps seven or eight Pachinko parlours, each of them crammed full with people trying to get rich. These establishments were difficult to glance into, despite the panes of glass; the rooms were awash with heavy cigarette smoke.
The train station offered a few eateries, but nothing that really stood out. The big department store had a couple of American fast food restaurants mixed in with a supermarket and clothes shops, plus one half decent sushi restaurant. I chose to eat at the sushi restaurant every day for lunch, often skipping breakfast. I would buy a simple supermarket dinner in the evening, and eat it at my hotel.
***
Eventually, the day came to visit Takasakiyama Monkey Park.
It was a very hot day. A day I would have liked to have enjoyed relaxing on the beach. Instead I was going to a Monkey Park to see a man about a duck.
I headed to the train station. As I stood on the wrong side of the escalator someone sighed. It wasn’t my fault that they had decided to change the rules in Beppu. In Tokyo, we always stood on the left. In Beppu, they walk on the left and stand on the right, which to me is just confusing.
I got onto the wrong train but didn’t realise until it passed the first stop. I checked my instructions: bus. It clearly said to take the bus. Trains by habit, bus to habitat.
I got off at Nishi-Ōita Station. There was a solitary ticket gate manned by a solitary person. I exited so it didn’t look like I had got on the wrong train; not that anybody was watching. Outside the station I saw a sign for the ferry terminal and thought about escaping.
I waited five minutes outside, before heading back into the station and taking a seat. I noticed that there was a bin for plastic bottles but there was no vending machine. I suppose people came to Nishi-Ōita Station to dispose of their rubbish.
I waited for a while but no train showed up. Behind me, the tracks went off in the direction of Ōita. In front me, the trains headed back in the direction of a desolate Beppu.
I watched from the platform as two massive fork lift trucks moved crates. They didn’t look to be moving them with any purpose; it seemed that they were just tidying up the stacks. The crates were a dark red with no markings or lettering. I wondered what was inside, but guessed that they were probably empty.
There was an announcement through the speakers about standing near the tracks. Seconds later an express train whizzed by before disappearing in the direction of Ōita. Trains seldom stop at the world’s smallest train station.
The surrounding area was somewhat pretty, tranquil. It helped me to take my mind of Lucy and the things that came before. There were many bushes of purple flowers, full bloom. Birdsong played in the trees above me. Cicadas droned on in the background. I gazed into the mountains. They gazed back.
Fifteen minutes passed me by, though I half expected time to pass differently, like one of those places you hear about on the news where no one ever leaves.
An old woman entered the platform and sat down next to me. There were three unoccupied seats to my left, yet she chose to sit beside me.
I thought to myself that the old woman being there suggested that a train would arrive soon, but that was not the case.
I waited a further fifteen minutes as another rapid express train whizzed by.
The woman sneezed. The fork lift trucks beeped as they reversed, disturbing the serenity, perturbing my sanity.
I started to wonder, maybe the old woman wasn’t waiting for a train. Maybe she came to the station for the flowers, the mountains, and the fork lift trucks. The joke was on me. Maybe she knew that the next train wasn’t for another two years.
A young man with glasses entered the station. He stood facing the tracks that lead away from Beppu. He lit up a cigarette and smoked it in one go. He lit up another.
I got excited when I heard an announcement about a train, but it was short lived. The train to Ōita stopped and the man got on. Nobody got off. The doors to the train lingered open for a tempting few seconds longer than they should have. I hesitated, but I was already late for my meeting. In the blink of an eye, the train was gone.
I somehow felt that I had wasted my afternoon as the train to Beppu finally arrived. The woman remained seated. I got on the train, and as it departed, it squeaked and spluttered like an old animal waiting to die.
***
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br /> I eventually got the bus to the Monkey Park. I didn’t expect the person who sent me the card to still be waiting for me, but he was.
He was a tall man, extremely old. He was far too skinny though, but in seemingly good shape for his age. He wore glasses and was dressed in a cream coloured business suit. Polished black shoes. His attire otherwise very smart, except for his hat. His hat was one of those cheap duck hats you see in popular discount tax free stores. The souvenir type, and it made him stand out and look somewhat ridiculous.
“Nice to meet you. I’m the Duck Man, and you’re late,” he informed me.
“I’m very sorry,” I said with honesty, “but there was a mix up with the trains.”
“Nishi-Ōita Station?”
“How do you know that?” I asked, somewhat stunned.
“Don’t worry about it,” he grinned, “it happens to us all.”
I decided to move on, “Why did you arrange to meet me in a place like this?”
“I like monkeys.”
I looked around to see thousands of wild Japanese macaques, Old World monkeys. They looked happy enough, well looked after, and well fed. It was certainly the place to be if you liked monkeys.
“Then why do they call you the Duck Man if you like monkeys?”
“Can’t a man like both monkeys and ducks?”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“The real reason though is that many years ago I was found guilty of committing quackery.”
“Committing what?”
“Quackery,” he repeated.
“What does that mean? You did something with a duck?”
He began to laugh, “No, no. It was more like something with a monkey.”
“You had sex with a monkey?” I asked him overtly.
“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, his laugh becoming a smirk.
One of the monkeys was making unusually loud noises, and a member of the Monkey Park staff tried to calm it down using a long stick. An interesting method, but what did I know?
“Many years ago I was working as a physician of quantum mechanics. My studies were to do with time travel. I used monkeys as test subjects. That’s what I did,” he said, a certain sadness seemed to pass through him as he spoke.
Hey Mortality Page 7