Seventeen

by Hideo Yokoyama

  “Yuuki!”

  The hefty physique of editor in chief Kasuya approached.

  Yuuki could see he was flustered.

  “The chairman’s here.”

  “I heard.”

  “Iikura’s probably going to come storming in.”

  “I’ll explain everything to him myself.”

  “You’ve gone too far this time.”

  What Yuuki heard was, I’m not going to be able to protect you this time.

  “Well, it might be your salvation that there haven’t been any protests from the victims’ families. But there could still be some.”

  “I don’t think there will be,” said Yuuki. He could hear the hope in his own voice.

  “Yuuki-san? Phone call for you.”

  He turned to see Chizuko Yorita holding the receiver close to her chest. She wore the exact same expression as yesterday when she’d come to tell him he had a visitor, so he guessed right away who it was. He hurried over to answer the call.

  “This is Yuuki.”

  “Mochizuki here.”

  Ayako’s voice was faint.

  “What is it?”

  “I read it. My letter … I … I’ve done a terrible thing to those families. It’s inexcusable. I’m really, truly sorry.”

  She’d written that she wouldn’t shed a tear for those bereaved family members, but now she was crying.

  Yuuki felt as if he’d been woken from a deep sleep. Perhaps he had had to make Ayako say those words. He’d needed to hear the words that would break the spell, so he’d put that letter in. It hadn’t been to ease Ayako’s heart; it had been to save his own soul, which had driven Ryota Mochizuki to his death. That must have been his true motive for running it.

  He stared up at the ceiling. The pain in his chest was greater than usual. He wanted to soothe Ayako’s tears. That was all he could think about.

  “Not a single one of the victims’ family members has said anything to us.”

  There was no reply.

  “I think they understood,” Yuuki added.

  “But … I … want to apologize. To the bereaved families.”

  “Then you should write another letter.”

  “What?”

  “And if you do, I’ll print that one, too.”

  “Really? Will you?”

  “I promise. I’ll make sure it gets in,” he said confidently.

  That was when it happened. Everyone in the newsroom turned around to face the entrance. Yuuki automatically followed their gaze.

  A wheelchair rolled through the door.

  It wasn’t Iikura who’d come storming in. It was Chairman Shirakawa.

  53

  Everyone held their breath. One by one, each member of the staff was subjected to the glare of those bloodshot eyes. Nicknamed the “H-Bomb” back when he was editor in chief, Chairman Shirakawa had an intimidating presence that caused even Kasuya and Todoroki to stand to attention.

  “Who did it?” he demanded, focusing his gaze on Kasuya.

  “I’m s-sorry, when you say, ‘Who did it?’ you mean, er…?” stammered Kasuya.

  “Did you give the order?”

  After a slight pause, Kasuya’s mouth twisted.

  “Er … no, I didn’t.”

  The editor in chief had folded right away.

  “So, who was it?”

  The newsroom was hushed. Above Shirakawa’s head was a second one—the beautiful face of his personal assistant, Manami Takagi, whose job it was to push his wheelchair. It was as if he’d brought a second pair of eyes with which to scan the room.

  In his peripheral vision, Yuuki could sense the presence of Inaoka shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He realized he had to give himself up. He stepped forward stiffly. Just as he moved, a voice called out from behind him.

  “We all did it.”

  It was Kamejima, though his usually cheerful tone was now absent.

  Shirakawa stretched his wrinkly, blemish-covered neck.

  “You all did it? This isn’t junior high school.”

  “But that’s what happened. The whole department decided to publish the letter.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “It was me.” Unable to stand it any longer, Yuuki had stepped forward. “I made the decision as JAL crash desk chief.”

  Shirakawa wore what could only be described as a satisfied smile.

  “Of course. It would be you.”

  Yuuki nodded and steeled himself, but Shirakawa continued in a perfectly calm voice.

  “Leave the North Kanto Times.”

  Yuuki raised his head. It was so abrupt that it lacked a sense of finality.

