Seventeen

by Hideo Yokoyama

  When his son, Jun, became old enough to think for himself, Yuuki found himself unable to relax. He was perplexed by this innocent little thing who would fling himself at his father with complete confidence. He was delighted by his son, but maybe too delighted. Perhaps he got too close to Jun. As a father, he was unable to take a step back. He was always closely observing his son’s expressions. And instead of worrying about how to raise him, he was concerned with how Jun felt about him: Would he always respect his father? Would Jun ever stop loving him?

  As time went by, he found himself desperate to make Jun like him. “Wow, that’s amazing!” “Great job!” “Really good try!” He’d shower him with flattering phrases that he didn’t really mean, all the while checking out his son’s reaction. Whenever Jun was in a good mood, Yuuki felt easy in himself, but if the boy showed the slightest sign of defiance, the love that overflowed in his heart would turn in an instant to bottomless hatred. Mostly, on these occasions, he would simply treat his son coldly; sometimes he would raise a hand to him. But if he felt seriously disappointed or let down by him, he would fly into a blind rage.

  It might have been because he’d never known his own father. When he was a child, his tearful mother explained that his father had vanished. Yuuki was terrified by this word: “vanished.” He could neither swallow nor digest the information, and it vaguely, uneasily haunted him. Vanished—where to? How? He had no idea whether his father was dead or alive. Why had he gone? He couldn’t ask his mother. There wasn’t a single photograph of his father in the house. He was even envious of his friends whose fathers had been killed in the war. The absence of a father left a vacuum in his life and made him ask himself if his own existence was really that insignificant to someone. He felt miserable every time he thought about having been abandoned. At times he would curse his father, and then there’d been another period when he’d held out a faint hope that the man would suddenly reappear. Right before he started primary school he used to sit in front of his mirror at night and practice shouting out, “Dad!”

  Yuuki felt he’d missed out on his chance to become a real dad.

  Jun had grown into a gloomy thirteen-year-old. As a father, what should he have taught him? What lesson could he have given him? The damage was probably irreparable by this point. But Yuuki had no idea of the kinds of things a father was supposed to tell his son.

  The incident with Mochizuki had been forgiven, but Yuuki had offered his resignation to the editor in chief at the time. It wasn’t out of any sentimentality over Mochizuki’s death. It was because he had realized he didn’t have the talents or the qualifications to be a supervisor.

  He believed that Mochizuki’s death was pretty much a suicide. He didn’t buy into the theory that Mochizuki, preoccupied and dispirited, had failed to notice the red light. Mochizuki probably had a personality similar to his own; he overreacted to everyday setbacks and had, on impulse, wanted to end it all. That was why Yuuki couldn’t really grieve Mochizuki’s death as such.

  But back at the cemetery—the look the young woman had given him and the lifeless faces of the parents—these did weigh heavily on him.

  The newsroom was getting busier.

  Yuuki had written around thirty lines on his notepad. He clipped the pages together and stood up, craning his neck to look across the newsroom at the central island of desks. He spotted the long, thin face of Kishi at the political news desk. He was a good-natured type who had joined the company at the same time as Yuuki. He dropped the draft on his colleague’s desk.

  “I’ve got the supplementary story here. Can you tag it onto the end of Aoki’s article?”

  Kishi looked grateful.

  “Must have been boring. Sorry you ended up having to do that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t busy.”

  Just as Yuuki turned to leave, Kishi spoke again.

  “Are you going to the meeting this evening?”

  “What meeting?”

  “That wireless thing again.”

  “Huh.” Yuuki nodded without any real interest.

  Last year, two trains had collided head-on on the single-track Joshin Dentetsu railway line. There had been only one building, a private home, close to the accident site. A reporter from the Asahi Shimbun newspaper had made it to the house a few moments before the North Kanto Times reporter, and had proceeded to monopolize the house’s telephone line. The NKT reporter had been forced to run for fifteen minutes to the nearest public phone booth and he’d had to make this round-trip five times in total. If wireless transmitters were too expensive, then how about carrier pigeons? The young reporter’s rage had finally gotten a reaction from the General Affairs Department. Kishi held out a catalogue of wireless transmitters.

