Yeah, I guess four hundred yen must be the limit if you’re living on part-time wages, I said, laughing.
Of course it is, Honoka said with a smile. I’m not as rich as you are, sensei.
But back in my college days it was even worse, you know.
Really?
Sure it was!
Then I’ll cut down on my expenses even more!
What? You don’t have to follow in my footsteps, you know.
At that point Honoka fell silent, and then said, But even Raita-san isn’t eating properly, I think.
He should still be in detention, so as far as food is concerned, as long as people visit him with gifts, he’ll be eating surprisingly well, actually.
But I don’t think there’s anyone who’d do such a thing for him, since his father has passed away as well.
"In that case why don’t the two of us go pay him a visit, with some presents?
How about after a little while longer? Honoka asked with earnest eyes.
How much longer?
About a year, she said in a clear-cut way.
A year, huh? I murmured, looking her straight in the eye. You knew, didn’t you?
Honoka looked at me in silence.
You knew what Raita was up to, didn’t you? I finally realized that you did when we went to the district court together last week. Until then I didn’t understand, although I must say it was rather remiss of me not to.
Honoka lowered her hands from the table to her knees, straightened her posture, and bowed. I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him. I’m totally ashamed.
I wish you had at least consulted me.
Honoka apologized again before saying, I went to your apartment, sensei, on the fifteenth, but you weren’t there.
Is that right?
Yes sir.
On that day I was back in Kitakyushu. It was the first O-Bon since my mother died, so I was in the countryside, in my hometown.
I see, Honoka said, lifting her teacup and slowly sipping her tea.
Why the fifteenth? I said, taking a sip of my coffee.
I became convinced that Raita would go through with it.
And what convinced you?
Well, on that day, Prime Minister Udagawa paid an official visit to the Yasukuni shrine, right? Raita-san was saying that if the prime minister went to Yasukuni this year also, he’d have no choice but to go through with it.
Indeed, Udagawa had paid a visit to Yasukuni last year on the anniversary commemorating the end of the war, to much harsh protest from Korea, China, and other southeast Asian countries. Nonetheless, he still went ahead with an official visit to the Yasukuni shrine, in brazen defiance.
Raita-san kept saying that he just couldn’t forgive Prime Minister Udagawa after he heard him saying, ‘When I think of all those kamikaze pilots I can’t sleep at nights, and as an individual citizen I consider it a manifest duty to visit Yasukuni.’ He said that he couldn’t accept, in whatever shape or form, any idealization or romanticizing of war, and that even the glorified kamikaze pilots, in the end, were undeniably murderers—they flew out to kill human beings of other nations. It was a mistake to treat them as heroes, he kept saying. He said as long as there’s even just one person objecting among the people who were invaded and victimized the prime minister had no right to go to the Yasukuni Shrine in their name. Raita-san believed that it was men like him—men who’d do such a thing so shamelessly—who had driven the youths of that time to commit suicide attacks. And so he said he had to rise up and take action, if the prime minister went ahead and worshipped this year as well.
So that’s what it was all about … I said, sighing. Justifying the stabbing of the Prime Minister on such grounds is a dangerous idea, disproportionate to the political statement made by an official visit. Terrorism is war itself, after all.
Ever since President Nakagaki passed away, Raita-san began to visit the gym regularly to get himself all pumped up. As for his part-time jobs, he always chose rough stuff like roadwork. I was told of his intention to attack Prime Minister Udagawa at the end of July, when he said that he wouldn’t be able to see me again for a long time. But because he said he might not go through with it if the prime minister didn’t go to Yasukuni, I prayed desperately every day afterward—I prayed, please don’t go to Yasukuni! When I saw the news of his official visit, though, I lost all hope. By then, I could only talk to Raita-san when he’d call me occasionally, and he never told me about his part-time job at the TV station. So on that day I got into a state of panic and went to your apartment, sensei. But you weren’t there. I was waiting for you inside until midnight.
Well, you should’ve called me, or at least left a note.
"I just couldn’t. Raita-san specifically told me to keep my mouth shut. I promised I wouldn’t tell a soul. But in
return I also made him promise."
What’d you make him promise?
Honoka looked down and hesitated for a while. When she finally raised her face her eyes were brimming with tears, ready to spill at any moment.
Not to die, no matter what. ‘If you commit suicide,’ I told him, ‘I’ll certainly follow and die as well.’
Drinking up my remaining coffee, I averted my eyes from Honoka, who was now crying, and paid attention to the fading light outside the window.
I’m sorry. That’s all I was able to tell him at the time. I really don’t know why, now that I think about it; I don’t know why I wasn’t able to become more assertive and actually stop him. I should’ve at least told him that I’d die on the spot the moment he committed a crime! I don’t know why I couldn’t say something like that. I guess I really didn’t want to look bad in Raita-san’s eyes. I guess I didn’t have any self-confidence at all. I guess I was only thinking about myself. And that’s why I really couldn’t do anything for Raita-san in the end.
For a while Honoka continued to cry quietly.
