They inquired at the desk, and a few minutes later the librarian brought them a thick A4-sized book entitled Birds. It was rather old and looked nothing like a regular book. There was no binding; the right edge was tied up with glossy green-colored string.
Suetsugu took an extremely long time to climb the stairs up to the third floor, so Yuuki had heard most of the story before they even arrived at the café. The accident had happened about thirteen years earlier. Anzai and his partner had tackled Tsuitate’s Cloud Ridge by route number 1. Just before the overhang at its crux, Anzai, who was climbing in the lead, slipped and set off a rockfall. He yelled out, “Rock!” to alert his partner below, a man by the name of Mitsugu Endo, but Endo was unlucky. A large piece of rock hit him right in the forehead. Death was almost instantaneous. He was never able to say goodbye to his loved ones and died there and then in Anzai’s arms.
Yuuki realized he had a vague memory of that climbing accident. He had just started at the North Kanto Times and, although he hadn’t been directly involved in covering the story, he remembered reading a fairly detailed article on the death of a young climber. But he had never imagined that the man’s climbing partner had been Anzai.
Yuuki bought two iced coffee tickets from the machine in the café.
“You know, I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. Endo was a superstar in the rock-climbing world. He was also tougher than anyone. Just the year before, he’d climbed Chomolungma. Or—”
“I know. Mount Everest.”
“Yep, Endo became a Mount Everest summiter. In conditions well below freezing, and about a third of normal oxygen levels. What do you think he did the moment he reached the peak?”
“Er, no, I can’t guess.”
“According to the Sherpa who climbed with him, he didn’t plant a flag or even take a commemorative photo.”
“So, what did he do?”
“He looked at the sky.”
“At the sky?”
“On a clear day in midwinter at the summit of Mount Everest, they say you can see a flock of cranes.”
Suetsugu looked pensive.
“Endo was looking for those cranes. But because he didn’t climb in the severest part of the winter, he never saw them. He was standing on the highest point of this earth and wanted to see the birds flying even higher above him. He wanted to climb even higher—like the birds. Maybe that was what he was thinking.”
Birds. The title of the book suddenly made sense. Suetsugu went on.
“Anzai loved climbing just as much as Endo did. If it weren’t for the accident, I’m sure he’d have been a summiter, too, within a couple of years.”
Yuuki pondered Suetsugu’s words. Anzai had been a hard-core rock climber after all …
“It really was just a very unfortunate accident. No mountain is ever completely safe but, from Anzai and Endo’s point of view, Tsuitate was just for warming up. I suppose that’s what makes it all the more dangerous. It robbed Endo of his life, and Anzai of the joy of mountain climbing.”
Suetsugu picked up Birds and looked at the cover. He seemed to be struggling with his emotions.
“This string, it came from the rope that tied them together that day.”
Yuuki’s eyes were wide with amazement.
“Anzai unwound that rope and made this binding himself. Even now, my chest hurts thinking about how he must have felt as he was making it. He vowed never to bind himself to anyone and climb again. That was the decision he made that day.”
Yuuki shivered. He hesitated awhile, deciding whether to put his thoughts into words. Eventually, he swallowed and leaned across the table.
“Actually—”
“Yes?”
“Anzai invited me. To climb Tsuitate with him.”
“Did he, now?”
Suetsugu stared at Yuuki.
“So you’re into climbing?”
“I’m a total amateur. I’ve just been playing around at ski resorts, really.”
Suetsugu sat there for a while, lost in thought. Yuuki waited awhile, but it didn’t seem as if he were going to speak. He leaned even farther across the table.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I climb up to step down. Do you know what it means?”
Suetsugu shook his head.
“Is it a proverb or some kind of saying in the climbing community, perhaps?”
“I’ve never heard it before. Who said it? Anzai?”
“Yes.”
Suetsugu thought awhile longer but finally just sighed. He seemed to have given up.
