Seventeen

by Hideo Yokoyama

  “Kyodo News was. We did nothing. We just wandered aimlessly around the mountains. We didn’t write any of the informative articles. It was hard on our bodies. We thought we were going to die of cold and exhaustion. That’s how we deluded ourselves that we were fighting the Tokyo guys on equal terms—”

  Yuuki quickly averted his eyes as a shower of beer came flying his way. Todoroki’s expression was demonic. He parted his tightly pressed lips and the beer shower was followed by a torrent of abuse.

  “It’s all true, every word,” Yuuki replied, calmly wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Anyone who despises the NKT so much ought to just leave. Get the hell out of our company!”

  “Haven’t they already?”

  “What?”

  “Takahashi-san, Nozaki-san, Tadara-san—they all left right after the Red Army case. They were all poached by the Yomiuri or the Sankei. They left the NKT because they knew we’d been completely outdone. They despaired at people like you, who kept on insisting, ‘We won, we won.’”

  Yuuki was seething.

  “And we really need to take a thorough look at why it was we lost. We need to teach the young up-and-coming reporters how to avoid losing again in the future. Instead of droning on and on for over ten years about how great we were, we could have put that time and energy into having proper meetings where we made a swift decision to start using wireless phones or something useful. Do you understand? Even now, the North Kanto Times has failed to move on in any way from the Okubo/Red Army era. Mark my words, we’ll lose again this time on the JAL crash.”

  With a loud clatter, the empty beer bottles on the table in front of Todoroki toppled over into one another. Yuuki readied himself for the punch he knew was coming. But Todoroki didn’t move. His body stayed there swaying, his eyes glinting as they bored into Yuuki’s. Or rather, didn’t connect with Yuuki’s. Yuuki saw that the editor’s pupils were unfocused.

  Was he drunk? Surely not. Todoroki, drunk on this amount of beer? He must be getting weaker …

  Yuuki had lost his enthusiasm for the fight. He looked away and drained his beer.

  The meat on the hot plate had turned to charcoal. Kishi sat quietly, his arms folded. Even Nozawa looked meek. Yuuki moved on to spirits, ordering shochu, but it didn’t matter how much he drank, he still felt clearheaded.

  After a while, Todoroki got up and staggered over to sit by Yuuki. Without making eye contact, he poured a generous slug of shochu into Yuuki’s glass. Half of it spilled onto the table.

  “You know Tadara—the one who went to the Yomiuri?… Did you ever hear what became of him?”

  Yuuki shook his head.

  “He died. He was forced to tour the country nonstop. In the end, he was up in Hachinohe in the north and his body just couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Todoroki paused to take a sip of shochu.

  “They asked me, too—to leave NKT.”

  This was news to Yuuki.

  “Who?”

  Todoroki glanced over at Kishi and Nozawa. They were huddled together, deep in their own private conversation.

  “Don’t tell this to anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  For a brief moment Todoroki looked unusually pleased with himself.

  “The Asahi.”

  “Why didn’t you go?”

  “I couldn’t. Shirakawa had just made me take one of his damn dogs.”

  Todoroki spat out the words, and immediately laughed self-deprecatingly. Yuuki chuckled, too. Everyone at the company had heard the story of “The Emperor’s Puppies.” Chairman Shirakawa had been editor in chief at the time, and when his pet dog had a litter of five puppies, he had distributed them among his staff; to Kasuya, Oimura, Todoroki, as well as to the chief political editor at the time—Moriya. And also to the man who was to become general manager in Advertising, Kurasaka. Brilliant and capable reporters had been leaving the company one after the other. It must have caused Shirakawa quite a headache. Behind the gift of the puppies was the unspoken message, You’re my right-hand man.

  “It was so emotionally manipulative. Puppies are so cute. Even after the boss had a go at you at work, you’d go home and there’d be a little piece of him fawning all over you. It was a living creature … You couldn’t just throw it away. Of course, they’re all dead now, but for five to ten years the boss succeeded in managing his personnel perfectly through the medium of dogs!”

  “It wasn’t completely perfect. Didn’t the managing director tempt Kurasaka-san away from the Editorial Department and set him up in Advertising?”

  “That’s not what happened. Kurasaka was kicked out.”

  “Kicked out?”

  “He got too close to Fukuda. There was a rumor for a while that Kurasaka’s older brother was going to run for the prefectural assembly and he was working behind the scenes to win Fukuda’s support. That really incurred the imperial wrath.”

  Yuuki nodded sympathetically. It was a very predictable story, but it had really piqued his interest. After a few moments of silence, Todoroki continued.

  “I feel as if we’re living on dreams and illusions. I never wanted to do this kind of work.”

