Death by Choice

^{Chapter 8} FRIDAY

Five in the morning. A sense of the sea somewhere nearby. There was light all around by now, but the sky was like poured concrete.

Kita pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out, leaving the engine running. Outside, the air was cold and grass-scented. Before him stretched a gently undulating plain. If he couldn’t get himself eaten by vultures or foxes, at least he might be able to disintegrate into particles in the wide-open spaces someplace like this, and turn to fertilizer. A spare and simple burial of this sort would suit him perfectly, thought Kita.

The doctor had laid back his seat and was sound asleep. Kita set off into the plain, making his way among the tufts of tall grasses and plants he’d never seen before. The muddy red earth stuck to the soles of his sneakers as he walked along in search of a flat rock to lay himself down on. The chill morning air enveloped him. Suddenly seized with a need to piss, he found a suitable place and relieved himself. I’ll do this maybe twice more before I die, he thought. And I’d better make sure there’s nothing left inside me to emerge when I do die. Also, I’d really like to take a bath. And get some new clothes. And a haircut.

Behind him he heard the sound of someone pushing through the grass. He turned to see the doctor making his way towards him, out of breath. As always, his face was expressionless, but the exhaustion of the last few days showed in the stubble on his chin and in his sunken eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” Kita explained.

The doctor stared resentfully at him, breathing hard. He held a handful of plants in each hand. There were no flowers, and each limp, drooping leaf had five fingers, like a baby’s hands. “I’d heard about this growing here, but I never really believed it,” he said proudly.

“What is it?” Kita asked.

“Marijuana,” the doctor replied.

“You know about plants too, eh?” Kita said casually, turning away.

“It relaxes you, see. You need to relax before the big event,” the doctor said, like a sports coach. Kita felt a bit like an athlete before an important race.

They went back to the car, and the doctor laid the freshly picked marijuana on the hot hood. He launched into another unasked-for sermon.

“You dry it like this, then roll it into a cigarette to smoke it. That way you’ll die happy.”

“Is there a town nearby? I feel like a change of mood. There’s still a little time before the event.”

“There’s one about ten miles on from here I think.”

“Where are we?”

“I’d say we’re somewhere in the Yufutsu Plain.”

The sound of this name brought it home to Kita that there was no going back to Tokyo. He shouldn’t feel any more attachment to the place. There was no need to walk those familiar streets or climb those steep hills ever again. He’d never be back there in the crowds flowing past Shibuya Station or through the Shinjuku underground passages.

“The town will still be asleep, so we should take a bit of a rest too.” The doctor yawned, and with the fresh outdoor air in his lungs, immediately went back to sleep. Kita followed his lead, but once his eyes closed images from the past few days began to flit through his head. The face of Shinobu reading the Bible, and of Mizuho, whose days were spent with the phantom of her dead child, wafted through his brain like drifting smoke. His mother, whose mind had slipped back twenty years into the past, rose like steam before his eyes. And then he shifted into reminiscence mode.

“So I’m going to be leaving Mum and Mizuho and Shinobu behind,” he thought, and instantly his pulse quickened, and he opened his eyes. To shake himself out of it, he turned on the car radio. Good grief, there was a voice just like Yashiro’s, giving some Buddhist sermon! He hastily turned it off again.

Unable to stand this feeling of limbo any longer, Kita got out and collected the dried marijuana, got back in, slipped the car into Drive, and took off. This time, the doctor was soundly asleep.

At the first sign of human life in three hours, Kita came to a halt and asked through the window where he was. But there was no response. The old lady kept her mouth clamped firmly shut. Was there a hotel nearby? he asked. Still she remained silent, and only stared at him cross-eyed.

Giving up, he nodded to her and took off again.

In another fifteen minutes, he could feel he was very close to the sea. He turned off onto a side road, and drove along until the sea suddenly spread before his eyes. Realizing that he was almost out of gas, he turned off the engine. There was a lone farmhouse not far away.

“You want something there?” The doctor’s sleep had been interrupted for the third time.

“I’ll just go check it out,” Kita said, getting out. He was sure at least that the little tiled house wasn’t empty. There was a small farm truck parked in the garden, and a crouching dog warned him off with glowering eyes. He wasn’t much of a guard dog, though. Perhaps he was the shy, retiring kind, for he merely gave a couple of low barks.