“It’s been thirteen years since that accident. Perhaps, after all that pain and anguish, that was where Anzai was at mentally. I’m truly sorry, but I don’t know what it means.”
“I see.”
Suetsugu had a reservation on the bullet train to get back to Hamamatsu, so Yuuki hurried to get in one last question.
“Is there really such a thing as ‘climber’s high’?”
“Yes, there is. It’s quite a terrifying phenomenon.”
“Terrifying?”
Yuuki was confused.
“It’s where your mind gets taken over by excitement or stimulation, and you become immune to any sense of fear, right?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“So you stop feeling afraid, right? So then, why is it that you say it’s terrifying?”
“It’s terrifying when it leaves you. If the feeling of climber’s high starts to wear off, it’s horrific. All that fear that you’ve stashed away has built up inside your mind, and it comes bursting out. If it wears off and you’re halfway up a rock face, you just freeze. You can’t take another step.”
But now it was Yuuki who froze.
“It’s when the body gets overstimulated, reaches a level of extreme excitement. The fear makes them numb.
“… They climb in a mad frenzy and, before they know it, they’re at the peak of Tsuitate. An incredible feat.”
He wondered why Anzai hadn’t told him the full story of climber’s high. It must have been so as not to panic him, with his limited experience.
Yuuki was utterly flummoxed. In one short conversation, he had learned so much new information about Anzai that he found he couldn’t picture his friend clearly anymore.
But there was still one thing he needed to know. What had driven Anzai to tackle Tsuitate one more time?
And why had he picked Yuuki as his climbing partner?
25
Yuuki gave Suetsugu a lift back to Maebashi Station, then drove straight to the prefectural hospital. He’d been thinking of visiting Anzai ever since dreaming about him that morning.
It had been a lively journey to the train station. Suetsugu had been glad to be saved the taxi fare. In Yuuki’s car, he had regained his original, easygoing personality. He told funny stories about the early days of Anzai’s relationship with Sayuri, his future wife, and how he had ended up working at the North Kanto Times. But he didn’t talk about himself; not a word about which climbing club he belonged to, or what mountains he’d climbed. And there was no hint at whatever fateful climb had ended with him forever wearing those tiny shoes. Only when he got out of the car at the station did he suddenly turn serious.
“If Anzai wakes up, please call me.”
Yuuki wondered if Suetsugu was the man who had taught Anzai and Endo to climb.
It was almost midday when Yuuki knocked on the door of Anzai’s room.
“Come in!”
Sayuri sounded surprisingly perky. Wondering if there was some improvement in the situation, Yuuki entered the room. The first person he noticed was Rintaro, sitting at some distance from the bed on a folding chair. He was fiddling with a yellow rubber ball. To Yuuki’s “Hey,” he gave the typical half-hearted greeting of an adolescent boy. The reddening of his cheeks suggested that he was remembering with embarrassment how, two days previously, he had hugged Yuuki in the hospital lobby.
“I’m sorry you h
ad to come all this way when you’re busy,” said Sayuri.
Yuuki recoiled ever so slightly at how cheerful Sayuri looked. But it wasn’t just how cheery. Perhaps he was imagining it, but she almost looked more beautiful.
Yuuki walked over to the bed.
Anzai’s eyes were still open, their brightness still as surprising as before. He didn’t even look pale. Yuuki had the urge to call his name but, knowing the disappointment he’d feel when there was no reply, he held back.
PVS. The acronym didn’t mean much to him. But “vegetative state” was a term that could not fail to hit home.
“Yuuki-san, please sit. I’ll make some tea. Or would you prefer something cold? We have barley tea and orange juice.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself. I’m sorry, I can’t stay for long.”
“Oh, that’s a pity. Please stay awhile. Anzai’ll be disappointed if you leave so soon. Won’t you, darling?”
Her tone was flirtatious, and she caressed her husband’s cheek as she spoke.
