ME

by Tomoyuki Hoshino

  Uh-oh. I had gone too far. WE were obliged to walk gingerly over thin ice, lest we break through and expose the cold, dark water lying below, which would be fatal to us all.

  “Well, in my own way I’m doing the best I can. Please don’t put too much pressure on me.”

  “Pressure? And if we don’t put any pressure on you, you’ll simply go on your merry way . . . ?”

  “I’m tired. I’m going to take a bath.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Once again without letting me know . . .”

  “It couldn’t be helped. I lost my cell phone, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah . . .”

  To my own amazement and disgust, I took my knife with me as I went for my bath. When I stepped in the tub, I felt my tension melt into the water. I let all the air out of my lungs in a single exhalation, as though my innards were leaking out of me too. I was conscious of having become a prisoner of delusion.

  It was all a charade. It was only to maintain my equilibrium that I had engaged in the meaningless banter, irrelevant to my inner being, in a ridiculously earnest way. Why was I doing this? Would I have to live like this forever?

  I felt empty. I was sad. This hollowness didn’t just spring from the meaningless conversation; it was also the accumulation of dishonest relationships, prolonged and recurrent.

  Yes, that was it. In order to go on living I had continued this sort of farce, talking to my parents in just this way. It was all perfunctory, never touching on real, mutually felt needs; it was simply idle chitchat. And it wasn’t just with my parents. With my siblings, friends, coworkers, and everyone else I could imagine, the relationships I had formed were nothing more than a masquerade.

  For example . . . No, I couldn’t think of any concrete examples, for I couldn’t even remember any of my siblings, friends, or coworkers. I vividly recalled that those ties were unrelentingly vacuous. As such, of all those people—of their faces, their names, their voices, and the words we had exchanged—there was not a trace in my mind.

  Of course, I thought. There was no reason to remember haphazard, senseless, empty talk. Weren’t human relations based on hollow words tantamount to having no relations at all? One might as well declare them dead.

  That’s because they were MEs. And it was precisely because there were no real bonds that there were MEs.

  I again exhaled, emptying my lungs as though expelling my very soul. I wanted to stop being a ME. I wanted to delete ME. With the end of ME would come comfort, peace, and clarity of mind.

  All the talk of grandchildren was nonsense. Would not any child born be a ME? The child of a ME would be a ME, as though he had been reborn himself. Who would freely choose to go back to the beginning and repeat it all from scratch? I wanted not to perpetuate MEs; I wanted an end to MEs: eradication. Not more of US, but fewer.

  I was submerged up to my neck in the bath. I hoped that my skin would liquefy, that my guts would dissolve, and that I would blend into the water and disappear. Instead, I rose to the surface, still encased in my skin. Though my body was 70 percent water and ought to be able to dissolve in the same substance, I was indeed empty, floating in the warm liquid like a balloon. The only thing to do was to let myself be filled with it. Beneath the surface I slowly exhaled. Large air bubbles rose to the surface as I began to count. I got only as far as three before floating up again. I inhaled. I could not dissolve; I could not blend in and disappear. All I could do was drift.

  As I stepped out of the bath, I felt dizzy and weary.

  “Sorry, but I’m exhausted,” I said to my parents. “I’m going straight to bed.”

  “What? You’re turning in already? I haven’t even finished washing up.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “Yes. But first put out the futon.”

  “Really? You certainly give priority to your own needs, don’t you?”

  Grumbling, she set about clearing the dining table. I washed the dishes.

  “Take your end.” She had put her hand to one edge of the table, while pointing to the opposite side.

  I followed her example. We moved the table closer to the sink, then spread out the futon in the cleared space.

  “So I should sleep here?” I mumbled without thinking. I immediately realized that I had again stepped out of the ring. I tried to tell myself that this was where I regularly slept. But I had reached my limit. I could no longer play along in this three-penny puppet show. It was only the ME before me who obliged me to go on.