  “You mean I’m fired?”

  “Is that a problem for you?”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “You pathetic little man! If you prefer, you can be transferred to one of our one-man branches deep in the mountains. Either way, I never want to see your face here at headquarters again. So, which is it? It’s your choice.”

  Resignation, or a job in the middle of nowhere without any colleagues? Was he really supposed to make that decision right here and now? On the spot? This was deliberate torture.

  Yuuki gritted his teeth. His fear subsided and was replaced by a wave of pure rage. He saw Ayako Mochizuki’s weeping face. He’d made her cry. Without planning to, he’d used her innocent letter to cleanse his own soul. On the other hand …

  The weight of a life. Its size. In the view of the North Kanto Times, in the view of that medium known as a newspaper, was it so wrong to have printed that letter? Was the letter worthless? Meaningless?

  He had to speak up.

  “I don’t think I did anything wrong.”

  “Are you deaf? I asked you if you want to resign or go and live in the mountains.”

  He thought of Yumiko’s terrified face, but he didn’t lose any of his determination.

  He felt a presence by his side. Todoroki had stepped up. The local news chief removed his dark, gold-framed glasses.

  “Mr. Chairman, please give him some time to consider.”

  Shirakawa turned his attention to Todoroki.

  “Give him time?”

  “Yes. A day or two.”

  “I see. So you think the post of local news editor gives you some kind of power, do you?”

  Todoroki’s face turned instantly pale.

  Shirakawa scanned the newsroom.

  “Huh? Look at yourselves. You think I’m being unfair? Have you forgotten who you all work for?”

  “Still, Mr. Chairman—”

  But Todoroki was cut short by the explosion of the H-Bomb.

  “Shut up! You editors, reporters, swagger around like you’re untouchable. Just remember—without the name of the North Kanto Times, you’d be nothing! Don’t think any of you are special. You are all expendable.”

  This time the hush that fell lasted much longer.

  “Yuuki, tell General Affairs your decision by the end of the day. Let’s go!”

  The last two words were thrown over his shoulder at Manami. She immediately turned the wheelchair around.

  “As a human being and an NKT employee, I have done nothing wrong,” Yuuki yelled.

  The wheelchair stopped. A head slowly turned back to look at him.

  Yuuki locked on to those murky eyes. He had no intention of backing down. Chairman Shirakawa’s dry lips parted. The second H-Bomb was about to drop. Or so everyone thought.

  “Today. General Affairs.”

  And with this strangely gentle reminder, Shirakawa broke eye contact and rolled away. Manami closed the door behind them.

  The tension in the room was broken. Slowly, people began to move. But Yuuki was left frozen to the spot. Kishi was by his side, looking closely into his face.

  “I don’t believe this!”

  It was Kamejima who spoke. No one answered, but everyone wore the same grim expression.

  Kasuya had disappeared. He must have slipped away quietly into his office. Todo
roki was back at his desk by the wall, his dark lenses making his facial expression unreadable again. He hadn’t actually gone so far as to defend Yuuki, but Yuuki knew he would never forget that simple “Still, Mr. Chairman—”

  Nobody had realized that Oimura was in the room. There he was, standing by the door. His arms folded, he was staring coldly at Yuuki. Yuuki returned the glare. There was the face of a man who, back in his youth, Yuuki had once thought of as an older brother.

  Yuuki couldn’t make a decision. He had no particular feeling either way. He put his hand up to the collar of his suit jacket and began to take off his NKT pin. Kishi grabbed his wrist and tried to stop him.

  “Get off!” Yuuki said, pulling his hand away. “Are you trying to make me into the chairman’s puppy dog?”

  “No, I was thinking more of a lone wolf.”

  “Enough!”

  A voice rang out louder than Yuuki’s.

  “Stop fucking around, Yuuki!”

  It was Nozawa.