One of the aluminium-frame windows slid open a little, and someone peered out. Before Kita could say “Good morning” the window slammed shut again, and there was the sound of running feet inside. Kita waited. Next, the window opened rather wider, and a middle-aged woman’s voice said, “What do you want, so early in the morning?”

“I’m gathering material for a radio show,” Kita replied.

There was a short pause. Then, “Who might you be?” the voice asked.

“My name is Kita. From the Tokyo radio station. I just managed to make it here on time.” He wasn’t thinking at all, but he sounded quite convincing. He knew he’d be asked what sort of material he was after. “That’s funny,” he muttered, looking at the name by the door. “This is the home of the Kikuis, isn’t it? I had an arrangement to come along early this morning for a personal interview.”

The door opened, and a middle-aged woman in an apron appeared. A girl in her mid-teens stared curiously out at Kita from behind her.

“Is your husband here?” Kita asked.

“He’s gone to Sapporo.”

“Oh dear, so I’ve missed him. That’s a shame. He must have forgotten. You didn’t know? We’d fixed it for me and a Tokyo doctor to come here and spend the day with you to see how you lived, for our program.”

“Ah.”

“We’ve driven right through the night to get here so we’re rather tired, and the doctor’s not feeling well. Would it be too much trouble to beg a place where we could rest a little? I do apologize for making such a request.”

Mrs. Kikui couldn’t disguise her bewilderment at being faced with this stranger, but she found herself unable to refuse the persuasive request that slipped so smoothly from Kita’s ex-salesman lips. “Well, if you don’t mind a place like this,” she said. It seemed there was no need hereabouts to lock the door even at night or while people were away. Where would her husband, who knew no one in Tokyo, have had the chance to become acquainted with Kita or the doctor? But around here, even a stranger was accepted once you’d met him, so Kita’s off-the-cuff request met with no resistance.

He called the doctor over, and they both went in to the living room. Mrs. Kikui was in the middle of preparing breakfast. Her daughter didn’t have school that day, but she too was up bright and early.

Kita and the doctor drank down the miso soup with tofu and spring onion that Mrs. Kikui made for them, and tucked into fermented beans and seaweed in soy. They downed two bowls of rice each. Finally, as they sipped their tea, she ventured a question. Just what kind of personal interview was it that her husband had agreed to? she asked, searching their faces.

“The theme of the program is How to Enjoy Life,” Kita explained. “I should confess that I myself am at the end of life. I’m going to die this afternoon. The plan was to consult with your husband about how to make the most out of one’s final time on earth.”

“He’s going to give the advice?”

“That’s right. I’m the one who’s going to die, see.”

In the airless silence that followed, Mrs. Kikui stiffened. It was her daughter who gathered the courage to remark that Kita looked pretty healthy, and didn’t seem like someone about to die. Indeed mother and daughter were looking a lot paler than him by now.

“Well, people can die or kill for no reason, you know,” Kita said in a low voice.

Mother and daughter swung round to stare at him. “There’s no money in the house,” the mother said, her voice trembling as she pulled her daughter to her.

“I’m pretty low myself. I’ve only got two thousand five hundred ninety. Mind you, I have a feeling the doctor there has quite a bit.”

The daughter gazed quizzically at Kita, face to face. “What are you here for?” she demanded. The doctor, meanwhile, was taking out his wallet. He produced twenty thousand yen, and laid it on the table.

“Thanks for the excellent food,” Kita said. Then he rolled over on the floor where he sat, settled himself in a prone position, and became engrossed in the television. A singer was playing reporter, chatting to the local fishermen in some seaside village.

The doctor finally opened his mouth. “Don’t worry about us, we’re just normal guys.”

But the mother and daughter looked incredulous. These two men in front of them were surely anything but normal. Whatever they were up to, robbery or sexual assault, the two women felt a definite danger in the air.

“We’d very much appreciate being able to take a bath and catch some sleep, if that’s okay with you.”

Mrs. Kikui’s worried face forced itself into a polite smile. “Well, we’re not a B&B, I’m afraid,” she said.

“I’m aware of that,” the doctor replied coldly. “We’ll pay ten thousand each,” he added.

“You’re going to, er, stay the night?” Desperate to protect herself and her daughter, she’d decided to do her awkward best not to aggravate these men.