  The man of the house handed me some pajamas, which I put on without a word. I discretely took my knife from my pocket and slipped it under the pillow.

  “Good night,” I called out to the two of them; they had retired into the room with the television. With my head under the covers, I immediately slipped into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  “Hiromi, aren’t you going to be late? It’s already past seven thirty. Didn’t you set the alarm?”

  I awoke with a start, violently dragged out of the black and sticky swamp of sleep, not knowing who I was, where I was, or what I should be doing. I gradually remembered the events of the night before.

  I was still alive. That had not happened. Perhaps Father and Mother had been too weary to carry out the deed.

  Sitting in bed, still half-asleep, I heard a voice from above me: “What a nuisance!” I instantly tensed up, shifting to look up at whoever had shouted this. At the table, still situated where we had left it, a ME was eating toast.

  “Who’s this?” I asked.

  “Is this some sort of illness? He’s like this every morning when he gets up—totally gaga.”

  “Your older brother is not a morning person. You should understand that, Hiroshi,” said Mother, admonishing the toast-munching ME. “You’re even more of a sleepyhead.”

  “When did he get here?” I asked

  “At the crack of dawn. You were still asleep, Hiromi.”

  I didn’t believe her explanation. She had probably encountered the ME intruder and in typical fashion resorted to something like: Oh, it’s you, Hiroshi! Thank goodness you’re home safely! I was afraid they’d gotten you. I was so terribly worried I couldn’t sleep a wink. In this way she had given him a place to lay his head, and so I had now become “Hiromi.”

  “Where did you sleep?” I asked.

  “You were in the way, so I had no choice but to curl up over there,” he replied, turning his face toward the entrance.

  Had I been sleeping like a log so close to him, lying there utterly defenseless? And yet that hadn’t happened; I was still alive. I looked at him suspiciously; he returned my gaze: in it I felt no murderous intent. For the moment it seemed that we were in a state of equilibrium.

  “Now don’t just sit there dreaming, Hiromi. Get ready!”

  Thus roused, I got up, folded the futon, washed my face, and put on the same dark suit. Casually slipping my hand into my jacket pocket, I reassured myself that the thick envelope was still there. Hiroshi returned the table to the middle of the room. I sat down diagonally from him and then, before giving the question any thought, asked: “Is Father still sleeping?”

  There was a long silence and I felt a chill go down my spine. Had that happened?

  “He wasn’t here when I got up,” Mother said with feigned nonchalance. “Perhaps he went for a walk.”

  Which of them had done it—Hiroshi or our old lady? I wanted to stare at Hiroshi but was afraid that if I did the equilibrium would be lost. Instead, I laughed and remarked: “Walking appears to be quite the rage these days.”

  Hiroshi had meanwhile finished his breakfast and packed his wallet, cell phone, and Walkman into his backpack. In the spirit of cordiality I offered to go with him and, judging from his general demeanor, remarked: “Off to class?”

  “You bastard!” he screamed, suddenly lunging at me. “Are you making fun of me?” I moved around to the op
posite side of the table; using a chair for protection, I grabbed a butcher knife from the sink and brandished it at Hiroshi. We glared at each other across the chair that now separated us.

  “What’s the big deal? Why are you getting worked up about heading to school?”

  “You seem to think that going to college is what everyone normally does. Well, since I’m a mere high-school graduate, to you I must be a loser, some worthless reject.”

  “Hey, I’m not saying anything of the kind!”

  “That face of yours, with its phony innocence!” Hiroshi bellowed. “Who needs it?” He sprang over the chair and was suddenly pointing at my throat a utility knife that had somehow made it into his grip. With my left hand I grabbed a saucepan lid as a shield, then thrust my right hand forward.

  At this, Hiroshi impaled himself on the butcher knife. In my hand, it seemed simultaneously soft and terribly heavy. Hiroshi groaned and stopped moving. The weight yielded as I released the knife. Hiroshi slowly lay down on the floor, the blade still lodged in his solar plexus.