  “Looks like we’re going to get the Motorola model.”

  “If we’re going to spend the money, then wouldn’t it be better to get cell phones? Nippon Television’s Sanada is always flashing his around.”

  “Oh, that great big thing? No way. We can’t use that. It’s really heavy to cart around, and the battery only lasts about two or three hours at most.”

  “If you insist on the wireless, you may end up getting turned down. Last month, General Affairs were going on about how circulation was down. Readers have been switching to the Yomiuri and the Jomo.”

  “You may be right. Anyway, are you coming?”

  “I’ll pass. I have plans this evening.”

  Kishi suddenly remembered, and laughed.

  “Yes, I heard. You’re going climbing. Anzai dropped by yesterday and told me about it.”

  Yuuki had been planning to invite Anzai to go for something to eat that evening.

  “You’re going to climb the Tsuitate rock face? I’m pretty sure that’s the place where that big incident happened. You know, when the Self-Defense Forces guys shot down that climbing rope.”

  Kishi turned his head. Someone was calling his name. It was the managing editor, Oimura, nicknamed the Firecracker. He was beckoning urgently to Kishi.

  “Be careful, won’t you?”

  But as he hurried off, Kishi’s expression was doubtful, as if he couldn’t believe Yuuki was going to make it up a mountain like that.

  Yuuki returned to his desk by the window, picked up the telephone, and pressed the button for the Circulation Department. It was after 2:00 p.m. and he still wasn’t hungry. It was partly the heat, partly what had happened at the cemetery, that had killed his appetite. But more than anything it was probably the fear of climbing Tsuitate. As he listened to the ringtone, he felt a slight tensing of the muscles throughout his body.

  3

  The cafeteria wasn’t completely underground but in a semibasement. The glaring midsummer sunlight poured in through the high windows, throwing shadows of the window frames on the tiled floor. Given the late hour, the only people eating lunch were Yuuki and two men from the Business Department. The noise of dishes being washed drowned out their voices.

  No one from the Circulation Department had picked up the phone. It was hard to believe that there was nobody in the office in the middle of the day, but Yuuki didn’t really have much idea what went on in that team. He knew that their primary job was to cultivate good relationships with the many newsdealers around Gunma Prefecture, but if someone were to ask him what exactly it was that they did, the first thing that came to mind was a vision of them wining and dining and playing games of mah-jongg with the shop owners. Nevertheless, in-house they were considered a vital cog, as they helped to keep home delivery of the newspaper going. It was rumored that their entertainments expense account was unlimited. However, this whole “department” was in fact a small family of fewer than ten employees in a dim little office. Yuuki was one of the many who referred to the room as the “Black Box.”

  The other two men got up, leaving Yuuki alone in the cafeteria. He decided that he might manage some cold noodles in broth, but after about half a bowl he gave up.

  The Tsuitate rock face … He let out a
nervous sigh.

  A couple of weeks earlier, when they’d gone to check it out, he’d been afraid that Anzai would notice the alarm bell clanging in his chest. But back then at least he’d been able to reassure himself that he still had two weeks’ leeway. And now the two weeks had suddenly become tomorrow.

  He had heard of Tsuitate long before Anzai had mentioned it. Every resident of Gunma over a certain age, even those without any interest in climbing, like Kishi from political news, knew about it because of the Self-Defense Forces shooting.

  It was in 1960—so Yuuki had been fifteen at the time. The news had been sensational. Two members of a mountaineering club who had been climbing the rock face had fallen and ended up hanging from their climbing rope. By the time they were spotted it was too late; they were already dead. All this was verified by the use of binoculars, but the problem remained how to retrieve the bodies. The first-ever ascent of the Tsuitate face had been made only the previous year, and even the most accomplished mountaineers now hesitated to go near the scene of the accident. Especially as the bodies were suspended in midair. Everyone was convinced it would be impossible to carry the bodies down, so the unprecedented decision was made to employ the Self-Defense Forces to shoot through the rope.

