If Cats Disappeared From the World

by Genki Kawamura

  And as we sat there in silence for twenty-six hours I think we both realized that was the end. I mean, of us. We were so very over.

  How strange. We had both felt like we were meant to be together, and both of us had seen the end coming.

  I couldn’t take the long hours of silence so I started to read back through the travel guide. There were photographs of a massive mountain range. There was Mt. Aconcagua located on the border between Argentina and Chile, the highest peak in South America. I turned the page and there was the figure of Christ the Redeemer of the Andes on top of a mountain, towering over the surrounding area. I wondered if Tom ever made it there, or whether he died before getting a chance to see it.

  I imagined Tom getting off the bus and gazing at the beautiful earth spread out below the mountain peaks. As he turns around he notices the huge shadow of the cross and looks up to see the figure of Christ, arms open in a welcoming gesture. The sun hangs in the sky behind the statue at shoulder height, silhouetting it brightly against the clear sky, and Tom squints as he stares up at this vision of light.

  I began to well up. It was too much so I turned to look out of the window of the plane. Outside I could see the ocean filled with icebergs stretching on and on into the distance. The setting sun gave the endless sea of ice a purple hue—it was so beautiful it was almost cruel.

  Twenty-six hours later we were back in our little Monopoly town.

  “OK, see you tomorrow.”

  She shouted over her shoulder as she got off at her station and headed down the steep hill just as she always did. I saw her off, silently watching the figure with perfect posture move gradually into the distance.

  A week later we broke up. One short five-minute phone call and it was done. Just like that. It was like filling out a change-of-address form or something at the local council office. A short, businesslike conversation and it was all over. Over time we had clocked up more than a thousand hours in telephone conversations, and now all it took was five minutes to end the relationship that had been the basis of it all.

  The telephone made it easy for us to get in touch quickly, but in exchange, we missed out on the chance to get to know each other in a profound way, to become truly close. The phone did away with the time needed to develop real feelings and memories, and finally what feelings there were just evaporated.

  My phone bill, which arrived without fail each month, would list a total of more than twenty hours’ worth of calls, with a charge of 12,000 yen. I don’t remember us ever talking about whether the cost of talking on the phone was worth it. I wonder how much I was paying per word.

  We could talk all we wanted over the phone, but that still didn’t guarantee that we’d really have a deeper connection. And then, when we stepped out of the Monopoly game we’d been playing around our little college town, and into the real world, we found out that the old rules—the only things that made our relationship possible in that particular time and place—no longer applied.

  In any case, the romance between us had been over for a while. For some reason we’d carried on playing anyway, following all the rules. All it took was a few days in Buenos Aires to make it obvious to us that those rules had become meaningless.

  But one small morsel of pain remained. Just one little regret. And that is the feeling that if we had just had our phones with us on that flight back to Japan, maybe, just maybe we could have talked about our feelings and wouldn’t have had to break up. Monopoly was over, but maybe we could have tried a new game.

  This is how I pictured it:

  We’re on the plane and God brings us telephones. So I call her (even though she’s sitting right by me) and start to speak.

  So what are you thinking about?

  You go first.

  I’m sad.

  Me too.

  I was thinking about you.

  I was thinking about you too.

  So what are we going to do?

  I don’t know. What should we do?

  I just want to go home.

  Yeah, me too.

  So what shall we do next?

  I don’t know.

  Why don’t we move in together?

  That might be a good idea.

  We can have coffee at home.

  And cocoa.

  If only we’d had telephones with us then . . .

  We could have talked on the phone during the whole flight back to Japan. Not about anything special, necessarily—just talking would have been enough, so the other would know someone cared. It would have been nice to have taken the time to listen to what the other was feeling. If only . . .

  I still remember the faint smile she gave me when we said goodbye at the station near her house. That smile became a small wound that opened somewhere in the back of my brain. It acted up on rainy days like an old football injury.

  But when I think about it, I guess it’s not that unusual. I mean, I must have a whole collection of small injuries, tucked away somewhere in the back of my memory. I suppose that’s what some people call regret.

  “Um, so about today . . .”

  The sound of her voice suddenly brought me back to the here and now. I realized that we’d arrived at the movie theater where she lived.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I said a lot of mean things to you.”

  “Oh, no big deal. It was interesting.”

  “But you remember, right, we made a promise?”

  “Huh?”

  As usual I had forgotten what she said.

  “Don’t you remember? We promised that if we ever broke up we’d say what we didn’t like about each other.”

  That’s right. We had made a deal. We promised that we’d admit all the things we didn’t like about each other if we ever broke up. We thought that way we’d learn something about love, about being in a relationship. The lover is the eternal teacher. I’m pretty sure I used those exact words (without any irony!). At the time, she said she couldn’t imagine ever breaking up with me. I felt the same way.

  “So I told you everything I didn’t like about you. Just so you’d know before you die.”

  She was clearly enjoying this—she let out a little laugh.