Yuuki was puzzled. Sayuri’s behavior was a huge contrast to two days ago, when she had barely been able to force a smile. Now she was bustling around the hospital room, full of life. He had to ask.
“Did you get some good news about his condition?”
“Ah, no. We still don’t know anything.”
Her expression clouded slightly, but that was all. She reached into the fridge and pulled out a jug of barley tea, poured Yuuki a glass, and handed it to him with a big smile.
She’d made her peace with this. That must be it. But it had only been forty-eight hours …
Sayuri kept glancing over at Anzai. She even smiled at him. Suetsugu had explained it in rather old-fashioned-sounding terms: “The two of them were a match made in heaven. You know, they eloped together.” Yuuki had known that the couple were very close, but Sayuri’s behavior today made him uncomfortable. He felt as if he were intruding on their personal space.
He checked on Rintaro. The boy looked bored.
Thirteen years old. Sayuri’s long-awaited child. Born three months after Endo’s death. He’d heard all this from Suetsugu.
He searched around for a topic of conversation.
“Did Nodai Niko win?”
“Yes. Nine to one.”
“Wow. That’s a really good score.”
“Yeah, it was a total slugfest.”
Rintaro seemed to be into the conversation. Yuuki looked at the rubber ball the boy was holding.
“Do you like baseball?”
“No, not really.”
“You wanna go and throw a ball around for a while?”
“Huh?”
Rintaro looked around the hospital room. Yuuki laughed.
“Outside! I mean outside. There’s a bit of grass we could play on.”
“Oh … okay,” he said nervously.
Yuuki got to his feet. Sayuri had her back to him, wiping Anzai’s hands with a wet towel.
“Sayuri-san, do you mind if I borrow Rintaro for a while?”
“Thank you. That’d be very kind.”
Sayuri looked jubilant as she bowed her head. Yuuki was perplexed again to see how delighted she seemed to be, to be clearing the room of people. He forced himself to rethink. This might be the only chance he’d have to visit for a while. And today he’d have to head back to the office right after playing catch with Rintaro. He was going to have to put his thoughts from the car journey into action right now.
“Sayuri-san, do you happen to have Anzai’s diary?”
“Yes. He was carrying it when he collapsed.”
“Would you mind if I borrowed it for a couple of days?”
“Not at all. Why?”
For a moment a concerned look crossed her face. Yuuki chose his words very carefully.
“It’s about when he collapsed. There’s something I don’t understand about it. Two o’clock in the morning and he hadn’t been drinking. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to look into it a bit more.”
“I see … Thank you.”
He’d managed it without much persuasion. Sayuri went straight to the locker and retrieved the notebook.
Yuuki did mean to investigate Anzai’s movements on the night in question, whether for work or for personal reasons. What was he doing in the entertainment district stone-cold sober? And why did he collapse the very night before he was due to climb Tsuitate with Yuuki?
All the anecdotes he’d heard from Suetsugu were running through his mind. He was determined to solve the mystery of Anzai’s behavior and how it was connected to those stories.
“Here it is.”
Sayuri passed him a small black leather-bound diary.
“Thank you.”
Yuuki slipped the book into his trouser pocket. Rintaro was waiting for him just beyond the door, looking very apprehensive.
“Right, let’s do this!”
“Okay.”
They took the elevator down to the ground floor and went out the side entrance. What Yuuki had imagined to be a large area of grass turned out to be a courtyard covered in weeds.
“Okay, let’s have it,” said Yuuki brightly, stepping backward to adjust the space between them. Rintaro threw the rubber ball toward him. He didn’t seem to be particularly good at sports. His throwing style was a bit awkward.
As they tossed the ball back and forth, Yuuki remembered all the times he’d played catch like this with Jun.
“Okay, I’m going to throw you a curveball.”
“What?”
“Try to catch it.”
Yuuki wrapped his fingers tightly around the ball and threw it sidearm. Right as it was about to reach Rintaro, the ball curved sharply to the left and shot on past, Rintaro having set himself to catch it directly in front of his chest.