  It was six days after the accident. At the request of the governor of Gunma Prefecture, the headquarters of the First Division of the Japan Ground Self-Defense Forces issued the order to the troops at the Somagahara military camp to mobilize. The top eleven marksmen from the First Reconnaissance Unit were chosen, and opened fire from a crag around 150 meters away. Their target was a piece of rope a mere twelve millimeters thick, buffeted by the wind. They had great difficulty hitting it. They tried rifles, carbines, machine guns. They fired a total of 1,238 rounds before the rope was finally severed.

  Yuuki had been sent to interview a former Self-Defense Forces marksman who had been assigned to retrieve the bodies. After the rope was cut, the bodies had dropped like dolls and bounced off the rock face four or five times before skidding down the steep slope. Even though the marksmen knew the two men were already dead, it wasn’t pleasant to witness the bodies and rucksacks being smashed into pieces. The retired soldier told the story with a distant look in his eyes.

  And Yuuki was going to climb that same rock face.

  How had he gotten himself into this situation? But he knew there was only one reason: he had allowed Kyoichiro Anzai to sweet-talk him into it. It had all started three years ago when Yuuki had shown up for drinks at a get-together of the hiking club Anzai had started at the paper. As the name suggested, it was not a group for serious climbers; they hiked in the hills or along mountain streams, and the attraction was an after-hike beer or a barbecue. It was all about the social side. The club had both male and female members from various departments, around thirty in total.

  Anzai had been at the North Kanto Times fewer than ten years, but he was three or four years older than Yuuki. The first time they’d exchanged greetings, Anzai had said, “Let’s call it even, then.” This was his way of rejecting the traditional age-based hierarchy and an invitation to become friends. He had put one hairy arm around Yuuki’s shoulder in an overfamiliar manner and shaken him enthusiastically. The adjectives “easygoing” and “openhearted” came to Yuuki’s mind, but the man just came on too strong. The amount of goodwill in his heart exceeded common sense. It made Yuuki wary, and he made a point of not getting too close to him.

  Despite that, three years ago he had finally been tempted to go to one of these get-togethers. It was probably because of the Ryota Mochizuki business. Things weren’t going well at home, either, and he was feeling depressed. He had just wanted to have a quick drink and listen to a few hikers’ anecdotes and tall tales.

  The get-together had been boring. It turned out that, as well as hiking and mountain climbing, Anzai was obsessed with the poetry of Byron and the fantasy writings of Michael Ende, with the boxing manga Ashita no Joe and the pop idol Momoe Yamaguchi.

  Still, Yuuki continued to go to these gatherings, but it wasn’t until he joined the group on a hike along the mountain ridge of Mount Myogi that things changed for him. He’d only reluctantly agreed to join them, but the whole experience was beyond any of his expectations. He’d set off to go for a simple hike in the mountains. His legs began to feel heavy, but at the same time he became more relaxed. He was walking in a group, but he could have been alone, all his senses reaching to the sky. He was confused by this brand-new feeling, but he wasn’t imagining it. The cloud of depression that had enveloped his heart ever since childhood wafted away on the mountain breeze.

  Hoping to recapture this feeling, Yuuki went hiking every chance he got, usually with Anzai’s group. He wasn’t able to express to Anzai exactly what it was that attracted him to the mountains, but Anzai was delighted, and every time Yuuki joined him for a hike he put his hairy arm around his shoulder and shook him heartily.

  Before long the two of them would meet to go rock climbing together. It was Yuuki who first suggested it. He had a feeling it might be really good for him. Mostly, they climbed in the Kuroiwa area of Mount Haruna, at around thirty or forty meters’ altitude. Anzai claimed to have honed his skills on these rocks in his youth. At Kuroiwa there was a huge variety of climbing routes: the west ridge, gully number nineteen, the pyramid face, the great slab …

  The rock gave Yuuki a chance to be alone. His feeling proved to be right. His mind emptied of all thoughts. And that was the moment he felt the fog lift. Clinging to a rock in midair, he savored the sensation.

