The Isle of South Kamui and Other Stories (10 page)

“The matter of a young man's suicide.”

“Ah, the youth suicide issue,” nodded Fujishima. “A huge problem, particularly in this country. First of all—”

In characteristically eloquent fashion, he rattled off how the youth suicide rate in Japan was the highest in the civilized world, how many youngsters had killed themselves in the past year and for what reasons, as well what measures against youth suicide were being taken in different countries. It was as though there were a number of drawers in his head, and whenever a specific issue cropped up the corresponding drawer automatically opened and the answers came flying out. Being able to instantly come up with answers for all manner of social issues was a valued talent in today's media, but for Sawaki, who had come to talk about one particular young man's death, Fujishima's intelligent, perfectly calibrated talk felt strangely lacking. Once he had made his main points, Sawaki quickly grasped the opportunity to interrupt.

“The young man in question was apparently an acquaintance of yours.”

“Is that so? In that case, he must have been a student at my university. If I'm perfectly frank with you, the university has now become so absolutely ginormous that unless he stood out for any reason I would never remember him. Not to mention the upheaval of the campus protests, ha ha ha!” he said, laughing off any sense of responsibility.

“No, he can't have been your student.”

“In which case, I'm even more in the dark.”

“His name was Shinkichi Yoshizawa. A twenty-year-old.”

“Yoshizawa?” Fujishima furrowed his brows. He appeared to have no memory of him.

“A week before he died, I believe he sent you a letter,” added Sawaki.

Fujishima called his secretary. “Miss Miyoshi, look and see if a letter came from someone called Shinkichi Yoshizawa, would you?”

The secretary nodded wordlessly and disappeared into the office, returning immediately with a sealed letter. Pinned to the envelope was a typewritten page. While Fujishima was casting his eyes over the page, the young woman took a seat next to him and, crossing her shapely legs, opened up a notepad on her knee. Sawaki thought he had seen this somewhere before, and then realized it was a scene from an American movie. It was the classic pairing of a dynamic executive and his beautiful and capable secretary. Sawaki smiled wryly.

“Now I get it,” said Fujishima. “Yes, the letter did arrive. This appears to be it.”

Sawaki glanced at the envelope Fujishima passed him. The sender was indeed Shinkichi Yoshizawa. The handwriting was the same as in the register at the Star Lily Inn.

“I have a number of top-class brains working under me,” Fujishima said running his eyes over the attached sheet of paper. “Most are graduate students, and according to this memorandum, Utsumi was in charge of this case. He has been away in England, so the reply was pending his return.”

Sawaki did not quite understand what Fujishima meant by being in charge of the case, but he wanted to read the letter, so with Fujishima's permission he opened the envelope.

Dear Dr. Kiichiro Fujishima,

My name is Shinkichi Yoshizawa. I have never met you, but I wrote to you about a year ago. I did not expect to hear back from someone as famous as yourself, so when I received your conscientious reply it was like a dream come true. I cannot tell you how much that letter encouraged me. I tend to get very lonely, and just the fact that a famous professor like you could be concerned about a nobody like me, gave me the support I needed.

But now I again feel that life is unbearable. I guess I'm not as strong as you said.

I am staying at a small hotel in Hokuriku called the Star Lily Inn. I plan to be here for one week. I know it is selfish of me to ask this of you, but I would really like to receive another encouraging letter from you while I am here. I am sure that if you write to me, I will again find the courage I need.

I look forward to hearing from you.

There was nothing in the letter to suggest Shinkichi had been contemplating suicide, and the contents were pretty vague. What was clear, though, was that he wanted a reply. He had been waiting in that musty old inn in Hokuriku just to hear from Kiichiro Fujishima. And that reply was never sent.

“It was one of your brains, Tetsuo Utsumi, who replied last year,” said the secretary in her clear alto voice.

“I share out responsibilities amongst my students,” said Fujishima by way of explanation. “Whenever we receive a letter, whoever replies to it assumes responsibility for any subsequent correspondence. Other less concerned commentators would not even consider replying, but I just can't bring myself not to. So I have a team of around twenty brains working on it. Of course I pay them out of my own pocket, and I'm always reminding them about their duty. In this case, too, Miss Miyoshi no doubt thought it appropriate for Utsumi to reply, and was keeping it until he got back from his trip.”

Sawaki remained silent, watching Fujishima's mouth moving. Fujishima looked quite self-satisfied, but for all he bandied words like “person in charge,” “brains,” “responsibility,” and so forth, in the end, all it amounted to was getting his students to ghostwrite his replies for him, wasn't it? But there was hardly any point in saying so. Ghostwriting in that world was par for the course, and if anything Fujishima's way of doing things was, as he said, conscientious. After all, he had sent a reply to a total stranger, even if it had been ghostwritten.

Nevertheless, if he had not been so concerned about getting the same person to write the second time, Shinkichi Yoshizawa would probably still be alive today
.

This bothered Sawaki. To put it even more bluntly, if no reply had been sent the first time, perhaps Shinkichi would not have set so much store by Fujishima. However Sawaki did not voice this either. To some extent, ghostwriting itself entailed relinquishing responsibility, so there was absolutely no point grilling Fujishima over his responsibility for a young man's death. Plus Sawaki also felt that it was not he who should get angry with Fujishima, but Toku Yoshizawa.

When Sawaki requested permission to keep the letter, Fujishima readily answered, “By all means.”

Sawaki asked just one last question.

“What would you think of a twenty-year-old guy with a wind-up toy monkey as a prized possession?”

“Sounds like a bit of a loser to me,” grinned Fujishima. “It suggests feminization. A guy like that doesn't belong in today's world. Men of his age should be grappling with something bigger than that.”

So he killed himself
.

Sawaki kept the thought to himself.

