I continued to film that water, which was never the same from moment to moment. I wanted to document it in all its openness and vulnerability even when I wasn’t there, so much so that I thought of installing the surveillance cameras.
Regardless of how the spring looks when I peer down into it, Miko and Inoue are still there. They raise voices like the wind, laughing and joking, arguing, and singing. Sometimes when I hear them, I chime in with my two cents, pick an argument, nod along, get angry, or fall deep into thought. Then, when the time comes for the water to turn gold or orange, they draw far away from me and lie down in the depths. I watch helplessly as the knife shreds their flesh.
On the hottest day of that summer, the thermometer in the garden registered over 100 degrees. I was done in from weeding and watering in the garden that morning. But at the spring, Miko and Inoue were completely unaffected by the heat and waxing philosophic. I couldn’t tell whether they were being projected onto or suspended in the water, but they were cool like fish. I, on the other hand, was burning up even under the shade of trees and took it out on them with some choice words, “Where do you two get off acting all comfortable and cool like that?”
“We can’t help it. We’ve got no flesh,” Miko replied.
“Yeah, we wish we could get hot with you,” Inoue added.
“Iroha, why don’t you come in here with us? If your skin touches the water, maybe you’ll forget about the heat?”
“Is that a dare?”
“No, not at all. It’s not as if we’ll really be able to together, but if you get in, the three of us will at least be in the same spring, in a way.”
“Well, more like three people looking into a three-way mirror.” I was compelled, even while saying that, and jumped into the water with all my clothes on.
The coolness of the water was arousing. Just like that, my body contracted, my head woke up, and my old juices started flowing. The water was too deep for me to stand, so I rested my arm on a rock along the edge and let the rest of my body float like seaweed. Just like Miko said, I felt as though my body was melting and spreading out into the water.
My flesh disturbed the water, so I couldn’t see Miko and Inoue clearly. But I could sense their presence and their voices on my skin. The instruments making that sound pressed directly up against my body, and I heard their sound not with my ears, but resonating through my skin and bones. Maybe Miko and Inoue were waves, waves that rocked and responded to the particles that make up my body. I rubbed back and touched the water directly, gasping for air while my massage strokes raised bubbles and waves.
After I got out of the water, I felt pleasantly exhausted and returned to the little cabin, where I slept like I was being sucked into the floor. I woke up around the time the sun turned amber like a hard candy. Recovered from the summer heat, I felt all my energy return.
Then when I went to the spring the next day, there were people already there. A man and two women who were staying at the lodge were sitting on the edge of the spring in bathing suits, drinking beer. The women were around thirty, and the man must have been about my age. I yelled out, “That area is off-limits!”
“Whatever,” one of the women yelled back. “We’re only doing exactly what you did yesterday.”
“Mokuren said it was okay for us to come here,” the man said.
“Really? We’ll see about that. But for now, please go back to the lodge. That is a very important water source for this reservation.” I refused to discuss it further and forced them out of there.
That’s not all. They complained to Mokuren, but she had my back and told them if the manager said so, then there must be a good reason. End of discussion. They were out of here that night.
After that episode, Mokuren increased the budget to allow me to install surveillance cameras in the trees surrounding the spring. That way, the spring could be recorded twenty-four hours a day without interruption not just so that I could watch it whenever I wanted, but so we could also keep an eye out for trespassers.
Of all the people in the world, the first trespasser caught on film was Mokuren. In the monitor, dyed jet-black by the gloom, the water moved in ways it didn’t when rippled by the wind, and because I knew how to see in the dim and diffuse moonlight, I made a beeline straight for the spring.
Out of the darkness along with the water sounds came Mokuren’s voice, “Well, come on in.”
“Please tell me you did not take alcohol in there too.”
“That was a good idea you had. This is a great way to cool off.” Her words were followed by the telltale sounds of a can of beer being drunk.
“This isn’t a hot springs resort, you know.”
“Yeah, the water’s cool.”
“Please get out.”
“What about if, instead of saying that, you got in and joined me?”
“Are you trying to annoy me?”
“If you want me to get out, bring my clothes and towel over here.”
“You really are treating this like a bath, huh?” I groped around for her towel and handed it to her. Mokuren took it without saying a word and maintained the silent treatment for a bit while she dried herself off. Then I heard her put on her shorts, step into her dress, and zip up the back. The sounds of bugs overeager for autumn to come resonated throughout the woods like metal being scratched. Mokuren moved closer to me and pushed me in the water as she said, “Why don’t you get in too?” For a moment, I lost all sense of direction and swallowed water when I tried to breathe. Once I thought about how Miko and Inoue were probably there laughing at me too, I settled down and stopped fighting, waiting for my body to float.
I couldn’t tell where her voice was coming from, but I heard Mokuren warn me to watch out, “You’re gonna hit the edge like that.” Her voice moved closer to me. “You’re completely vulnerable, like you’re there, just ready for something to happen to you.”
“You mean I can’t rely on myself to survive?”