  Yuuki gave him a puzzled look, but he’d recognized it right away. Todoroki wanted to talk some more about the Asahi job.

  “The whole country, the whole world, everything becomes bigger at a newspaper like that. All their reporters are doing exactly the same thing. Relentlessly investigating, listening to people’s stories, that’s it. Getting a story from a big name makes it big news. But that doesn’t mean they’ve done a big job. It’s exactly the same effort that it takes to get a story from a small name. What reporters do, everyone…”

  Todoroki was starting to go around in circles. He was slurring his words, too. His eyes had a strange look about them.

  Yuuki had just made his mind up to go back to the office and get some sleep when Todoroki suddenly grabbed his tie and pulled on it with surprising force.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  Todoroki’s face was as pale as death.

  “Remember this! The minute local newspaper reporters admit they’ve lost, it’s all over. Doesn’t matter how badly they were beaten, they never ever admit to it. Got it?”

  With this final, honest confession, Todoroki slumped drunkenly onto the tatami floor. Yuuki looked down at his unconscious face. He recalled something his mother had taught him.

  Never trust a man who needs to get drunk before he can speak his mind. Those people are not living an authentic life.

  Long ago, Todoroki used to say something similar.

  If you drink, just laugh. If you get drunk, just sing. Tomorrow we can talk …

  Suddenly Yuuki realized he was drunk. It wasn’t long ago—it was a mere ten years or so. He looked around the restaurant. Behind the counter, the master reminded him of an Egyptian mummy as he sat there dozing.

  Back then, even the master was still young. His wife was still full of life and used to help out in the restaurant at night. They had an extremely attractive daughter by the name of Chan Hi. Kishi had been madly in love with her. It had been a matter of life and death for him. Nozawa had jumped up onto the counter and done impersonations of the singer Linda Yamamoto. The master’s wife had yelled at him in Korean, but he used to seize any moment she wasn’t looking, and did it over and over. Todoroki had jeered at him. Oimura had clapped. From time to time, Kasuya had turned up and thrown lots of money around. They’d all sung the “NKT song” together—a song that had originally been the fight song at some university. Arms around each other’s shoulders, they’d belted it out at the top of their lungs.

  Everyone laughed back then. Yuuki thought about how he used to laugh. He’d been happy. He felt as if he’d gained fathers and brothers and a home all in one go. This place had everything. It was the full package. It was filled with smiling faces and lively conversation …

  Todoroki began to sn
ore. Kishi and Nozawa were apparently still deep in conversation.

  Yuuki got to his feet. When did all of that disappear?

  He stumbled out into the street. Mixed in with the ringing in his ears, he could hear that song …

  “… we won’t stop writing, we won’t give up, until the day we die.”

  23

  Yuuki was staring up at the ceiling, which was yellow-stained from years of cigarette smoke. Or perhaps not … it could have been his vision that was tinted.

  He realized that he was lying on one of the newsroom sofas. He recalled collapsing on it the previous night—well, the sky had already started to lighten, so he must have been drinking until around four … or was it closer to five?

  He’d been dreaming. About Anzai. He’d gone to visit him at the hospital, but the bed had been empty. There was graffiti on the wall: LIAR! In the dream, Yuuki had decided that the message was directed at him, because he’d broken their promise to climb Tsuitate. Anzai was missing from his bed because he’d set out by himself to Mount Tanigawa.

  “Are you ready to get up?”

  Chizuko Yorita’s smiling face swam into focus above him. Her long hair hung down, almost brushing Yuuki’s nose.

  “Um … Yes. What time is it?”

  “It’s already ten. Do you want something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Some water?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Yuuki waited for Chizuko to move away before sitting up. He noticed that there was a light cotton blanket over him. He had no memory of dropping by the night-shift room last night, so it must have been Chizuko who had put it there.

  He turned to look across the room. Todoroki’s desk was unoccupied. Not surprising. It was still early. In fact, the only people here right now in this great, sprawling room were Chizuko and himself, and staff from the cleaning company.

  “How’s Nodai doing?” Yuuki asked. The TV was on, but it was too far away for him to make out the score.

  “They’ve got a huge lead,” Chizuko replied cheerfully. She twirled her duster like a cheerleader’s pom-pom.

  The first game of the day in the Koshien baseball tournament was the second-round match for Nodai Niko High School: the local team whose player had lost his father on Flight 123.

  “What about Hanazawa?”

  Chizuko paused from wiping down the desktop.

  “It looks like he’s gone home. He wasn’t in the on-call room.”

  “I see. Thanks.”

  As Yuuki pondered this, another question occurred to him.