“I’m just asking you to provide some rest for this gentleman before he dies. All we need is for you to draw us a bath, lay out some bedding, and keep quiet. We’ll be gone this afternoon.”

Mother and daughter looked at each other, seeming to read each other’s minds. The mother set about clearing up the breakfast dishes, while the daughter went off to run the bath.

While Kita was in the bath, the doctor apologized to the Kikuis for the sudden visit, and explained that he was there to try to talk Kita out of committing suicide. He had no intention of causing any harm to them, he explained. After all, they had nothing to do with Kita and his problems. Still, this was a man facing his own imminent death, and he was unpredictable. If they could help to soothe his nerves, he may calm down enough to see the folly of his suicide plans. Kita had no doubt come into the house on impulse, but his motive was surely a desire to spend a few last peaceful hours before he died. They didn’t need to do anything really, just let him rest. “I’ll guarantee your safety,” he finished.

Mother and daughter nodded as they listened, then laid out bedding in the guest room, plus some beer and two jerseys. The doctor asked the daughter if she could lend him either a Bible or a dictionary. She hesitated over the choice, then brought in a Bible, having decided this would work best to calm the heart of the intruder. The doctor proceeded to find a page of psalms that had a substantial margin of white page around the print, then tore it out and cut it into four. On each piece he laid some of the marijuana leaf that he’d picked back there on the plain and dried on the car hood, and these he deftly rolled into four joints. His idea was that a good bath, a drink of beer and a hit of marijuana would soothe and relax Kita physically and mentally, and inevitably lead to a weakening of the suicidal impulse. Then, when the moment was right, he’d telephone Shinobu and get her to talk Kita out of the whole thing. It was sheer chance that he’d found that marijuana, and that Kita had rocked up to the Kikuis’ home, but the doctor was following the ninja rule of seizing the opportunity as it arose.

After the bath, the two sipped beer, and drew on their biblical joints.

Next thing they knew, their eyes were drooping. A warmth invaded them, and their face muscles relaxed. The rays of the sun shining in through the window crept slowly towards them. Kita breathed in, and suddenly the room flashed bright. He felt he was in a noonday pool of sunlight. The doctor’s eyes were unfocussed. The corners of his eyelids were deeply creased.

Whenever Kita tried to move, his nerves twanged. His limbs felt like spaghetti cooked al dente. His torso felt fine, but his legs and arms flopped carelessly about. He stretched out his hand, but it seemed to move in a slowed down skip-frame motion. His brain felt as soft and wobbly as tofu in his skull. Any sudden change in the position of his face caused his grey matter to hit the side of his skull with a shudder. His mouth was dry, and the membrane clung to his tongue and upper jaw like cling film. Even a swill of beer didn’t unstick it.

It seemed to Kita as though his whole body had been plugged with sensors that responded vividly to the slightest stimulus of sound, colour and light. Each tick of the clock beat against his temples. His arms and feet responded to this steady rhythm, so that even though he was sitting cross-legged on the bedding, he felt as if he was dancing. Each time he poured a glass of beer, he was astonished at the huge sound it made. He began to hallucinate a waterfall close by.

The doctor turned on the radio, and the room filled with the sound of a Bach unaccompanied cello suite. The deep notes reverberated in every corner of Kita’s gut. He could even hear the slight friction of the bow as it came down to bite the string before a note. Soon the melody began to insinuate itself about the little room like a cat. Then before he was aware, Kita was chasing the cat, dancing a kind of Kita-style gavotte or saraband as the air tossed him gaily about.

The doctor had smoked the same amount of Yufutsu Plain dope, but he didn’t start dancing. Instead he sat jiggling his leg in time to the dance music, watching Kita’s antics with a big grin.

“Boy, this Yufutsu Gold sure does work,” he remarked to the daughter, whose white face peered in at them from the living room.

“It doesn’t for me,” she muttered grumpily.

The doctor roared with laughter. “You smoke a lot of this stuff?” he asked.

“We’re not allowed it at school, but it grows round the house, so I can have it any time I want.”

Kita too erupted into laughter at this. “I’d love to tell the kids back in Tokyo,” he exclaimed.

“So how is it? Does it make you happy?” The doctor’s grin was frozen on his face.

“This is great medicine, doctor. You look pretty happy too. I’m happy, the dog’s happy, Mum’s happy.” Kita burst into fresh laughter at his own words.

“I’m not,” said the daughter.

