Seventeen

by Hideo Yokoyama

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. Like I can do this,” Yuuki replied, wiping his brow with a towel.

  He hadn’t noticed how much he’d sweated. He turned his face toward the gentle breeze that blew up from the valley. The slab beneath his feet shone white in the morning sun. Beyond that was the main Ichinokurasawa Valley. The winding mountain stream that they had just been walking along was already distant scenery. He loved this feeling. They’d completed only the first pitch of their climb, but already they were in a different world.

  Rintaro was staring at a plume of smoke rising from somewhere down in the foothills. The lower part rose straight upward until it was picked up and scattered by the mountain breeze.

  From the tinge of sorrow in his expression, Yuuki guessed he was remembering his father’s funeral. It was a ceremony that Yuuki would never forget as long as he lived. The funeral hall was packed with scruffy-looking “rock jock” types, among them a man with a familiar jerky walking style. It was Suetsugu, the man he’d met seventeen years earlier at the prefectural library. During the funeral procession, an unexpected thing had happened. The men had lifted the coffin up onto their shoulders. Suetsugu had called out in a loud voice, “Higher, lift him higher! Raise Anzai up to the proper height.” The men had stretched their arms as high into the air as they could possibly reach. The coffin had seemed to merge into the distant peaks that marked the prefectural border.

  “This is where your father wanted to climb.”

  A tear rolled from his eye, and Rintaro smiled in response.

  “Weren’t you the one who wanted to climb? I can read it in your face—you must have wanted to climb this with Jun.”

  Yuuki was too surprised to respond right away.

  Rintaro had always been with them. Not once had Yuuki and Jun been to the mountains by themselves. Next week, shall we go, just the two of us? How many times had he practiced those words in his head? But he’d always been so scared of rejection that he’d never actually said them out loud. I’ll just see how we get along for now. Maybe next time. After the three of us have been one more time …

  And somehow, he’d missed the chance. Seven years ago, Jun had moved to Tokyo to work for an office equipment maker and the climbing trips had stopped. Today’s climb was in memory of Anzai. The occasion had inspired Yuuki to call Jun’s apartment, but he’d only gotten the answering machine. Typical. They’d never really connected. Now that Jun was financially independent, Yuuki couldn’t find a way to finally repair their relationship. He could only pray and hope that, one day, when Jun married and became a father himself, he would not repeat his own father’s mistakes.

  “Yuuki-san?”

  Rintaro suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s nothing. Well … I’ve got something I really need to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something I heard from Jun a long time ago.”

  “From Jun? How long ago?”

  “Around the time we started high school,” Rintaro replied, looking at Yuuki. “He told me he was so happy the first time his dad asked him to go climbing with him.”

  Yuuki was lost for words.

  “He was so happy? Is that what Jun said?”

  “I’m sorry that I never told you.”

  “It’s no problem, but…”

  It was that day. The day that the North Kanto Times had their JAL crash scoop stolen by the Mainichi. That morning.

  “I was afraid to tell you,” Rintaro continued quietly. “I was afraid that, if I did, you wouldn’t take me climbing anymore. You all treated me as if I was one of your own, but I was still terrified. As long as you and Jun didn’t get along, I knew I was safe. That was the way I thought back then.”

  Yuuki thought over all the ways he’d used Rintaro. He regretted it intensely. But Rintaro would forgive him. Yuuki had good reason to believe that. He’d grown up into such a broad-minded, openhearted man.

  He knew that Anzai would have wanted to go climbing with Rintaro.

  “I climb up to step down”—he believed he understood the true meaning of those words …

  “Okay, then, let’s try this,” said Yuuki with a smile. “From now on, you’re climbing with your dad and I’m climbing with Jun. This way we’re even.”

  Rintaro gave him a huge grin. His pleasant laugh was carried on the wind and spread throughout the mountains.

  “You know what’s interesting? Everyone who comes to the mountains is suddenly able to speak frankly and honestly.”

  “Right. Why is that? It must be the air, or the scenery.”

  “That’s not it.”

  Rintaro’s smile shrank a little as he spoke.

  “I think it’s because it might be the last conversation they ever have in this life. They don’t even realize, but that’s what they’re thinking subconsciously.”

  Yuuki nodded gravely.

  “Well, I’ve got it all out now,” he said. “There’s nothing left, so shall we get going?”

  “Well, I still have something left to say.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you when we reach the top,” said Rintaro, blushing. He gave a shy little laugh.

  “So, in other words, I might never hear what you have to say.”

  The dark rock loomed over them. The first overhang. That giant roof that jutted out at least three meters. Time to make a start on the second pitch. The smile faded from Yuuki’s face.

  “It’ll be fine. We’ll definitely be continuing this chat at the top.”

  Rintaro spoke with unusual force. Then, with his right hand, he reached up toward the overhang.

  36

  Yuuki slept for about two hours, then went out again.

  Before going back to the office, he drove to Maebashi City Hall and popped into the press club on the third floor. He wanted to get hold of Kudo, the famously panic-prone Maebashi branch chief and the man who had been tipped off by the fire department about the circumstances of Anzai’s collapse. Or at least that was what Nozawa had claimed.

