Suddenly, he panicked. His knees began to shake.
Stop the press! The words were right there in his throat. Or rather, they’d made their way up from his throat and were already on his tongue. But they wouldn’t make their way out of his mouth.
“Yuuki! We’re going for it, right?” Kishi shouted.
Then everyone was yelling at once.
“Let’s do it!”
“We’ve got this. A worldwide scoop!”
But Yuuki didn’t move. The tip of his shoe rested against the keys to the van.
Van number 5 would be going to Fujioka and Tano. The victims’ relatives would get a copy. This morning’s edition would be read by many of the bereaved families waiting for news of their loved ones.
Yuuki looked up at the ceiling.
“Thank you … so much…”
He saw that mother again, holding the hand of her young son. Bereaved family members. It wasn’t the world who needed to know the truth, it was the victims’ families. People who had lost a close family member needed to know as soon as possible what had caused their loved one to be stolen from them. Why had their father, their mother, their child, been forced to perish there on Mount Osutaka?
A clear-cut, definitive cause.
He looked down at the floor. It felt as if he were looking into hell. He bent down, picked up the dropped keys, and headed toward the door.
“Hey, where are you going? Yuuki, wait!”
Shaking off Kishi’s hand, he pushed his way through the crowd. Todoroki called out his name. He didn’t react. He marched straight over to the door, unlocked it, and passed through into the corridor.
Everyone’s eyes were on him, particularly Ito’s bloodshot ones. Yuuki silently handed him the keys to van number 5.
“Sorry for all the trouble. I’ll be sending you a written apology tomorrow.”
34
We can’t see the mountains today.
No clouds in the sky, yet we can’t see them.
No rain falling, yet we can’t see them.
Why, why, Grandma?
Why can’t we see the mountains?
Well, my child,
The mountains are grieving.
Why, why, Grandma?
Why are the mountains grieving?
Well, my child,
Since long, long ago
They’ve grieved for the dead
Because since long, long ago
The mountains have been there.
Yuuki sat straight up in bed. Where am I? Ah, yes, the on-call room.
The phone on the bedside table began to ring. Automatically, Yuuki reached behind him to pick it up.
“This is Sayama.”
Sayama, lead police beat reporter, he thought, and then everything came rushing back.
“Ah. Great job last night. What time is it?”
“Just before six.”
Yuuki had instructed him to go back to the inn first thing in the morning and try to make contact with the investigation team again. But if it wasn’t even six yet, it was too early.
“Has something happened?”
“The Mainichi published it.”
“Published what?”
“The pressure bulkhead. That it was the cause of the crash.”
Yuuki tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes.
“Hello?”
Yuuki said nothing.
“Hello? Yuu-san?”
Again, nothing.
“Look, I think you made the right decision, Yuu-san. It wasn’t the kind of story to gamble on. That’s how I feel, anyway.”
Without a word, Yuuki replaced the receiver. He got out of bed, pulled on his trousers, and buttoned his shirt on his way out of the on-call room. He descended one flight of stairs and entered the newsroom. Young Moriwaki was on the night watch. He scrambled to his feet and bowed to Yuuki as he walked in. First year on the police beat, his face was puffy from lack of sleep.
“Has the Mainichi come?”
“Oh, sorry. I’ll go and get it now.”
Moriwaki left a breeze in his wake as he rushed out of the newsroom. At this time in the morning there was hardly anyone in the building, so Yuuki heard every step as Moriwaki ran down the stairs and back up again. The nimble footsteps approached the door, then it was flung open and Moriwaki rushed in, a stack of newspapers in his arms.
“Here you are,” he said, handing Yuuki the Mainichi. Yuuki took it and spread it out on his desk. There was no need to leaf through. It was the top story.