“You’re pissed off with things, eh?’

“Not especially.”

“Got a boyfriend?”

“No way. This is the country.”

“What sort of things do you like?”

“Taking photos.”

“What do you photograph?”

“Scenery and people and dogs and cows and stuff.”

“Would you take one of us, for the record?”

No sooner had Kita spoken than the daughter disappeared into her room and came back with an old Nikon single-lens reflex camera. The doctor tightened up his already grinning face, and Kita beamed blissfully. Click! went the camera. This would be the last photo of him, Kita told himself.

“What’s your name?”

“Aki.”

“What do you want to do in life?”

“I want to be a stewardess.”

At this, both men burst into fresh gales of laughter. Aki tutted in annoyance. “I don’t care what really, just so long as I get out of here,” she said.

“You want to travel?”

“Sure I do.”

“Would you like to be a star?”

“I couldn’t even make a hit singing folk songs, the way I look.”

For some reason, these blunt answers of hers were absolutely hilarious.

“You ever heard of Shinobu Yoimachi?”

“Yep. She’s the one who got kidnapped, isn’t she.”

“Did they get the guy?”

“Not yet. Like, she won’t say who it was, will she. I bet she fell for him.”

“Kita.” The doctor leaned over to him. “I’ll give her a ring right now. Would you like to talk to her?”

“No thanks. That kidnapping’s long in the past now. Hey Aki, it was me who kidnapped her, you know. That’s pretty cool, eh?”

“No way,” Aki said uncertainly, checking the doctor’s expression.

The doctor couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “It’s true,” he said.

Aki still couldn’t quite believe it, but a look of amazement came over her face, and she looked at Kita with evident awe. “Why did you donate the money to the Red Cross?”

Lying there holding a pillow, Kita replied, “A guy who’s about to die isn’t going to be able to use all that money,” and he burst into fresh laughter. “How would you use thirty million yen, Aki?”

Aki lowered her eyes and thought for a moment. “I’d give half to my parents, and go to Europe with the other half,” she replied.

“Why Europe? You should go somewhere warm. How about Tokyo?”

“I’ve never been outside Hokkaido. But a friend who went to Tokyo said that Sapporo’s got more going for it. And anyway, I don’t want to go south.”

The doctor mumbled that there were a lot of suicides in Europe. She glared at him with an expression that said, so what?

“Mr Kita, are you really going to die soon?”

“I sure am. Some way that feels good.”

“Why do you look so happy?”

“There’s no point being sad about death. What I’m saying is, there can be happy deaths.”

“Have you ever tried to kill yourself before?”

“No, this is my first time. It’s so exciting.”

“How are you going do it?”

“I’m going crash the white coffin I’m driving.”

“I think you should give up the idea.”

Kita rolled about, beside himself with laughter. Aki found herself grinning too.

“Yep, you should give up the idea,” the doctor, said, nodding vigorously. “The best way is to put an electric shock through the heart. Why not use an electric socket right here and do the job? You’re feeling really good right now, after all.”

Mrs Kikui had been listening in from the kitchen. Now she put her head round the door, kitchen knife in hand, and cried fervently, “Oh please don’t do that! Don’t commit suicide in this house, I beg you!”

She looked so desperate that both men were astonished for a moment, but they were quickly overcome with laughter again.

Knife still gripped in her hand, Mrs Kikui began to lecture Kita.

“You’ve no right to go throwing away the precious life your parents gave you, young man. I don’t know what’s happened to make you like this, all I know is suicide is stupid. Look at me, stuck here in this backwoods place, long years of poverty, tired out. I shouldn’t say it in front of my daughter, but there are times I’d like to die. But then I look at the sea, and I forget about it again. You should go look at the sea, you know. Go and throw all your pains and sorrows into the sea. If you stay alive, you’ll have all sorts of joys in your life. You’ll be able to eat all sorts of wonderful food. Pain and sorrow doesn’t last. Tell me now, what’s your favourite food?”

“Curry,” Kita murmured.

“Curry, eh? Right, I’ll make you some right now. A special curry with potatoes and venison. You’ll feel great again if you eat this. Don’t you give in. Crawl back out of that big black hole, and make your life a success. I won’t go telling the police or anyone else. Just make it through today, see in tomorrow, make it through tomorrow, and stay alive for the day after. I guarantee that day something good will come your way. Just do as I tell you, make it through the days. If you start wanting to die again, eat a big meal, look at yourself in the mirror, and give yourself a great big smile. If you want any more of those leaves there’s lots growing out in the garden here, I’ll send it down to you. You want some more beer? Or maybe you’d rather have sake? How are your shoulders, a bit tight? Aki, go give him a massage.”