  A “late-blooming rock jock”: that was what Anzai had jokingly called him, after observing the way Yuuki became utterly engrossed while he was climbing. Although there was definitely a budding friendship there, they weren’t completely open with each other. In a way, Yuuki was using Anzai to gain some solitude. He benefited from Anzai’s lack of sensitivity; because he knew Anzai wouldn’t be able to see into his heart, Yuuki could spend as much time in quiet reflection as he liked.

  Over the course of these three years, Yuuki’s impression of Anzai had never changed. He was just as he’d seemed at their first meeting: fond of drink, laughter, talking, and slapping people heartily on the shoulder. They were colleagues at the North Kanto Times, but they never discussed work. Anzai belonged to the Circulation Department, so Yuuki unkindly assumed there was nothing to ask about beyond all the client entertaining; in turn, Anzai never asked a single thing about Yuuki’s work as a reporter. Yuuki supposed he had no interest in what went on in the Editorial Department. Just one time, a little drunk, Yuuki tried to bring up the newspaper. Anzai immediately shut him down with a neatly employed quotation from Michael Ende’s most famous novel: “But that is another story, and shall be told another time.” To sum up, Anzai was an expert at enjoying life. He came across as happy-go-lucky, a bon vivant, a frivolous party animal.

  But that same Anzai became a completely different person when he was climbing. There was no laughing or joking around. There was an odd glint in his eyes. He knew everything there was to know about each rock face, but he never let it show. He behaved with respect and humility toward the mountain. Occasionally this could even come across as cowardice.

  It was Anzai who’d suggested they should climb the Tsuitate face. It had been about three months earlier and, without thinking about it too much, Yuuki had agreed. Now he realized he really hadn’t been thinking at all.

  “There he is!” The familiar booming voice bounced off the walls of the cafeteria and assaulted Yuuki’s ears from all directions at once.

  Anzai came stomping in. To Yuuki’s surprise, he was wearing a red T-shirt.

  “Been looking for you, Yuu. Thought you were hiding from me.”

  “Hiding?”

  Anzai exploded with laughter at Yuuki’s serious expression and plunked himself down in the seat opposite.

  “Just kidding.”

  He was soaked in sweat. Even his mustache and goatee were glistening. There was a huge we
t patch on the front of his T-shirt that made him look like he was wearing a baby’s bib.

  “So, we’re going as planned, then? We’d better get the seven thirty-six out of Gunma-Soja Station.”

  It was possible to get as far as Ichinokurasawa on Mount Tanigawa by car, but Anzai didn’t think they would get the full experience that way. His plan was to take the Joetsu Line to Doai Station, then walk as far as the Climbing Information Center, where they would spend the night. First thing the next day, they would set out for Ichinokurasawa and begin the assault on that sheer wall of rock known as Tsuitate.

  Yuuki glanced up at the clock. It was already past 2:30, which meant that they’d be leaving in under five hours. So many thoughts and feelings came bubbling up. Perhaps they should abandon it because of the heat? But it didn’t look as if Anzai were about to announce a cancellation or a postponement.

  “What are you looking so gloomy about? You afraid?”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  Yuuki really couldn’t bear to look at such a carefree, smiling face today.

  “I’m not worried, really.”

  “I get it. I get it. I was the same the first time. My body wanted to climb—it was raring to go—but in my mind it was a different story. Just like when I lost my virginity.”

  As usual, Anzai’s story had taken a bizarre turn.

  “Wonder if women feel the same way the first time. Momoe Yamaguchi?”

  “No idea.”

  “But there are plenty of guys like you who do it.”

  Yuuki clicked his tongue. “What do you mean, ‘do it’?”

  “Climb.”

  They were back to talking about mountains.