BULKHEAD RUPTURE PROBABLE CAUSE
Strangely enough, it was almost the exact same headline that the North Kanto Times had planned for their second edition. The content of the article was also very similar. The reasoning was that the rear pressure bulkhead had ruptured, causing the air in the passenger cabin to shoot outward and the tail to disintegrate in midair. Seven years earlier, the bulkhead had been damaged in a tail-strike accident at Osaka Airport, and it had been gradually deteriorating ever since.
Shit!
The hand holding the newspaper shook a little. Without really knowing what he was doing, he grabbed the centerfold of the open paper and held it high above his head. The next moment it was flapping through the air like a giant moth. From his desk across the room, Moriwaki watched wide-eyed.
Yuuki slumped back in his seat and didn’t move. Everything seemed to have gone dark. He waited for the phone calls. Or, more specifically, for the jeers and angry voices. Who would be the first? Editor in chief Kasuya? Managing editor Oimura? Or would it be the local news chief, Todoroki?
Thirty minutes passed … An hour … Seven o’clock came, but still no one had called.
Respectful silence? Compassion? Or, as it was still an inherited accident after all, perhaps they just didn’t care that much. Maybe no one had ever really believed in the possibility of a scoop in the first place.
Yuuki walked out of the newsroom and kept going. He reached the parking lot, got into his car, and set off in the direction of Takasaki City. Should he go home? He wasn’t sure. He just wanted to put some distance between himself and the North Kanto Times’s headquarters.
He was consumed with regrets. He was the one who had made the decision to kill the bulkhead story, because the families had trusted him to print an accurate account and he had been too tempted by the chance of a scoop.
But still he regretted it. And having come so close, the disappointment was all the more bitter. He felt utterly dejected.
He could hear Sayama’s voice in his ear. He’d called him “Yuu-san.” “I think you made the right decision, Yuu-san.”
And Yuuki had put the phone down without answering him. He’d been so obsessed with his own misery that he hadn’t bothered to respond to Sayama’s words.
Thank you. That’s what he should have said. If he could just have said that simple phrase, he would have been able to feel proud of himself again. The same opportunity would never offer itself again. Life is just a series of moments.
Yuuki gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He pumped the accelerator twice, then three, four times. The speedometer needle shot up.
Jun was home alone. He was in the living room, watching TV in his pajamas.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Weeding,” he replied, without looking up.
“Yuka?”
“Weeding.”
They must be at the local park. Everyone in the neighborhood took turns to help with its upkeep.
Yuuki sank down on the couch. He stared for a while at Jun’s back and his broadening shoulders. He could see Jun getting annoyed with him, as usual. First his foot started tapping, then his shoulders began to twitch. Don’t sit behind me. Go away. That was what he was saying to his father. But today it wasn’t so obvious.
“Jun?”
No reply.
“Hey, Jun!”
“Yeah?”
The boy didn’t turn his head, but the twitching of his shoulders became more pronounced.
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“Is there anything you’d like to do?”
Utter silence.
“In the future, I mean. Is there anything you really want to do?”
“No.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nope.”
“I was the same, you know, when I was your age.”
“Huh.”
“I just dreamed of eating a huge meal, you know—just that sort of thing.”
“Huh.”
He had a hunch that, at some point, Jun was going to explode. Perhaps he’d suddenly grab his father, or even swing a metal bat at him …
And if it came to that, he would just let himself be hit. He should let himself bleed the equivalent amount of pain and distress he’d caused Jun in the past.
“I think I’ll take a nap.”
Yuuki was mostly talking to himself. He got up, and at once Jun’s twitching slowed. Yuuki cut through the living room and into the corridor. He climbed the stairs.
He always escaped this way. Always telling himself he’d do something about it next time. How, next time, he’d try to have a deeper conversation. That they were father and son living under the same roof and there’d be plenty of time.
Yuuki paused at the landing. Was it true? Was there still plenty of time for Jun and him? Life is just a series of moments.