Rintaro didn’t even move. Then, after a beat, he turned his head to see where the ball had gone. When he turned back to Yuuki there was a flushed smile on his face.
“Wow!”
“Good, right?” said Yuuki, beaming proudly.
Rintaro ran to fetch the ball and made a long throw to send it back.
“This time I’m going to throw a drop ball.”
“A drop?”
“Nowadays they call it a forkball.”
He clowned around a bit, making a show of wrapping his fingers around the ball like before, and then released it overarm and slow. Rintaro waited with both hands in front of his chest, but this time the ball dropped suddenly and hit him right between the legs.
“Ow!”
Rintaro doubled over, both hands clutching his nether regions. It was only a rubber ball—it shouldn’t have hurt that much. But then Yuuki realized: Rintaro was bright red in the face … with laughter.
Yuuki had no idea how much longer the two of them kept on playing. The pager on his belt kept on buzzing; perhaps Rintaro pretended not to hear it. Five more minutes, then another five. Yuuki found room in his heart to give Rintaro this small gift of his time. And, as he played, it came to him.
He was JAL crash desk chief and he was going to keep on taking this responsibility seriously. He would pour all his energy into publishing detailed, informative articles. In other words, he was going to try to win. He was never going to repeat the mistakes of the Okubo/Red Army era. That said, he was also ready to admit defeat if he had to, and let the next generation take over from him.
He let rip another drop ball. He could see Jun’s sullen face in the back of his mind; a total contrast to the joyful sight of Rintaro rushing around after the ball. For a moment, Rintaro had made him feel like a proper father.
26
As they climbed from Tail Ridge to Anseilen Terrace, they were directly under the Tsuitate face.
Yuuki followed the figure of Rintaro in the lead, step by step, across the bedrock. The base of Tsuitate’s rock wall was practically grazing his left shoulder, its top reaching way up into the heavens. It was an overwhelming feeling.
Rintaro paused and looked up, evide
ntly scoping out their route. He had to strain his neck, bending his body as far back as it would go, and looked as if at any moment he might topple backward. But the only way was to look straight up.
“A little farther,” he said, picking up his pace.
Just as he’d predicted, not five minutes later they passed through a small thicket of bushes, and suddenly their field of vision opened right up, and they were on Anseilen Terrace, the kickoff point for their attempt on Cloud Ridge route number 1.
Now it was time to prepare for the serious part of their climb.
Two nine-millimeter ropes, carabiners, pitons, aiders, slings, climbing gloves …
“Shall we set out in about fifteen minutes?” said Rintaro casually.
“Sure.”
But Yuuki wasn’t quite sure. He was already short of breath from the less challenging climb they’d just done. That, and he still wasn’t quite mentally prepared for the formidable Tsuitate. He put on his climbing gloves, then pulled them off again. He took a deep breath and took in his surroundings.
“Anseilen Terrace—the perfect name for this place.”
Anseilen—the German word for tying climbers together with a rope—this was the place to do it. To unite your whole self with your partner. To put your trust in him. And then climb.
“But that’s right,” continued Yuuki with a laugh. “Anseilen was supposed to be your name. Anzai Rentaro in the Japanese order—or Anzai Ren for short. But your mother put a stop to that one, otherwise right now Anseilen would be standing here now on Anseilen.
“Yuuki-san, where did you hear that?”
“What?”
Yuuki was surprised to see confusion on Rintaro’s face.
“Don’t tell me you never heard that story?”
“No, no, I’ve heard it. Just not the part where my mother put a stop to it.”
“She was opposed to the name, wasn’t she? Your father told me.”
“The story I heard from Mom was different,” said Rintaro, looking grim. “Dad announced that he wanted to call me Rentaro, and my mother agreed.”
“Really? Is that true?”
Rintaro nodded and continued.
Seventeen Page 20