“You’re so pathetic. Why don’t you go back home with your mom? You two are so alike. You’ll read a book you know is trashy and still get upset and affected by it. Nobody here is saying anything about survival or self-reliance.”
“Okay, so then why did you say I was vulnerable?”
“Because you’re like a recluse, monitoring the spring, driving off anyone who comes here, and acting pretty defensive. All you have is free time on your hands. What are you protecting?”
“I’m not protecting anything. It’s like going to pray at a shrine. Maybe this spring is just a regular old watering hole to other people, but it has a very special meaning for me.”
“And you’re not going to tell me what this very special meaning is?”
“You’re too insensitive.”
“Too insensitive?”
“Even if I tell you, you won’t understand.”
“Oh,” she sighed, the dejection in her voice palpable. “I feel like I want to cry.”
“Seriously?”
“Always.”
We didn’t talk. Then, after a while, I heard Mokuren’s footsteps, and she said, “Let’s go back.”
I followed along after her, feeling miserable, and said, “I’m sorry.”
“What the fuck?” Mokuren came to a halt with those threatening words. “Why do you have to apologize? What for? Did you do anything to me you have to feel sorry about? Or, are you going to? Are you going to kill me? Are you not sure you won’t kill me?”
“Because I’m an idiot. It’s just that you’re protecting me…”
“Whatever. Just cut the self-deprecating routine, because I don’t have the time to baby you. Shit is already going down, and it’s only going to get harder, so, please, at least trust me.”
As I write, I still am plagued by pointless thoughts. In terms of proof that five years have passed, all I have are records of incidents in the world below, none of which are real for me. Like my mom, I’ve adjusted my internal clock to match the mainstream time of this Island Cou
ntry by keeping up with the news. In that sense, my five years of memories and feelings are a story produced by the media images, sounds, and fonts that have encroached on my life. If I hadn’t felt such a need to stay on top of the news, I’d probably remember these months and years only as time I spent on my own in the lodge, at the spring, and in the woods. That time is different from the mainstream. It just starts and stops and winds around, but it’s richer, more real, and priceless compared to the mainstream five years. I’ve continued my visits with Miko and Inoue, who linger on the divide between death and life. One thing I know for sure is that I’ve been shaped by those two separate, but tangled times.
I soon understood what Mokuren meant when she said, “shit is already going down” and that she wanted me to trust her. She took out the following provocative advertisement in Sun Rising.
I Won’t Kill
I decided to publicize my declaration in the newspaper because I want at least my friends and acquaintances to trust me as they have up until now.
I’m not killing anybody.
I don’t have a voucher to give you. These words are your only guarantee. But is there any greater assurance than that? Is there any other way to trust people than to take them at their word?
I will not say you should trust me unconditionally. I am writing so that you can judge whether my words are trustworthy and then decide whether to believe me.
Some may think it’s strange for me to announce I’m not killing anyone, but I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s uncalled for to declare I will not kill because not killing is supposed to be natural. There are many possible worlds where not killing would be unnatural. It’s happened, and it’s happening now. My declaration is that no matter what becomes of the world, I am not killing. Not killing is not conventional wisdom, so you won’t understand what I’m thinking if I don’t explain myself clearly, and that is why I need to spell this out. If it’s important, I don’t think anything is too obvious to express carefully.
By contrast, the idea of justifiable self-defense is taken as a given, but I definitely do not think that is natural. I read an op-ed somewhere about how “I don’t care if I die” means “I don’t care if I’m killed,” and “I don’t care if I’m killed” means “I don’t care if I kill,” and “I don’t care if I kill” means “I don’t care if I die.” I have a better grip on reality than that.
Let me say, at the risk of seeming ridiculous, that those who commit murder in the name of so-called justifiable self-defense are guided by those very sentiments. Thinking more in terms of possible than actual motives, who’s to say people who stab other people to death are not dreaming of capital punishment and craving, even if unconsciously, an unorthodox double-death? Let us then imagine those same people are not sentenced to death. No matter how alive and vital they might claim to feel, they will still be suicide failures for the rest of their lives, and that has to feel terrible. In fact, simply imagining that lonesome sadness is enough to make me want to die.
My sense is that there are an awful lot of very unhappy people unaware of their own double-death wishes among those drawn to justifiable self-defense. I think that says a lot about the true nature of the fear running rampant in society, because otherwise there would be no reason to live in terror every day that a huge bloodbath was coming.
Please take a good, hard look at reality. There is no mass destruction or carnage happening to justify the sensational use of expressions like “survivor” or “survival.” Since early April of last year, there have been a total of fifty-eight incidents of this type. Slightly fewer than one-hundred people have died. Of course, these are not merely numbers, but we have to examine the meaning we invest in them. After all, more people die in traffic accidents. If we set aside unnecessary fears, which lead to unnecessary panic, and look at this cooly and calmly, the chances of experiencing such an incident are very slim. If everyone stopped preparing for the unlikely possibility, the numbers of these incidents would naturally decrease in turn.