As I watched her, I thought that both Raita and Honoka, each in their own way, were trying to come to terms with their own death, to make peace with death, and in so doing, find happiness. This was surely the right thing to do. It was far more virtuous and honorable than anyone or anything. In reality, the question of the purpose of life, the question of what becomes of you, is perhaps pointless. After all we humans only live to die, our bodies being reduced to ashes in due time.
The acquisition of material satisfaction, status, fame, victories over your competition, or winning praises from others—such things amount to nothing more than building up a tower, higher and higher. They’re only a desperate attempt to escape the collapse of life called death; a bitter struggle to remain far removed from it. As long as you measure your happiness by your distance from death, no matter who you are, you’ll have no choice but to keep accruing the fruits of meaningless deeds. But when a person finds happiness only by overcoming material hardships and suffering, in the end—dragged into the dark swamp of death—he’ll meet total annihilation.
A happiness that hinges on how far you can remove yourself from a ruinous death, how much you can keep your mind off it, is no happiness at all; it’s nothing. The higher such a precarious tower of happiness becomes, the more your inevitable fall—your destiny of falling from a height one day—will end up being rewritten as a tragedy. In our final moment, flung out into the midair of nothingness, during the long, long horror that lasts until we sink into the sea of death, we won’t be able to help but resent and curse the day we were born.
Death is something like the surface of the sea.
The moment we pass through the surface we’re underwater. What lies there is an utterly new world where the death we fear and the love we yearn for are nonexistent. It’s a world that lies past death; one that’s difficult to imagine, yet never impossible to imagine.
This is what I believe: that true happiness must be intimate with death, that true happiness is indeed a happiness that is found ever so close to death, ever so close to the surface of its sea.
You s
aid to Eriko that getting to know him was a miracle, didn’t you? I said.
Honoka had finally stopped crying.
She wore a slightly perplexed look, and murmured, There are no such things, I think, as miracles in this world. And then she added, Eriko-san is a very good person, but she’s entirely different from you, sensei, and from Raita-san and me.
How right she was, I thought. Compared to us, Eriko was surely a different type of human being.
What are you going to do from now? I asked. Are you working on a seminar paper?
Yes. I’ve got nothing else to do, so I’m putting together a thesis, but I don’t know if I’ll be submitting it yet. I intend to stay on for another year anyway.
Oh that’s right, so you said.
What about you, sensei? What are you going to do?
The question was sudden and I didn’t quite understand what she meant.
About what?
About Eriko-san.
Who knows? I’m not sure really.
"I think Eriko-san’s someone who’s good at anything, like all sorts of things, you know. There are people like
that, aren’t there?" Honoka finally had a smile on her face.
Sure there are, I laughed.
I’m positive Eriko-san can make the two of you work as a couple, sensei. I think you should just leave the matter in her hands, let her be in charge to work out the kinks, you know.
What do you mean, let her be in charge?
I mean let her do as she likes, and as for you, all you have to do is stay silent and keep still. It’ll be good for you. You deserve to take better care of yourself anyway.
She had a condescending look, as if to mock me for not understanding even such a simple thing.
You think?
Yes, I do.
Thereafter Honoka spoke in a pensive tone. There’s something that occurred to me when I started looking for a job. You see, every person in the personnel department of every company inevitably asked, ‘Can you continue working even after having a baby?’ Although other girls I know seemed to have become fed up, simply replying, ‘I’m not going to have a baby,’ I plainly told the interviewers, ‘I’ll have a baby, and when I do I intend to leave the company.’ Then the interviewer would say, ‘Don’t you think that’s irresponsible of you and disrespectful to the company? In fact, don’t you think such thinking makes you unworthy of being considered as an adult member of society?’ There was even one person who said, ‘Why did you even think about applying for a job with us in the first place?’ My answer to these people was ‘I want to join the workforce and learn things that’ll help me give birth to a healthy child and raise him or her in a proper fashion, and I also wish to build a solid financial foundation for myself before I give birth to my baby.’ Then all of those interviewers would agree, saying something like, ‘What you’re saying is correct.’ And then all the companies ended up keeping me on their shortlist. In the end, though, as expected, none of them accepted me. But then a thought occurred to me: everyone in this world is suffering because, even though they understand the truth, even though they know what’s right and what’s wrong, they can’t do anything about it. I’m really glad I went out searching for a job, you know. Thanks to the experience, I realized that there’s nothing for me to do but to find my own way in life. I realized that relying on someone or following the herd wasn’t for me. And that’s why I decided I want a little more time. When I see Eriko-san I get inspired because I see a person who’s living in the way I want to; she has her own approach toward life—she’s living life on her own terms. Sure, she’s not like us at all, but I can respect her. And that’s why I’m also confident that she’s quite capable of making her relationship with you work too, sensei.
Without saying anything, I tried to weigh Honoka’s words, but it was no use: I just couldn’t ponder them too deeply. Lately, I feel as though my interest in other people’s expressions, gestures, and words isn’t as strong as it used to be. This was particularly true where Eriko was concerned. While I’m not so sure I should let Eriko do as she pleases, as Honoka advises, I no longer find myself taking Eriko too seriously, as I once used to. But that’s not to say that my interest in her has waned. Quite to the contrary, since that day of November tenth, we’ve been in touch with each other, more than ever before, discussing various topics and seeing each other almost every day.