Aki barely blinked. She did as told, and started massaging Kita’s shoulders with her thumbs. The ticklish sensation made Kita guffaw with laughter, at which Mrs Kikui, worked up by her own sermon, brandished the knife and yelled, “This is no laughing matter! You’ll pay for it if you kill yourself, you mark my words!”

This made the doctor choke with laughter. “You planning to kill a guy who’s just killed himself? You’ll fillet him with that knife of yours if you’re not careful. Watch out. I’m having this fellow’s organs, you know.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous!” she grumbled, as she retreated to the kitchen.

“Right, let’s get a bit of shut-eye.” Both Kita and the doctor had laughed themselves into a state of exhaustion. They couldn’t fight their drooping eyelids a moment longer.

Kita awoke to the smell of curry. For a moment, he wondered where he was. In the living room, Mrs Kikui was watching television, still in her apron. Kita spent a while in the toilet seeing to his needs, then combed his hair in front of the mirror. The doctor was still sound asleep. Mrs Kikui was about to speak, but Kita signalled for her to be silent, and sat down at the dining table. Hearing his stomach rumbling, she disappeared into the kitchen without a word.

She emerged with a curry containing whole potatoes and a slab of venison as big as a steak. Kita wolfed it all down. The marijuana seemed to have stimulated his appetite. The taste brought back happy curry memories for him. Ever since he was a boy, whenever he was feeling really low he’d always tucked into a bowl of curry, he remembered. The instant curry his Mum used to make always tasted exactly the same, and over the years, the taste had come to embody his own youthful disappointment with life. After he left home at eighteen, he’d gone on eating curries – curries piled high on plastic plates in student and later company cafeterias, in front of railway stations, in underground shopping malls. Everywhere and at all times, he’d swallowed down his own explosive emotions with a bowl of curry, and gone on obediently doing what the world wanted. Now at last, he didn’t need curry any more.

Kita changed out of the casual jersey he’d borrowed, back into his own personal clothing style again, whispered his thanks to Mrs Kikui for the great food and the useful consultation, and attempted to tiptoe out leaving the sleeping doctor behind.

“You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you now?” urged Mrs. Kikui, seeing him off to the doorway. Kita had slept off the marijuana high and returned to normal. He smiled at her, and replied that he was off to the sea to get rid of everything.

“You’re sure you shouldn’t take the doctor along? He’s your personal physician, isn’t he? After all, he came along with you to save you, didn’t he?”

“We’re parting ways. I’ll be fine on my own now. Where’s Aki?”

“She’s around somewhere. You take good care, now. Oh, wait a moment.” She disappeared into the kitchen and quickly re-emerged with something wrapped in cling film, which she handed to Kita. “Please take it. This came from the garden.”

It was a ball of freshly picked marijuana leaves. Boy, thought Kita, this was his lucky day. What kindness he’d received from this house he’d dropped in on out of the blue. His luck would surely hold this afternoon.

When he got back to the white Camaro, there was Aki in the passenger seat, holding her camera.

The doctor wiped his sweat, breathing heavily. He’d only just managed to escape from a dream in which the white Camaro came racing straight at his bed. Seeing no sign of Kita, he got up and went outside to search. Where was he? he asked Mrs Kikui, who was busy at her make-up. What? He’d headed off towards the sea?

Kita had gotten the better of him. Still in his borrowed jersey, the doctor hurried out, clutching his fifteen-pound bag. There was no sign of the white Camaro. How had Kita managed to turn on the engine? Hastily, the doctor arranged to borrow the family’s pick-up truck. Even if he couldn’t prevent Kita’s suicide, he must somehow manage to extend someone else’s life by transplanting those organs. A grim determination seized him.

Kita reluctantly agreed to take Aki as far as the town. But when they got there she remained stubbornly glued to her seat.