Yuuki went back downstairs. Back down the corridor and into the living room. Jun looked around when he heard his father’s footsteps. He probably thought it was Yumiko, come to tell him off for still being in his pajamas. The expression on his face was cheerfully mischievous, as if he were about to stick out his tongue. That innocent thirteen-year-old face reminded Yuuki of the bashful Rintaro.
But Jun had already turned back to the TV. He was obviously trying to cover up his mistake.
Yuuki’s heart welled up.
“Jun, do you want to come climbing with me sometime?”
35
Tsuitate stretched up like a sword piercing the serene sky.
“Okay, here goes!”
Rintaro, climbing in the lead, seemed to float his way up the rock face, the only sound the rattling of the carabiners suspended from his harness. They were at the huge rock wall with its series of overhangs. Cloud Ridge route number 1’s first pitch was about twenty-five meters. The first hurdle—that first roof—wasn’t directly above their heads, but it required them to take a route that leaned toward the left. The first, more gently inclining pitch could be free-climbed without using any equipment.
Yuuki was standing on Anseilen Terrace, looking upward as he cautiously let out the rope connected to Rintaro. The ace of the local mountaineering club—Yuuki was fascinated to watch the young man’s perfect climbing style. It made him feel good. There was no trace of hesitation or stress in the rhythmic way he moved his hands and feet. As his tall frame moved steadily upward, it was as if gravity didn’t exist.
About midway through the pitch, Yuuki heard Rintaro’s cheerful voice.
“Yuuki-san! If I fall, make sure you catch me, okay?”
He felt the tension release in both shoulders. He knew this kind of banter was an example of Rintaro’s consideration for other people. Yuuki was alone on the terrace and feeling a little nervous and tense.
“Okay! You can count on me!” Yuuki shouted back, as loudly as he could.
The speed at which Rintaro was ascending was even faster than it looked. If he didn’t pay enough attention, the rope that Yuuki was letting out, or belaying, instead of remaining at just the right level of slack, would become too taut. Even so, Rintaro kept climbing comfortably and soon reached the spot that marked the end of the first pitch—nicknamed the Two-Person Terrace. It was a space in which two adults could just about stand side by side.
Tying the rope to bolts that had been left behind in the rock, he quickly made sure he was secure on the terrace, then looked down at Yuuki.
“All right, you can start now. Begin by letting your body relax and stretch into it.”
“Got it. I’ll take it easy.”
Contrary to his words, Yuuki’s knees were wobbly and he was trembling with fear. But he obstinately grabbed hold of the rock.
It was pleasantly silent.
It was the same feeling he got when he woke up at the crack of dawn. The cold-water tap … the handle of the fridge … the knob on the gas cooker … the cool feel of things that had been left untouched overnight—he felt all these in the rock. He looked up. The first overhang dominated the view above him—a huge protruding roof. He hurriedly pushed the thought from his mind. His first goal was to reach the Two-Person Terrace, where Rintaro was waiting for him. Without rushing, without getting flustered, with a steady rhythm. It was what Kyoichiro Anzai had taught him, long ago.
Suddenly he was assaulted by a wave of nostalgia.
“Hey, Yuu. Let’s take a shot at Tsuitate!”
He had never forgotten the sound of that booming voice. Nor Anzai’s beaming smile whenever he spoke.
“There’s a fine if you back out.”
“Tsuitate’s no big deal when you have middle-aged superpowers!”
It had never occurred to him that Anzai might be forcing his smiles. But in that moment, Yuuki believed he’d been laughing from the bottom of his heart.
And yet back then, as an employee of the North Kanto Times, Anzai had been in deep distress. He believed he owed a debt of gratitude to the chief of the Circulation Department, and had been talked into being the foot soldier and general gofer for the managing director’s faction. He’d been entertaining the external board members night after night, supporting the maneuvering and plotting of the breakup of the chairman’s faction. And in the end, he was ordered to arrange the reveal of the sex scandal by constantly turning up at the bar where the chairman’s former personal assistant worked.