  “You’re desk chief. Are you planning to abandon the JAL crash? If you’re going to quit, then you’d better do a proper handover. For now, you’re still responsible for today’s layout.”

  Nozawa’s voice was unusually high-pitched and, at the end, it began to crack.

  54

  Three-quarters of victims now identified

  Voice recorder analysis; Captain: “All hydraulics lost”

  Vivid picture of pilots’ struggle

  Compensation negotiations dragging on

  Gunma police begin probe

  Smiling again, appetite returned—three survivors at Tano Hospital

  “I’m not going to let it stop me”—interview with surviving girl

  Yuuki, with the help of the colleagues at the desk on either side of him, spent the rest of the day going through the wires and drafts with a red pen.

  Kamejima came over to check on them.

  “Ready soon?”

  “We’ve got fifty percent of the local pages done.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  The atmosphere in the newsroom was the same as always. Everyone was behaving just as normal. Occasionally cold, but then warm again. For the moment, he was happy.

  He felt calm. He knew it was because, deep down, he’d been ready to leave. He’d been given the chance now to break free from the spell this company had over him.

  He couldn’t forget Anzai’s phrase.

  “I climb up to step down.”

  Anzai must have felt the same way Yuuki did now. It had been a rite of passage, an untying of the ropes that bound him to this place—the ascent on Tsuitate.

  Climber’s high.

  Anzai had been right. In his seventeen years at the company, Yuuki had plowed on down the reporter’s road, elbowing people aside as he went. He’d never even thought about stepping down. But Anzai had been able to read his mind. He could see in Yuuki’s heart that he was ready to call it quits. Or rather, that Yuuki was suffering from not being able to resign but not being able to stay on, either. Anzai had already made that decision for himself, and that was why he had invited Yuuki to join him to climb Tsuitate. He was going to push him to decide. Maybe ask him what kind of life he wanted for himself.

  It was almost midnight. Most of the pages had been finalized. Yuuki was checking the proofs of the front page. He read through it twice, then looked up at Kamejima.

  “Okay, Kaku-san. It can go down.”

  Kamejima made no response. He was staring so hard at Yuuki’s face, Yuuki was afraid he’d burn a hole in it.

  Yuuki stood up, took a deep breath, and laid his pin on the desk in front of him. Then he reached into his top pocket and took out his ballpoint and his red pen. He placed these on the desk beside the pin.

  “How are you going to support your family?” asked Kishi, staring straight ahead.

  “I’ll find something.”

  “Sounds irresponsible.”

  “The economy’s good. There’s plenty of work out there.”

  “So, was it a lie?”

  “What?”

  “What you said the other day when we went drinking.”

  “What did I say?”

  Kishi turned a stern eye on Yuuki.

  “You said you loved this job. That you were going to keep writing your whole life.”

  “That was what I used to say when I was young.”

  “I heard it with my own ears.”

  “Things have changed.”

  “Nothing’s changed at all!”

  It wasn’t only Kishi’s voice that had turned fierce. He leapt up and grabbed Yuuki by the collar. He had surprising strength.

  “Take the rural job or something! If you don’t want to be the chairman’s puppy dog, be a stray dog or a wild mountain dog instead. But keep writing. Write about the cherry blossoms or the summer festivals or stocking the rivers with ayu sweetfish, but just write something!”

  “Let go.”

  “I’m not letting go!”

  The shirt made a loud ripping noise.

  “I’m begging you, Kishi. Please let me go.”

  “No way. You can’t resign over something like this. If you’re going to resign, then do it when you’re ready to go.”

  He was shaken by Kishi’s words.

  “When you’re ready to go.”

  “Didn’t we start here at the same time? We’re colleagues! Don’t leave without me!”

  Kishi was baring his teeth now. Yuuki was struck by his colleague’s passion.

  He hadn’t noticed, but quite a crowd had formed around them. Kamejima was nodding in agreement. Yoshii was gripping his ruler. Inaoka was standing to attention.