I decided to place the matter of myself on the back burner and, instead, focus on more carefully ascertaining Honoka’s state of mind, and to that end I was about to speak, when I heard the brief wail of a siren. I looked around.
It’s the bell signaling the start of fifth-session classes, Honoka said, standing up quickly with her teacup and empty plastic bottle. Thanks for your time today.
She bobs her head.
I stand up.
Exiting the northern wing of the school building, we followed the path lined with ginkgo trees back to the gateway.
As expected, a cold wind had started to blow. Honoka seemed cold, drawing her coat lapels more tightly around her chest.
Sensei, are you going back to your office?
Yeah, I’ve got some work to finish up.
I guess being a salaryman is tough, after all, she said in a relaxed voice, following me up to the main street ahead.
A taxi promptly came to a halt. When the door opened, Honoka said behind me, Sensei, please don’t worry about me anymore.
I turned to face her as I climbed into the car.
After a year, she went on, let’s all go meet Raita-san, the three of us together. We’ll take along plenty of delicious things.
When I said, Sounds good, her face lit up with a wonderful smile.
The door closed, I mentioned the destination, and the taxi took off.
Honoka was waving with that smile still on her face. I took a deep breath and waved back. After her rapidly receding figure disappeared I leaned back into the seat of the car and felt my energy draining.
One year, huh? … I murmured in my mind. At that moment, one year felt like such an unimaginably distant future; lately, at times, the flow of time seemed to slow down suddenly. This sensation, instead of fostering a sense of well-being, was exhausting my mind and body; it was like smelly mud stuck on both my feet, impeding even the tiniest steps forward.
With the passing of each year, even Honoka will find her affection for Raita waning. As long as she goes on living, she herself will keep undergoing drastic changes; there isn’t a single thing in this world that can stay fixed and immutable. Whether you die while living, or you live while dying, in the end, there are no serious differences between the lives of people, I suppose. Even if you were to give up on yourself and get drunk on another person, letting him or her take you on a ride, as long as you’re in this world, I’m sure, just like me, you’ll end up getting bogged down with an apathetic torpor that’ll keep weighing down on you with the passage of time, like heavy lead continuing to heap up around your feet until it saps you of all meaning.
So I wonder if Eriko can still keep believing until the very end that everything is to be found in the here and now.
Is she seriously convinced that such a barren world as this one is the one and only world? I, for one, can never believe so.
There must be some other place that’s different.
And that’s why, no matter how much you devote yourself to something entirely other than yourself, no matter how egoless you become, the true value of such noble aspirations will remain unrecognized and unappreciated. That’s because such achievements aren’t meant for this world; they only serve their purpose when you take flight for the next, when they transform into luminary wings that light up the future. Neither bliss nor misery can belong to this world alone. They go on in the next world, and the one after that, ad infinitum. We must never allow ourselves to be consumed by self-centered happiness or sorrow or hate. If you’re preoccupied with living all the time, like Eriko, you won’t be able to find your way into the new w
orld awaiting you. If you’re constantly distracted by whatever glitters before you, you’ll fail to notice the light of the beacon flaring up in the distance, showing your way.
Whether you love, believe, or long for the good old days, be it for the sake of a person, Mother Nature, or whatever else, all you’re doing is fretting about wanting to go on existing in this world.
Honoka said to let Eriko do as she likes. In other words, she was telling me to tolerate precisely that kind of fretting from her, make peace with her sad attachment to the material world.
It had suddenly gotten dark outside. I was reminded that it was winter, since the sunset was happening early.
I suppose whether I stayed together with Eriko until the end, or whether I never met her again, it made little difference to me.
Remembering her gentle face, I vacantly gazed out the car window. The city lights were flickering on one by one in the gloom.
Afterword
Mr. Kazufumi Shiraishi won the Naoki Prize, one of Japan’s most prestigious literary awards, for his novel Hokanaranu hito e (To an Incomparable Other) in 2009. Yet Boku no naka no kowareteinai bubun (The Part of Me That Isn’t Broken Inside), which was released back in 2002, remains his perennial favorite even after all these years.
One of the appeals of this title, which has achieved best-seller status in Japan, definitely lies in being an exemplary addition in the stream of I novels, a literary genre that first caught fire in Japan during the Meiji Period when Naturalism was introduced to the nation. Compared to the standard first-person narratives found in the West, the I novel has a more confessional feel, tending to reveal, as Motoyuki Shibata, the preeminent Japanese translator of American literature, says, the less savory aspects of a writer’s own personal life.¹
This rings especially true in many of Mr. Shiraishi’s works, which offer down-to-earth, even gritty, windows into the lives people lead, often through true-to-life portrayals of the modern Japanese professional. To that end, The Part of Me That Isn’t Broken Inside is sprinkled with eye-opening scenes that reveal the working milieu of media professionals in Tokyo; a world with which Mr. Shiraishi, who has served for many years as editor and reporter at Bungeishunju, one of Japan’s leading literary publishers, is intimately familiar.
The Part of Me That Isn't Broken Inside Page 29