Even that night, right before he was supposed to climb Tsuitate with Yuuki, he was at that bar. Then, sometime after leaving the premises, in the dead of night, he’d collapsed in the street in the middle of the entertainment district.
Lonely Hearts. A short while afterward, Yuuki had paid a visit to that bar. Chairman Shirakawa’s ex-secretary, Mina Kuroda, had the kind of delicate features that suggested she might have some foreign blood. It turned out to be true that she’d been subjected to constant sexual harassment from the chairman and had ended up leaving the company because of it. And it was also true that Anzai had paid her many visits to find out the details of this harassment. Mina commented on how sullen he always was, never cracking a single joke. So Anzai had taken the job very seriously. When Yuuki asked about that particular night, Mina had lots to say. The owner had asked her to work at another branch that night. It was one in the morning by the time she turned up at Lonely Hearts. When she walked in, Anzai was sitting at the bar. As soon as he saw her, he got to his feet and approached her, saying, “I need to talk to you. This will be the last time.” Mina had flinched. She’d just had a quarrel with one of her best customers and was in a bad mood. She told the bar owner that she was going back to the other branch, and she walked out of Lonely Hearts. When she saw Anzai follow her, on reflex she broke into a run. Apparently, he was yelling so loudly for her to stop that she got frightened and dodged into a backstreet to give him the slip.
Anzai had collapsed at around 2:00 a.m. Shortly before that, someone had seen him running. So he must have been looking for Mina in the streets of the entertainment district when it happened.
Anzai must have decided to try to sort everything out the night before he was due to climb Tsuitate. “This will be the last time.”
He was planning never to ask her again about the sexual harassment.
He hated making her feel bad. That was probably what he wanted to tell Mina.
But it was all just guesswork. Anzai, in his hospital bed, hadn’t been able to answer any questions. His eyes had nothing to say. Those big, twinkling eyes had stared at the ceiling without seeing a thing. They shone brightly in the rays of summer sun that e
ntered through the hospital curtains; they glowed in the autumn sunset. Yuuki had watched how Anzai’s eyes reflected all the seasons.
“Just one more. You’ve got it.”
Rintaro’s voice was right above him. All the past seventeen years seemed to be contained in that voice.
It had been around the time that the pale winter light had begun to shine into Anzai’s eyes that Rintaro had started to spend time at Yuuki’s house. Yuuki would bring him over on his days off, or for dinner. Yumiko was always glad to have him. Yuka was also very quick to take to him. His presence made everything peaceful. Somehow, Rintaro possessed that mysterious power. At first Jun was uncomfortable in the presence of this boy the same age as him, but he, too, gradually warmed to him. Eventually he would invite Rintaro into his room to hang out together. Yuuki was optimistic. He had almost given up on repairing his relationship with Jun, but now that Rintaro had been brought into the family he felt there might still be hope for them.
In the early summer of the following year, Yuuki invited Jun and Rintaro to go hiking with him in the mountains. After that, they went all the time. The two boys finished middle school, entered high school, then Jun went on to university. Rintaro took a job in a local factory, but even after their lives diverged they would still all three meet up once or twice a year to go to the mountains.
“The rock right there’s a little fragile. Better to take the right side.”
“Got it.”
Yuuki was almost at the Two-Person Terrace. He increased his pace ever so slightly. He’d started out a little awkwardly, but now he felt as if he’d gotten a feel for the rock. As he sped up, his fear seemed to leave him and he felt the same way he always had when he climbed at the Mount Haruna ski resort. Anzai used to take him, then later Yuuki would take Jun and Rintaro. It was a climbing course filled with memories for him.
“Great job.”
When he arrived at the terrace he was greeted by Rintaro’s grinning face.
“It was nothing. I’m fine.”
“You seemed to really find your rhythm in the second half there. At first you were clinging a little bit to the rock.”
“Yep.”
Seventeen Page 26