  I looked at Mother. Her face was blank, as though a light switch had been turned off. I washed my hands at the sink. Hiroshi was still groaning something as Mother just stood there, and so I turned my back on them and left the apartment.

  My body was burning. I felt terribly hot, then cold, and occasionally I would twitch. Thinking that I might be injured, I ran my hands over my face and neck, but there were neither cuts nor blood.

  I could still vividly feel that soft sensation of piercing flesh in my hand, the push and slight pull as the tip of the knife penetrated layers of skin and sinew. I shook that hand, jerking it every which way, trying to exorcise that tactile memory, but it would not leave me. Each time I recalled the motion, I was seized with cold, violent shivers.

  I resolved to ignore my hand. For distraction, I chanted a spell to myself. I remembered it from something I’d heard, perhaps on television: “Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi . . .” As long as I continued to mumble the word, I would be free.

  I repeated it until I was out of breath: “Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi.” I sensed that by chanting this I would forget everything. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled again with: “Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi . . .”

  The sun was beaming down. It was hot. When my trembling stopped, I began to sweat and so took off my suit jacket.

  The streets were still half-asleep. I was the only one walking along in a suit. Perhaps today was a holiday. Occasionally I would pass a jogging ME, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, a strolling ME, out walking a dog, children MEs, and hand-holding MEs in casual attire. They looked at black-suited me muttering kabaddi, even as they tried not to, then took another path to avoid me.

  What’s done is done, I thought. From the back of my throat surged the cry: How was it that I did what I did?

  “Kabaddi . . .” I repeated to suppress the emotion, but the question now rose up again deep in my gullet.

  That I had deleted a ME was, I vaguely suspected, meaningless, and that was because when a ME dies, that death is itself cancelled: the fact that one has died is remembered by no one and is thus nullified.

  And yet I had nonetheless deleted a ME. Though everyone somehow knew it, WE carried on relentlessly in order to eradicate each other.

  Were WE such loathsome blockheads?

  I wanted to go where there were no MEs. I had had quite enough of them. I wanted not a minute more of the horrible sensation that had sullied my hand.

  I would go into the mountains. The name Takao floated up in my mind. I was seized with a tear-inducing longing: I wanted to wander into those hills and disappear.

  * * *

  I walked as far as Shinjuku Station. The streets were not as congested as I had feared they might be with holiday shoppers. Perhaps a general crowd-avoiding tendency was now asserting itself.

  I warily made my way to Kinokuniya, where I purchased a guidebook to Mount Takao. At a MUJI store I then bought a pair of cotton slacks, a T-shirt, and a backpack, put on the clothes in the changing room, and stuffed my suit into the bag, which I then shouldered. At an ABC-Mart I purchased a pair of hiking shoes and changed right into them. These alterations alone made me feel like a different person from the one I had been the night before. Somehow, it seemed, everything was now going well. But almost as quickly, the dreaded sensation returned to my hand as I shivered and stiffened. “Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi,” I desperately intoned.

  I avoided the eyes of the clerk but nonetheless caught a glimpse of an exhausted face, and he wasn’t the only one. Customers, pedestrians . . . everyone seemed sapped of strength. The streets were marred with trash and abandoned cars.

  On a platform of the Keiō Line at Shinjuku Station, I glimpsed a semiexpress train awaiting departure for Takaosanguchi. Most of the straps had already been taken in hand by standing passengers, and there were long lines for the next train as well.

  Perhaps the fair weather had brought this surge of excursionists for the holiday. I had no desire to be squeezed in among fellow MEs.

  Still, I could not give up on the idea of going to Mount Takao. I resolved to grit my teeth until journey’s end.

  I got in line, intending to grab a seat, when suddenly I felt the platform beneath my feet disappear—I was suddenly floating in gravity-free space. Something had hit me with horrendous force; my head felt as though it would burst.