  Chizuko Yorita was alone in the press club room, sitting at the desk by the window, writing. The other branch reporters must have been busy covering the JAL crash.

  “Is the branch chief around?”

  Chizuko looked up at the sound of Yuuki’s voice. Her face was flushed.

  “No, he’s not.”

  Her tone was unexpectedly harsh.

  “Where’s he gone?”

  “Dunno,” she said, her tone unchanged.

  She turned her attention back to the NKT-branded writing paper on her desk, but her pen didn’t move. She was having trouble writing—another thing Nozawa had mentioned.

  Kudo was probably at the keirin cycle track, gambling. And yet he’d gone crying to headquarters that he needed Chizuko to fill in. That the crash had taken most of his junior staff and there was no one to do the work.

  Yuuki decided to wait and see if Kudo came back. If he didn’t, he’d go on back to headquarters. He sat on the sofa and looked at all the different newspapers arranged on the coffee table. The Mainichi was on the top. The headline leapt out at him: BULKHEAD RUPTURE PROBABLE CAUSE.

  He suddenly felt very thirsty.

  “Yorita? Could you pour me a coffee?”

  There was no reply.

  “Yorita?”

  Again, silence.

  Her face was hidden by her long hair.

  Yuuki got up and headed to the little kitchen off in the corner.

  “I’ll make it.”

  Chizuko spoke sharply as she hurried across the room. Her face was bright red, her forehead crumpled into a frown.

  “It’s fine. Write your article.”

  “I’ll make the coffee.”

  “It’s not going to taste good if you do it with a face like that.”

  Chizuko glared at him, tears in her eyes.

  “Stop treating me like we’re back at headquarters. It seems
I’m only here to serve tea and coffee anyway. None of the women reporters from the other companies are forced to do this, you know.”

  He reached out and knocked the mug out of her hand. It fell to the floor and smashed.

  Chizuko froze.

  “I’m not asking you to make me a coffee because you’re a woman. I’m asking you because you’re a rookie reporter and therefore junior to me!”

  Yuuki stormed out of the room.

  Even after getting into his car, he still felt agitated. Even though he’d just spoken the words that everyone used to say to him back when he was a junior reporter, there really had been no need for him to get so angry.

  The word “bulkhead” was still burned on his retina. Lingering regret … He hadn’t been able to move on yet.

  He’d go to the office and see what everyone’s reaction was.

  No one at the time had spoken up to object to Yuuki’s decision.

  And yet, a mere four hours later, the Mainichi had appeared with its magnificent scoop adorning its front page.

  Chizuko’s face had been as red as a monkey’s—

  He clicked his tongue several times, then turned the steering wheel in the direction of the highway.

  37

  The staff at the North Kanto Times took two weekends off a month. However, today was the third Saturday of the month, so the front doors of headquarters were wide open.

  Yuuki trudged up the stairs to the Editorial Department with a heavy heart. The familiar shabby old door to the newsroom felt like an impenetrable wall today. It was going to require some nerve for him to pass through it.

  It was just turning two in the afternoon, but there was a sluggish atmosphere in the room. To be fair, it was probably the aftereffects of the phantom scoop. An intense high followed by an acute low.

  Everyone Yuuki passed on his way to his desk nodded at him without making eye contact. The only person at Yuuki’s island of desks was Nozawa. He was leaning all his weight back on his chair, ostentatiously absorbed in a copy of the Mainichi. At least, that was how it seemed to Yuuki in his current frame of mind, although Nozawa didn’t appear to have picked up the newspaper just because he saw Yuuki coming.

  “Sorry for all the trouble last night,” said Yuuki curtly as he took his seat.

  “Hmm.”

  Nozawa didn’t even bother to look out from behind his newspaper.

  Yuuki looked around the newsroom defiantly. Around half of the editorial staff were already there, but the wall-side row of seats belonging to the managerial staff was empty.

  “Where are the top brass?”

  “They’re all in the editor in chief’s office,” replied Nozawa, as if he wasn’t that interested. “The managing director and Ito from Circulation came storming in a while ago.”

  Yuuki nodded. They’d disrupted the newspaper delivery in order to get a deadline extension. It was pretty obvious that Ito had gone running to his boss, Iikura, to get him to inflict the maximum punishment on the Editorial Department. No doubt Kasuya and the others were having to grovel.

  There were two piles of Kyodo News wires on Yuuki’s desk. Thinking he’d better get his written apology out of the way first, he pushed them to one side for now, opened his desk drawer, and took out some writing paper. Depending on the attitude of the bosses, he thought he’d better be prepared to write an informal letter of resignation, too.

  “Yuuki-kun?”

  He looked up to see Kamejima’s moonlike face, minus its usual smile.

  “Good work last night.”

  “I should be saying that to you.”

  “At least you created something of a fantasy for us all. Sorry for the copywriter’s cliché, but last night felt a bit like A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  Kamejima, at least, didn’t seem to harbor any ill will toward him. His words seemed more like ones of sympathy for Yuuki’s situation. For some reason, though, Yuuki found this really irritating. Perhaps it was because someone who had never been involved in fieldwork could never understand the true misery felt by a failed reporter.