“Your Mum will be worried,” he told her, but she shrugged this off. “I’ll get pretty excited when I’m about to die, you know. You could get raped,” he tried, but she responded to this threat with a bluff, “That doesn’t scare me.” Was she prepared to lay her body on the line to prevent him from killing himself? Why were all these messengers cropping up to stand in his way? His problems all began with Heita Yashiro, then there was the ex-porn star, the four times failed suicide, the driver with the nihilist fixation, the old couple off on their journey to die on the wayside, and the Koikawa brother and sister who sold life insurance and body parts. When he’d gone to see his Mum he’d found her senile, and his old sweetheart Mizuho Nishi had lost her darling son and was in mental anguish. True, Shinobu’s Mass had soothed his heart, but then he’d somehow gone and abducted her, and thereby inflicted that doctor-turned-killer on himself. Then he’d had a lecture from the lady of the house he happened to drop in on, and now here was the daughter, firmly stuck to him.

Shinobu would say, “These are all messengers from God, you know. God has decreed that this man mustn’t be killed. These messengers are all using whatever means they can to massage your heart back to normal, and draw you away from the temptation of death.”

Right, thought Kita, I’ll send her a farewell message. He got out of the car and headed for a phone booth, with Aki shadowing him, clicking away with her camera. Maybe she was planning to record the last thoughts of someone condemned to Death by Choice.

No sooner had he dialled than Shinobu came on the line, as if she’d been sitting there waiting.

“Kita? Is that you? Where are you? Are you far away? Come back as soon as you can.” She sounded dispirited. He guessed that as soon as he’d gone those vultures had gathered around again to peck and harass her. “What’s the matter? Say something!”

“You OK?”

“No, I’m feeling absolutely lousy. Come back and abduct me again, Kita.”

“Sorry, honey, that’s not on. I have to tell you goodbye.”

“Don’t! I want to see you again! What reason have you got to die? What have you ever done that could justify this?”

“It’s recompense for my sins.”

“What sins? Abduction? No one’s blaming you for anything, Kita.”

“I stole a car.”

“So? Just give it back.”

“I ordered that Yashiro be killed.”

“The guy who killed him’s to blame for that. Not you.”

“I’ve done stuff you don’t know about. No one does, except me.”

“God will forgive you.”

“God may, but I don’t forgive myself.”

“What did you do? Tell me.”

“I killed a child.”

“When? Where?”

“When I was five.”

“Who did you kill?”

“I drowned my kid brother.”

“It must’ve been an accident.”

“No. My parents thought it was too, but it was me that killed him. No one blamed me. That’s why I believed that it really was an accident. I haven’t once told myself in all these thirty years that I killed my own brother. I’d forgotten my own sin. But then one day I saw two little brothers quarrelling on a riverbank and it all came back to me. It was no accident. At the time, I definitely wanted my little brother to drown. When I understood this, I just couldn’t stop crying. Thirty years later is too late to remember something like that. No one’s going to punish me now. A little boy’s life was ended at the age of three by his big brother. And his big brother lived on for thirty years and never paid the price. I was crushed at the thought. I went down to Kyushu in order to at least confess at my father’s grave. That’s where I made the decision to condemn myself to death. I decided to go and tell my mother, but when I got there I found she’d gone senile in the four months since I’d last seen her. So neither of my parents will ever know what I did. You once said the next world is a horrible place, didn’t you? But if such a place exists, that’s where I have to go. I want to find my kid brother and beg his forgiveness, and look after him. He was only in this world for three short years. He never got to taste the pleasures of this life. I want to tell him all about this world of ours. That’s why I gave myself a week’s grace, so I could taste some of its pleasures myself.”

“Your little brother has forgiven you, I’m sure of it. He’ll be wanting his big brother to go on living.”

“He died without knowing why. That really wrenches my heart. My own death is a different matter – it’s willed, and it’s justified. Neither Yashiro nor the doctor know the reason. They both think you can commit suicide without needing to have a reason. But I wanted to tell you. You refuse to accept that I could die for no reason, see.”

“Couldn’t you go on living, for my sake? Why did you turn your back on me when I suggested we should die together?”

“The time for love is past.”

“You can atone for your kid brother’s death even if you stay alive, you know. You can commune with the dead without having to die yourself. You just have to think about him. You’d forgotten till now, but from now on you can remember. Please, come back.”

“I’ve told you this already, but if I’m resurrected, I’ll come and see you. Thank you. Goodbye.”