  I immediately came back to myself. I was still standing in line after being assailed by violent shaking, palpitations, and chills. I had seen myself being knocked down onto the tracks as a train pulled in. It was all terribly real. I had the feeling that I had indeed met such a fate. The fear that I might again fall victim intensified; not wishing to incite those around me, I could no longer mumble the incantation.

  At last, I stepped into the crowded train. As the doors closed and the train departed, I found myself able to lean against the doors, which alleviated my fear of being surrounded on all sides by MEs.

  The first stop was Meidaimae. Thinking that there would be many people transferring, I momentarily stepped out. But I had been naively optimistic, and the train grew even more crowded.

  As I absentmindedly looked over the passengers, I was struck by something odd: most of them were by themselves. There was almost no sign of the sort of families or couples that one would imagine as vacationers. It seemed more like the commuter rush, with single passengers mechanically boarding the train with expressionless faces. To judge from their outfits—windbreakers wrapped around their waists, their shoes, their hats—it was apparent that they were heading for the hills. There were even MEs reading guidebooks about Mount Takao. Furthermore, from all the baggage they were carrying, it seemed unlikely that they would be heading back the same day. Scanning the crowd, I could tell that most of these passengers had been on board since our departure from Shinjuku.

  From the moment we departed, this had indeed been a mountain-bound commuter train. The only sounds that could be heard were from the barreling locomotive. There was not even a hint of conversation.

  It was eerie. I belatedly realized that they were all just like me, all predictably coming up with the same idea: to flee immediately to a ME-less environment—yes, to the mountains, to Mount Takao. Since we were all thinking the same thing, the idea was in fact doomed.

  The mood inside the train was less fraught than that of the McDonald’s the night before, but all of the passengers, myself included, appeared quite irritable. It was only to be expected, since any attempt to seek solitude by going off to Mount Takao had been doomed from the very beginning.

  It took some time to get to Chōfu, the next station. I kept my gaze focused intently on the subway advertisements to avoid eye contact. After a while, even with my eyes closed, I could repeat the ads from memory. At last we arrived at Chōfu, where I was surprised to see a pair of non-MEs board the train. WE immediately recognized them as such, even thoug
h they didn’t have any particularly distinguishing characteristics. But when they began to talk, without lowering their voices, OUR instinct was clearly confirmed, for their words were incomprehensible to US.

  Clutching my overhead strap, I turned my back to the pair as they went on jabbering, their voices reverberating throughout the train car. When we arrived at Bubaigawara, tension eased among the passengers, even though no one got off. The doors closed, and immediately there was total silence, followed by soft murmurings between the two non-MEs—and then shrieking laughter. I considered getting out at Seiseki-sakuragaoka, the next station. There was no doubt that that would occur.

  I understood. If things had proceeded on course, that would have indeed occurred among US before we reached our destination. And the wounds sustained would have been all the deeper, as each of US would have borne the lesions of deletion. But now non-MEs had come into the picture—and non-MEs could be deleted without their wounds affecting US. Once having intuited each other’s intentions, the MEs would eliminate the couple while remaining unscathed. For the MEs, the couple was like heaven’s salvation. Excitement spurred US on to close in on OUR prey.

  I wanted to shout, Wait until I am off!

  The train stopped at Seiseki-sakuragaoka. The doors opened but my path was now fully blocked by the herd. I could vainly twist my body ever so slightly left and right, but I was powerless to make my way out, and the doors soon closed.

  Overcome by desperation, I was determined to get off at Takahatafudō. As the train swayed I inched toward the door.

  The MEs were closing in. WE were quickly moving in on the couple, as though for the final kill. They were still happily chattering away, their laughter as raucous as ever.

  Suddenly realizing their peril, they shouted something unintelligible. But it was too late. The MEs closest to them, as though according to a specific plan, stabbed the two. A desperate scream arose, provoking a further attack, as the other MEs sprang, piling onto them one by one like a heap of rugby players. From the MEs around me I felt the pressure to jump on the victims myself. If I participated, I might no longer be viewed as one apart, a marked man, and thus, by joining in the celebration of this event, be left alone.