Back at the inn, Sawaki had expected Toku to react angrily when he gave her the letter addressed to Kiichiro Fujishima. At least that was what he was secretly hoping. He switched on his tape recorder at the ready.

Yet Toku said nothing even after reading her son's letter. He had kept the tape running in vain. Sawaki grew more and more irritated. He had in mind a particular scenario in which a mother who had lost her only son vented her anger against a social commentator turned celebrity who had acted irresponsibly. However clichéd it might sound, if it served to highlight the young man's death then he would be able to make an article out of it, but it all hung on Toku. If she maintained her silence, then nothing would come of it.

“If your son had received a reply to that letter, he might not have committed suicide. Don't you agree?” he said, half trying to goad a reaction out of her. The suggestion of a tremor briefly ran across Toku's features, but the words that eventually came out of her mouth were not those Sawaki was hoping to hear.

“But such a famous professor must be terribly busy—”

“But hey, that doesn't mean he isn't responsible. After all, someone died.”

Toku looked flustered by Sawaki's raised voice. “Thank you very much,” she said, abruptly bowing her head. “I had completely forgotten to thank you.”

“That's not what I meant!” grimaced Sawaki. It looked as though it would be impossible to get Toku to denounce Kiichiro Fujishima.

“There must be two more letters from your son. Shall we go looking for them?” he said, changing the subject.

They went out after lunch.

Sawaki just did not understand Toku. He understood her grief at losing her only son, but surely she was angry too? Perhaps she was still too immersed in her sorrow. Or maybe she was overwhelmed by Tokyo, this being her first visit to the capital.

First Sawaki took her to the laundry in Asakusa where Shinkichi had worked. It was quite a large shop, with three brand-new automatic washing machines lined up at the front of the store. When Sawaki stated the reason for their visit, the plump proprietor showed them into the living room at the back.

“He was such a good boy. I still can't believe he killed himself,” said the kindly looking man, looking alternately at Sawaki and Toku. Shinkichi had been a hardworking boy, and he had even raised his salary and could not think of any reason why he might have killed himself. The proprietor did not give the impression he was saying such things to be kind to Toku. He certainly did seem to find it an inconvenience that he was understaffed, having lost such a good worker.

“Did you receive a letter from him after he went away?”

“Yes, one did come,” the proprietor assented. “But it wasn't addressed to me. It was to Miyamoto, the lad who worked with him.”

“Can we talk to him?”

“He's already left. Straight after Yoshizawa went away, it was.”

“So what about the letter?”

“I sent it on to him.”

“So where is this Miyamoto now?”

“Last I heard he was working at that cabaret up the road. Chat Noir, it's called. The nightlife business is all that type of lad is good for, they think it's easy money,” he smiled sardonically at Sawaki.

Sawaki turned to Toku. “Shall we go and take a look?” She seemed a bit taken aback by the idea of going to a cabaret, but agreed to go.

They saw the Chat Noir as soon as they went out onto the main street, Kokusai Dori. Its enormous neon sign featuring a black cat was just beginning to flicker into life. However, Miyamoto had already left and they were told he was now working in a bar called Violet in Ikebukuro. Sawaki was shocked at such a drastic move, but he and Toku immediately hailed a taxi to take them to Ikebukuro.

They found Miyamoto working there as a bartender. Sawaki had imagined him to be a yakuza type, but he turned out to be a cheerful fresh-faced young man of about twenty-one or twenty-two.

“Anyone who hangs around wasting their time as a server in a cabaret is an idiot,” laughed Miyamoto proudly. Sawaki was unfamiliar with this world and had no idea whether a server or a bartender was the higher rank, but looking at the youth's self-satisfied air, he guessed the bartender was the more important. When he introduced Toku Yoshizawa, Miyamoto said, “Oh, so you're Shinkichi's mother?” as he deftly took an orange juice from the refrigerator.

Sawaki was half impressed by his smooth manner, but he also felt something rather cold about it. The youth seemed even more worldly wise than Sawaki was at thirty-two, although Sawaki did not feel much sincerity in him. But that was probably what was considered “cool.”

After taking a sip from the highball placed in front of him by Miyamoto, Sawaki ventured, “I believe Yoshizawa sent you a letter before he died?”

“Yeah,” agreed Miyamoto.

“Have you got that letter with you now?”

“I guess. Wait here a moment, please.”

Miyamoto whispered something to the manageress before leaving the bar and going upstairs.

Toku sat stiffly leaving her juice untouched. She was apparently ill at ease in the bar. Sawaki had just said a few words to her in an effort to put her at ease when Miyamoto returned with the letter.

I'm in a small inn in Hokuriku right now. It's called the Star Lily Inn. I told everyone at work that I wanted to go on a trip, but the truth is I ran away. I don't really understand it myself, but I've somehow lost my confidence at work, and I'm feeling so scared I can't bear it. You'll probably laugh, but living in Tokyo is really scary. I envy you. You're brave. Probably only people like you are capable of living in Tokyo.

You said that working in the laundry was really dumb and that you were going to work in a nightclub or something, but I don't think I can do that. But then, I don't want stay in the same job—that scares me, too. I can't really explain, but I feel like I've been shut up inside a small box and I can't breathe. Won't you come up here now? If I go back to Tokyo in this state, I get the feeling I'll be stuck in the same rut again. I want to be able to talk to you here, whilst looking out to sea. I think, if I can do that, I'll be able to get the courage I need.

Please come. There should be two thousand yen in my desk drawer, so use it to pay for the travel expenses.

There was nothing that hinted of death in this letter either. Compared to the one sent to Kiichiro Fujishima there was a heightened sense of anxiety, but even so the contents were pretty vague, and as for the part about feeling like he was in a small box— Sawaki could not quite fathom the precise nature of his unease.