  Reporters from outside the office had come in to join the crowd. Sayama looked grave, Hanazawa, his eyes bright red. Chizuko Yorita had both hands over her face and was looking at Yuuki through her fingers. Wajima was there; Tamaki, too. And Nozawa’s sulky face was peering through the gaps between everyone.

  “Yuuki-san,” began Sayama, stepping forward. “Whatever happens, you’ll always be our JAL crash desk chief.”

  Yuuki began to cry. He brought both hands down hard on the desk and hid his face. Surely this was the meaning of happiness. There couldn’t be anyone happier than him right now.

  He heard a noise. It was the sound of the fax machine starting up. He stared at the paper coming out. He knew that handwriting.

  To Yuuki-san,

  Thank you very much. I’ve decided to become a newspaper reporter. Ayako Mochizuki

  55

  September was on its way, and the record-breaking heat wave was finally starting to cool off.

  Yuuki was about to leave for the tiny one-man branch office in Kusatsu up in the north of the prefecture. He would stay there alone during the week and return to his family on weekends. But before he left, he paid one more visit to Anzai. He asked Sayuri if she could give him five minutes alone with his friend, so she left the room.

  Yuuki sat on the stool by Anzai’s bedside.

  “Hey! I thought I’d call in to see you.”

  It looked as if Anzai had gotten thinner. But the twinkle in his eyes was the same. In fact, Yuuki would have said they were sparkling today.

  The night before, Yuuki had gone back to the Jotomachi entertainment district and revisited the Lonely Hearts bar. This time he had managed to get the whole story from Mina Kuroda. He found out that Anzai had indeed been ordered by his bosses to collect information on Chairman Shirakawa in order to create a scandal.

  “So, Anzai, you were planning to leave the newspaper and go back to your climber’s way of life.

  “I climb up to step down. That’s what it meant, right?

  “But why did you ask me to go with you? Were you trying to tell me to step down, too?

  “You’re going to laugh. I couldn’t step down. Looks like I’m going to have to keep on living this crappy life for a while.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow, so we won’t be able to get together for a while.
I wish I could have heard your thoughts directly from your own mouth. Perhaps if I climb Tsuitate I’ll get it? But how am I going to do that now? You have to be there. There’s no way I can climb something like that without you.

  “Please wake up someday. Then we’ll be able to climb Tsuitate together.”

  Then it happened. There was a change in Anzai’s expression. Yuuki gasped.

  He’d smiled. Just slightly, but he’d definitely smiled. His eyes, his mouth, his cheeks, they’d all—

  “Anzai? Hey, Anzai! Can you hear me? Can you hear my voice? It’s Yuuki. You remember? Yuuki from the NKT. Hey!”

  He heard a noise behind him and turned. It was Rintaro who’d just come into the room, carrying a vase.

  “Hey, Anzai just smiled! Your dad—he smiled!”

  Rintaro smiled, too.

  “Yes, I know. Dad’s been smiling a lot recently.”

  “Oh. Oh, I see…”

  Yuuki turned back to Anzai.

  “You’re going to get better. I know you’re going to be out of that bed before long.”

  “Yes!” said Rintaro in agreement.

  “He’s definitely going to wake up. Because Anzai’s immortal.”

  “Yes!”

  Yuuki looked at Rintaro again. He looked very suntanned, and somehow a little stronger than before. His voice was also different. It would probably break before too long.

  “So, do you want to go up to the mountains with me sometime?”

  “The mountains?”

  “Yes, with me and my son. I think you’d have fun.”

  “Yes, I’d like to.”

  “I’ll be coming back most weekends to visit my family, so I’ll give you a call, okay?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Right, then.”

  Yuuki stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a rubber ball.

  “Let’s play a bit of catch first, shall we?”

  “Oh … Yes, please.”

  The two headed out.

  In the corridor, they ran straight into Circulation Department chief Ito, apparently on his way to visit Anzai.

  “So you’re off to the Kusatsu branch.”