  “Thanks for keeping your promise. Even though it’s not exactly what I want to hear when I’m on the brink of death.”

  I laughed too.

  When we began our relationship, I just couldn’t imagine it would ever end. I just assumed that because I was happy she must be happy too. But a time came when that was no longer the case. Feelings can’t always be mutual.

  Love has to end. That’s all. And even though everyone knows it they still fall in love.

  I guess it’s the same with life. We all know it has to end someday, but even so we act as if we’re going to live forever. Like love, life is beautiful because it has to end.

  “You’re going to die pretty soon, right?” she said, opening the large, heavy doors of the movie theater.

  “You make it sound like it’s no big deal.”

  “Well, I was just thinking I could do a screening of your favorite film for you, one last time, if you know what I mean?”

  “Wow, thanks.”

  “OK, be back here at nine tomorrow night. It’ll be an after-hours showing. Bring a film that you love.”

  “Will do.”

  “Oh, and before you go, I do have one question.”

  “Not again!”

  “What’s my favorite place?”

  Oh man, what was it? I’ve forgotten everything.

  “OK, so you don’t remember, right? Then we’ll make that your homework. Come back with the answer tomorrow night.”

  And with that, she closed the movie theater’s large doors.

  “See you tomorrow,” she mouthed through the glass.

  “OK. Tomorrow!” I shouted back.

  The street went dark the moment the theater lights were turned off.

  I stared at the old brick movie theater for a while, under the red and green ligh
ts of the sign. It had been a strange day.

  Phones had disappeared from the world, but what had I lost?

  I had trusted this device with my memory and my relationships, and when it suddenly disappeared, the anxiety was overwhelming. More than anything, it was really inconvenient. I felt so lonely and helpless waiting under that clock tower—more than I thought I would.

  With the invention of mobile phones, the idea of not being able to find the person you’re supposed to be meeting disappeared. People forgot what it meant to be kept waiting. But the feeling of impatience at not being able to get hold of her, the warm feeling of hope, and the shivering cold were all still fresh in my mind.

  Then suddenly I remembered—of course. That’s it. Her favorite place. This is her favorite place. Right here. The movie theater!

  That’s what she’d always say back then.

  She felt as if there’d always be space for her, a seat just for her, at this movie theater. As if her being there made the place complete.

  That’s what she always told me.

  Now I knew the right answer, I had to tell her right away. My hand dived into my pocket to grab my phone. But of course, damn! It wasn’t there. No more phones . . .

  This was so annoying. I really wanted to let her know right away. I looked back at the theater as I made my way slowly back up the street. Then I remembered what it was like when I was a student and I’d wait for her to call. It felt the same way now. I wanted to let her know what I was thinking right away, but couldn’t. And strangely enough, it was when I couldn’t speak to her that she was on my mind the most.

  In the old days before mobile phones and email it would have been a letter. People would imagine their letters reaching their loved one and wonder how they’d react. Then they would eagerly wait for a letter in reply, checking the mailbox each day. Presents are like that too. It’s not the thing itself, but what it might mean to the person you give it to, and it’s their expression and how happy they’ll be to receive it that you have in mind when you pick the gift.

  “In order to gain something you have to lose something.”

  That’s what Mom always said. I remember, that was the day the sneezing suddenly stopped. She was stroking Lettuce, who was curled up on her lap, and said it with such conviction.

  I thought about my girlfriend as I looked up at the theater sign, and I began to feel her words weighing down on me.

  “I mean, you’re going to die pretty soon, right?”

  Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in the right side of my head. My chest was tight and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I felt so cold I began to shiver, my teeth chattering.

  So I guess I’m going to die after all.

  No, I don’t want to die.

  I couldn’t hold myself up any longer and fell to my knees in front of the movie theater. Suddenly I heard my own voice behind me.

  “I don’t want to die!!!”

  I turned around in surprise.

  It was Aloha.

  “Got ya, didn’t I? Man, should’ve seen the look on your face!”

  There stood Aloha in the subzero temperature wearing his trademark Hawaiian shirt and shorts, sunglasses perched on top of his head. Where there had been palm trees and American cars, he now sported a shirt printed with dolphins and surfboards.

  What a b— Try putting on some clothes, will you. I was so pissed off, but I couldn’t afford to get angry.

  “So, dude, you got a date. Hey, I’m jealous. I’ve been watching from the sidelines all day. Looked like you were having a great time.”

  “Wait, you were watching us the whole time? Where were you?” I asked, breaking out into a cold sweat.

  “Up there.” Aloha pointed with his finger up at the sky.

  I couldn’t handle this guy anymore.

  “But anyway, seriously, you don’t want to die yet, right? You’re getting to be pretty attached to life.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “Oh, there’s no doubt about it, you don’t want to die! It’s the same with everyone.”

  It was embarrassing, but I had to admit it. Or to be fair, it’s not that I didn’t want to die, it’s just that I couldn’t take the fear of facing death, of approaching the end.