Aki was there beside him as he headed back to the car, but he managed to trip her up and leap in before she recovered. He gave her a merry wave and took off, leaving her standing there disgruntled, snapping her last photographs of the rapidly retreating rear end of the white coffin. For some reason she’d found it quite elating to discover that this way of living, or rather dying, was possible. She’d hopped in to the car in the hope that he might abduct her too, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Still, it had given her a certain courage. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and leave home, she thought.

He’d better crash the car before the gasoline in the spare tank ran out, Kita decided. He’d find a bit of coastline just right for plunging the car into, and give himself a sea burial. After all, his kid brother had drowned. Where was he now? How far would wind-blown Cape Erimo be from here? That would be a good place to drive off a cliff. But at this rate, he was likely to grow old worrying over irrelevant questions. Better be quick. He’d had a pretty good last week. It was great to have thrown everything to the wind for once. He’d put up with too much in his boring life, God knows. This person called “Yoshio Kita” was a pretty bankrupt specimen. But this last week he’d been on a really good roll, so let’s say it had been a good life. He had loved. He’d had lots of great sex. He’d eaten his fill of seafood and curry. He’d donated lots of money to the Red Cross. He’d almost been poisoned to death. He’d gone to two hot springs, and smoked dope. The memory of this reminded him what a weird guy that doctor was. He hadn’t ever learned his real name. The guy would probably die a lousy death. He despised life, after all. Why should there be room in this crowded world for people like that? True, the world had turned out to be a crazier place than Kita had assumed. By average standards, Kita was a pretty regular guy after all. Well then, he should die the death of a normal citizen. Spur of the moment, and no second chance. Just slam the foot down on the accelerator. If he took off from the cliff edge at about a hundred thirty miles an hour, he’d probably achieve about the same distance as a ski jump. But maybe he should just take a peep over the edge before he went. There was an ideal curve right there. And – a lucky break – no hospital in sight.

Kita got out and looked over the cliff edge. It was about fifty feet high. Down below, foaming waves washed up over the black rocks. If he smashed through the guardrail and went over, he’d have to be pretty unlucky not to die. He’d probably need a run-up of no more than three hundred yards or so.

Right, was there anything else he needed to do before he took off? Not really, but why not pause and look at the sea? This was the sea that would be his grave, after all. That weedy stuff floating over there beyond the rocks where the waves were breaking must be kelp. It looked somehow like it was beckoning him with its long slippery arms. He’d soon be taking his eternal sleep cradled in those arms like a sea otter. A seaweed burial, eh? Not a bad thing, after all.

The only worry was how hard it might be to crash through the guardrail. It didn’t look all that solid, so he guessed he’d get through without any problem if he hit it at around a hundred thirty miles an hour. What did professional ski jumpers think about before a jump, he wondered? They always looked as though they were mourning lost love, but that was surely due to the tension. They were probably imagining the parabola of a perfect jump.

Why not take a piss? There wouldn’t be any public toilets on the banks of the Styx where he was going, after all. But for that matter, there were none here either. OK, his last piss by the side of a street. His last meal had been curry. His last companion in life had been Shinobu. The last person he’d shaken off in life was Aki. His last lover was Shinobu. His last love was Shinobu. The last thing he’d read in life was… the Bible, right? This looked a bit too good. OK, how about singing a last song? The old Shinichi Mori number ‘Nothing happens in the spring at Erimo.’ I guess nothing happens in summer there either. And Fall? Winter? Right, he’d taken his last piss. Now was the time for his last drive. No, hang on there. He hadn’t stood on his head for the last time yet. Why not try it? He hadn’t stood on his hands in quite a while. He checked left and right in case a car was coming, then put his hands down in the middle of the road.

He twisted his back as he went up, but he still managed to walk a few steps on his hands. In the old days he used to make it to fifteen steps. He’d aged. OK, exactly how long had he lived now? Let’s count up. Today was Friday the 13th. His birthday was also the thirteenth, so that made him exactly thirty-five years and six months old. What would he be doing tomorrow, if he were still alive?

Enough! Thinking about this on the day of your execution just made you sad. It was important to enjoy this Death By Choice. Yoshio Kita was going to go out with an erection and a blissful expression, like Saint Sebastian. Although he was feeling a little tense. Right, let’s try a bit of muscle relaxation. His last loosening-up exercises.

The sun peeped out from between the clouds. Come to bless him, eh? This needed some kind of fanfare. Shame the only audience was himself.