But the terror remains compelling, so there must be a lot of people identifying with the perpetrators at some level. Even those on the bench expect the real killing will begin once they are moved to action. As long as we think that way, we only make it harder to suppress the desire to perpetrate.
There must also be many of you who want to say, “not me!” Me too. However, I cannot vouch for it. I cannot deny that maybe I am that kind of person too.
But even if I am, I still will not kill. Why not? Because I have a community of friends who are not trying to kill me, and I trust their intentions. To the extent that I trust them, I will not kill either. And they surely feel the same.
I will not kill. We all make this declaration to one other. We put our faith in these words. In times like these when nothing is predictable, I do not know what we can trust in others if not their words. Choosing whether or not to trust someone’s words is one of our responsibilities. And I choose to trust my friends. More than people might think, trusting in one another’s words will deter further incidents.
I pray friendships such as ours will flourish.
Mokuren Haku
This advertisement appeared prominently in the society section of the morning edition, taking up the lower half of an entire page. It must have cost a small fortune to get that much space. Where Mokuren’s money and power come from is a mystery to me.
I felt betrayed and like my whole body filled with bile when I saw the characters for “white magnolia” in the byline, the name “Mokuren Haku.” That feeling was exactly like the one I had that night when I read Inoue’s document. Where did she get off writing such an irritating message without even discussing it with me?
What on earth was she thinking? It was obvious at first that the message was intended for Kisaragi, whose whereabouts were unknown, but Mokuren must have had an additional purpose to lay down such a challenge. If she simply wanted to critique “justifiable self-defense,” she wouldn’t have had to spend so much money.
Protests were bound to emerge from the murderous contingent in society. Was it inevitable that I be counted among them? Mokuren was spurring me to action. But what was I supposed to do and how was I supposed to do it? What did Mokuren expect me to do?
But I didn’t have the time to slip into a melancholic despair. Within twenty-four hours of the advertisement’s appearance, its effects were apparent. The lodge was deluged with email messages and calls from people connected to Mokuren. They all seemed to be taking the ad as a personal message from Mokuren that she was opening the door in an act of mutual trust. Some wanted to arrive the same night or very next morning. The sudden population surge would mean I’d have to assign several people to each room. My mind was filled with to-do lists: making sure there was enough bedding, food in the pantry, and adequate security precautions in place as quickly as possible.
Basically, those were the actions I was meant to undertake. As long as I was busy with clearly defined matters of calculation, the blues couldn’t stick around. I accepted my calling, quickly rallied my strength, got the ‘okay’ from Mokuren, and set out on a shopping trip right away. I wondered if Mokuren’s vegetable planting had been for this too.
Kisaragi also got the message. Five days later, she showed up with Udzuki. She didn’t seem weak or give the impression of having been a wreck, and, in fact, it was as if they had only been away for a few nights rather than a whole year. They were so casual in their return that they lost no time in preparing a meal for us.
I listened to their report from the world below while we ate dinner, and all the while my feeling that I should be making preparations grew stronger.
“It’s like they’re devotees of the Grim Reaper or something. On the surface everyone seems normal, but even when they act as if they aren’t nervous, their eyes, their nostrils, their lips, and every orifice on their body show the signs. While they are afraid of dying in their heads, you can tell they are longing for the arrival of the Grim Reaper in their hear
ts.”
Udzuki agreed. “For me, when I don’t care, I really don’t care, which leaves me wide open. But I even start second-guessing whether I stick out in a crowd of high-strung people. People always avoid me in movie theaters and on trains. When I show up, everyone acts like I’m bringing the plague with me.”
“He’s so damned healthy that I was really afraid someone would kill him in an act of justifiable self-defense.”
“Aw, you worried about me even while we were far apart. Thanks. That really helped.”
Kisaragi let Udzuki’s snide comment slide and told us about the furious protests over the advertisement. I’d heard a little already from Mokuren’s people who’d arrived earlier, but just as I’d imagined, the outrage spiraled out of control.
“Ms. Mokuren Haku asserts it is unusual to express an intent not to kill, but premises her argument on the idea that living is natural. The kind of society we all currently occupy is not one in which we can simply live. One needs the proper strength and must pay certain dues in this harsh battlefield into which we have been thrown. Here, we are in no position to take life for granted. Rather, natural law holds that our existence is made possible only to the extent that we protect ourselves. Ms. Mokuren Haku apparently has no appreciation of her own existence, which would explain her ability to enjoy such exceptionally blessed circumstances. Alas, such circumstances appear to be beyond the realm of what we common folk can hope to create. Unfortunately, trusting the words of the happily situated Ms. Mokuren Haku is difficult. Perhaps she should venture out into the world first and get a taste of reality before spouting off at the mouth.”
This commentary by a well-known writer appeared in a certain weekly online journal. He had already been in the news for building an underground shelter beneath his house so that he and his lover could survive. If I were the type of person to commit an indiscriminate love suicide, I’d pay a visit to that shelter with a bomb for that writer.
Lonely Hearts Killer Page 17