  “So anyway, time for your next step. I’ve decided what you’re giving up next.”

  “What?”

  “This!”

  Aloha pointed at the movie theater.

  “So how about it? We get rid of movies in exchange for your life.”

  “Movies . . . ?” I said under my breath, gazing up at the movie theater, my vision getting fuzzier.

  I think of all the times I went to the movies with my girlfriend, and the endless films we saw together. Various scenes float before my eyes: a crown, a horse, clowns, a spaceship, and a silk hat, a machine gun, the vision of a naked woman . . .

  Anything can happen in the movies: clowns laugh, spaceships dance, and horses talk.

  I must be having a nightmare.

  “Help!”

  I called out, but could barely hear my own voice. I passed out then and there.

  WEDNESDAY: IF MOVIES DISAPPEARED FROM THE WORLD

  In my dream the man says, “Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot.” The little tramp wears a silk hat and an oversized suit, twirling his walking stick as he approaches. I’ve always been moved by these words. When I first heard them and even more so now. I want to tell him how important they are to me but I can’t get the words out.

  The little man continues: “There’s something just as inevitable as death. And that’s life.”

  Yes, I get it! For the first time I understand the significance of these words, now that I’m so close to death. Life and death have the same weight. My problem is just that for me the scales are starting to tip more toward the latter.

  Until now I’d been living as best I could, and I don’t think I was doing too badly. But now, all I seem to have left is regrets. It feels like my life is gradually being crushed by the overwhelming weight of death.

  The man in the suit seems to know what I’m thinking and comes over, stroking his little toothbrush mustache. “What do you want meaning for? Life is desire, not meaning. Life is a beautiful, magnificent thing, even to a jellyfish.”

  That must be it. It has to be. Life has meaning for everything, even a jellyfish or a pebble by the side of the road. Even your appendix must exist for a reason.

  So what does it mean when I make something disappear from the world? Isn’t that an unforgivable crime? With the meaning of my own life so up in the air, I’m beginning to wonder whether I might actually be worth less than a jellyfish.

  The funny little man in the suit comes even closer. Now I recognize him. It’s Charlie Chaplin. He stands there right before my eyes and holds his hat in front of his face. He makes a sound like a meow, and when I look again I see a cat wearing a top hat. I tried to cry out again, but still couldn’t make a sound. The next thing I knew I was leaping out of bed.

  I looked at my watch. It was 9:00 in the morning.

  Cabbage was looking at me with a worried expression. He meowed and then curled up by the pillow. I stroked him gently. So soft and warm, and fluffy-feeling . . . This was what life felt like.

  Finally the cogs in my brain started to turn again, and gradually the events of the previous night came back to me. I had collapsed in front of the movie theater after coming over all cold and dizzy. But after that was a total blank. My head still hurt a bit and I had a slight fever.

  “OK, OK, c’mon now, what is this? Don’t be such a drama queen!”

  I was calling from the kitchen. I mean, not me, but my Devil doppelgänger.

  “Oh, give me a break. It’s only a cold!”

  “What do you mean, only a cold?”

  Aloha’s red shirt was so gaudy it hurt my eyes.

  “I’m saying, it was just a cold and I had to drag you all the way back here. That’s hard work, dude, even for a devil!�
�

  Aloha poured some hot water into a mug, added honey and lemon, and began stirring.

  “You seemed to be suffering so much I thought you were going to die.”

  Aloha brought over the mug and plonked it down beside me.

  “Well, sorry . . .”

  I sipped the sweet and sour liquid. It was delicious.

  “Just so you know, this life-prolonging treatment has always worked out for me in the past. Always. We’ve come this far. If I mess up, God will be angry with me, OK?”

  “I’ll be more careful in the future . . .”

  “You’re not exactly in a position to be talking about the future, OK? You just remember that!”

  There was always something with Aloha. But there was nothing much I could do about it. The guy was throwing me a lifeline.

  “Miaaa . . .” Cabbage let out an exasperated meow and then got up and left. Apparently even he’d had enough.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  Aloha waited for me to finish the honey-lemon and then resumed giving me the third degree.

  “About what?”

  “Oh, c’mon now . . . we’re talking about what you’re going to make disappear from the world next.”

  “Oh, right . . .”

  “Next it’s movies.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do we go ahead? Press the delete button, or would you rather quit right here?”

  If movies disappeared from the world . . .

  I tried to imagine what it would be like.

  It wouldn’t be easy. I’d lose my main hobby.

  OK, so I realize it was a bit late in the day to be waxing lyrical about hobbies (I mean with the whole death thing and all), but I’d bought so many DVDs . . . what a waste. And I just bought new box sets of Stanley Kubrick and Star Wars.

  Mmmm . . . did it have to be this way? I guess my life depended on it. Literally.

  “Hurry up, hurry up!” Aloha was pressing for an answer. But this was a serious problem. I needed to think a minute.

  “So does it have to be movies?”

  “Yes.”