Right, that had the ol’ death hormones pumping now. Turn on the radio. They’d just set in on the prelude to Carmen. Fabulous timing. He was fired up and ready to go. Energy flooded him.

Turn the car around and back up five hundred yards. Another U-turn. Check the clock. Fourteen eleven. That would mean he died at around two fifteen on the thirteenth. That’s if the car’s clock was set right. OK Mr Yoshio Kita, you ready boy? The prelude was reaching its crescendo. Wait, he hadn’t written a will. Oh well, what the heck. He’d told his last wishes to Shinobu. Sorry doc, but my organs are going to be fish food.

Full throttle! Tyres screaming. There’s that tingle, really pumping. Ooh, here comes the erection. Man, this is almost too much. OK, here goes. Bye!

The guardrail leaped towards him. One good solid punch to the jaw and he was through. Suddenly there was something pressing hard against his chest. The air bag. The Camaro was airborne. Now it was falling. Up comes the sea. My God, what a force. Just like an ejaculation.

And then, a shock that went straight through his bone marrow.

Can’t breathe. Something pressing against his stomach. Something sticking into his shin. Pain. Was he in the sea? The car was sinking. Carmen still playing. This some kind of aquarium? Why didn’t the water come in? Goddamn, I’m still alive. Didn’t it work? Maybe I can’t die unless the water comes in. Maybe the glass’ll break if I just wait. Or should I break it? Intense cello music. And some sound like water poured onto a hot fry pan. Water! The water’s beginning to come in. This is going to take a while. Got to break the glass to lessen this pain.

Kick it. And again. What about the power window? Nope, broken. Head-butt it. The head’s the hardest part of the body.

The glass broke. Kita was swallowed by the sea.

Through the band of light above him, he could see a stream of bubbles rising. Fish had already come flocking around the Camaro where it lay on the sea floor, sounding it out. Kita had escaped the car and was floating in the water, bent over. Ah, it’s me, he thought. He felt he’d forgotten something in the car, so turned back to check. There was a child playing there, ducking in and out of the trunk. “Hey, what’re you doing? You’ll drown!” Kita called. “I drowned long ago,” the child replied.

“Are you my little brother?”

“Never laid eyes on you before.” This kid was only three, but he was sassy. Around him was a belt of kelp, covered with minuscule writing. Do you hate me, kid? I pushed you into the river. You must have suffered. I’m sorry. I wanted to see you again. To apologize… But the child had disappeared, leaving the kelp floating empty.

Kita was in a familiar child’s room. On the wall were the letters “WXY,” carved in the wood with a knife. In Kita’s mind when he was a child, this had signified the body of a woman having sex. These letters began to move, and shifted to the figure of his mother washing her hair in the bathroom. His kid brother was crying in the bathtub. Yoshio! Yoshio! came a cry. His father was digging a hole. I’m putting a pole up here for the koinobori carp streamers. Ah, I’m way back in the past. Looking up at the sky. I’ve seen this blue sky full of scaly clouds before somewhere. Sorry, Kita, I just can’t go on being with you any – Stop it, don’t apologize! You’ll kill my love. Now a child yelling, Papa! Papa! I’m not your Dad. Who are you? Is that Shingo? Do you recognize me? Yeah, you used to love Mummy, didn’t you? That’s right. You might’ve lived if I’d married your Mum, you know. No, you’re wrong. I’ve never been born. Shingo goes skating off into the distance. And now here comes Shinobu, riding in an Alfa Romeo. Kita! Come to the hospital with me. No, I hate hospitals. No no, don’t say that. I think I’m pregnant, see. My kid? Of course. So come on, quick, come to the hospital. But hang on there, I’ve just committed Death By Choice. Oh, everyone these days wants to die. Kids, middle aged folks… Did you know, my friend Jesus had a time when he wanted to die, when he was just past thirty. But before that he’d had a life and death battle with the world. He chose to lose the battle, and he won. You’re just like Jesus. Come on, quick! You’re going to be reborn.

I’m being sucked down a narrow tube. Am I off to the other world at last? My body’s being drawn out like a piece of spaghetti. This hurts. I can’t breathe. I can see a hole. A small hole. All I can do is try and escape through it. The other world must lie beyond it. A brilliant light is shining in. An unbearable tingle! Who’s doing this to me? Is this a sign I’ve arrived?