  Yuuki couldn’t help it—his tone turned harsh.

  “Is there something you wanted?”

  “Well, now that we know it was the pressure bulkhead, what do you want to do with the article we prepared yesterday?”

  “We don’t have enough supporting evidence to publish it.” Yuuki’s tone was final.

  Kamejima’s eyes grew wide. “What? Haven’t you heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Look. Here…”

  Kamejima scrabbled through the pile of Kyodo wires until he found the one with the headline he was looking for.

  INVESTIGATION INTO JAL’S CRIMINAL LIABILITY

  Yuuki’s heart skipped a beat. An investigation into criminal liability? What…?

  He began to read the article.

  Following the crash of a Japan Airlines jumbo jet, law enforcement authorities, including the National Police Agency, the Gunma Prefectural Police’s special investigation unit, and the Metropolitan Police Department, will announce by the 17th their intention to investigate Japan Airlines on a possible charge of professional negligence resulting in injury or death. Law enforcement is attaching the greatest importance to the statement by the Ministry of Transport’s Aircraft Accident Investigation Committee that the cause of the accident was damage to the fuselage due to rupture of the pressure bulkhead, resulting in the gushing of pressurized air from the passenger cabin, damaging the vertical tail—

  Yuuki was speechless. The accident investigation team had now officially revealed the pressure bulkhead to be the cause. In other words, the Ministry of Transport had confirmed the Mainichi newspaper’s article. But that wasn’t all. All the different branches of law enforcement appeared to be completely on board with the investigating team’s findings, and were making their move as one.

  Yuuki began to sweat as he considered once again the magnitude of the scoop that he’d let slip through his fingers. He turned to Kamejima.

  “We’ll follow with the same headline.”

  He bravely emphasized the word “follow.” It was time to stop feeling sorry for himself, let go of any regrets, and get on with his job.

  Kamejima nodded in agreement and started to walk to his desk, but he suddenly stopped and turned back.

  “Oh, yes. I meant to tell you—this morning Jomo dropped the crash from its front page. We should really keep going with it—keep on pushing it with quantity and quality of information. It doesn’t matter whether we have a couple of scoop stories or not. What matters is that we have overall victory.”

  Yuuki waited for Kamejima to get out of sight, then brought his fists down hard on his thighs. But it wasn’t Kamejima he was angry with; he was wondering why senior management hadn’t summoned him.

  Early that morning he’d left the office and gone home to sleep. And while he’d been away, not only had the cause of the crash been confirmed, there had been significant corroborating announcements made by the law enforcement agencies. Despite these developments, not one member of the management team had thought to page Yuuki. No, come to think of it, it went back even further. They hadn’t even called him when they’d discovered that the North Kanto Times had been scooped by another paper.

  This time, he understood. They thought the coverage of the crash was other people’s business. The management of the North Kanto Times really believed that they could count on interviews and articles from Kyodo News. A jumbo jet had come down in a local newspaper’s home territory. Five hundred and twenty lives had been lost. And still the whole thing was being treated like an inherited accident. As if someone else had just rented their space.

  Yuuki stared pointedly across the room at editor in chief Kasuya’s office door. They weren’t in there discussing how best to cover an aviation disaster of unprecedented proportions. No, they were putting valuable time and care into discussing some petty internal squabble.

  He no longer felt like writing a letter
of apology. He put the paper back in the drawer and turned his attention instead to the wires and articles on his desk, scanning for possible headlines.

  90% of bodies retrieved, 276 identified

  Identification gargantuan task; dental records and fingerprints crucial

  Angry families break through police barriers to search the crash site

  “My love to the children”—letter written to family just before the impact

  “Live life to the full” scribbled on company stationery

  Yuuki frowned at the office door again. As he did, his vision slowly began to distort.

  He was just the same as them. Content to sit behind a desk, constantly fretting over petty internal squabbles. He had an urge to do something big. Something that would tear at his heart.

  He picked up the phone and dialed the North Kanto Times’s direct line at the prefectural police press club. Sayama picked up right away.

  “Yuuki here.”

  “What is it?”

  The icy tone was back. Yuuki had expected it, so he wasn’t fazed. He went ahead with his idea.

  “Is Hanazawa climbing Osutaka again today?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Tomorrow, I’m going with him. If he gets in touch with you, please let him know.”

  Sayama didn’t respond.

  “Did you get that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of restrictions are in place on the mountain?”

  “As long as you have a company armband, you’re allowed to enter the crash zone.”

  “What time does he usually climb?”

  “He sets out from the village office around five or six every morning.”

  “Where can I meet up with him?”

  “Like I say, it’ll have to be the Uenomura village office. They sleep in the first-floor lobby.”

  “Today I’m going to cover the bulkhead thing.”

  There was a short pause.

  “Is that why you want to go up the mountain?”

  There were barbs in his words.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing. It’s just not something you need to leave your desk for. We’ve got enough on the crash site.”

  “I just want to see it one time. All I have in my head is Kyodo News journalists’ point of view.”