  “Yorita?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is it true you’re being transferred in the autumn? You’re going to one of the branch offices?”

  “Oh, you heard?”

  Chizuko suddenly looked radiant.

  “Yes. The Maebashi office, isn’t it?”

  “Right. I’m so excited!”

  “How old are you?”

  “What…!”

  “You might as well get used to it. They’re going to be asking you the same thing over and over. After all, you are going to be the first-ever female reporter at the North Kanto Times.”

  “I’m not the first. There’s Hirata-san in the arts and culture section.”

  “That’s not reporting. More like hostessing,” said Yuuki dismissively. “If you’re going to be a reporter, then do it properly. They’re only going to pamper you in the beginning. They’ll get tired of it after a while.”

  The charming smile disappeared.

  “Ri-right.”

  Yuuki got up from the sofa. He knew he reeked of sweat. The cold air from the air conditioner hadn’t reached his part of the room yet.

  “Yuuki-san?” Chizuko gave a quick bow. “Please tell me everything you can about the work.”

  “Sorry. I’ve got nothing.”

  Chizuko didn’t even flinch. By now she was used to reporters being blunt. She followed Yuuki over to his desk.

  “It’d be great if they put me on the police beat to start with, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose.”

  “But … er…”

  Yuuki had begun to sort through the wires on his desk, but he stopped and turned to face her.

  “But what?”

  “Oh, never mind. It’s nothing.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Erm … it’s just temporary, but I heard I get a week’s training at the prefectural police press club.”

  “So?”

  “What kind of person is the lead reporter there—Sayama-san?”

  She was blushing. Sayama was approaching his mid-thirties, but still single.

  “Surely you know Sayama?”

  But Chizuko waved her hand to indicate that she didn’t.

  “The police reporters, they hardly ever come up here.”

  Yuuki looked into the distance. Sayama’s remark from the previous day was playing in his head.

  “You can only focus on the scene when you’re there, at the scene. We don’t need people who aren’t there on the ground … telling us what’s what.”

  If Yuuki had been in Sayama’s place, he’d most likely have given up on Wajima. There was no point in dangling a rope for someone who had no intention of trying to climb up. People who truly wanted to ascend would do so somehow, even without a rope.

  Chizuko was still waiting for an answer.

  “Sayama is—”

  Of all the adjectives that came to mind, Yuuki surprised even himself with the one he picked.

  “—good-hearted.”

  Chizuko didn’t look particularly pleased. This was the first time she’d ever heard Yuuki use terms other than “a good reporter” or “a bad reporter” to describe his junior colleagues.

  “Excuse me, Yuuki-san?”

  Yuuki turned to see the tanned face of Miyata from the Advertising Department just walking into the newsroom. Or Miyata from Anzai’s hiking club, as Yuuki preferred to think of him.

  “Er…”

  It was Chizuko who spoke. Yuuki turned and gave her a hard stare. Miyata had obviously come up to speak to him, and here she was, still stuck to his side.

  “Twenty-seven,” she said abruptly. Her expression was deadly serious. “I’m twenty-seven years old. I’m not going to waste this opportunity. I don’t care what happens—I’m going to work as hard as I can. Please give me advice. Please.”

  “I’ve got nothing.” The same phrase rose up as far as his throat, but he swallowed it back down. He watched as Chizuko walked away, her back straight and proud.

  Miyata now replaced Chizuko at his side. He had a worried look on his face.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much,” he said, pulling up a chair. “I was out doing my rounds this morning and decided to drop in at the hospital to see Anzai.”

  Yuuki had guessed the conversation would be about Anzai, and he prepared himself for bad news. But that wasn’t it. Miyata had something quite different to tell Yuuki.

  It turned out that Miyata had run into another visitor at the hospital—an old climbing acquaintance of Anzai’s by the name of Suetsugu. According to Suetsugu, Anzai’s previous climbing partner had lost his life on the Tsuitate rock face, and since then Anzai had disappeared from his role at center stage of the climbing community.

  “Did you know about that, Yuuki-san?”

  “No…”

  “But you and he were planning to climb Tsuitate.”

  “Right.”

  “Why the same mountain where he lost his partner…?”

  That was the burning question. Yuuki folded his arms in the hope of calming his racing heart.

  “I climb up to step down.”

  “Has this Suetsugu gone home?”

  “I think he went to the library.”

  “Which library?”

  “He asked me for directions to the prefectural one. Are you going to try to meet him? I think you’ll probably make it—it was only about thirty minutes a
go.”

  Yuuki stood up.

  “What does he look like?”

  “You’ll recognize him right away. He’s wearing really tiny shoes.”

  “Eh?”

  “About the size of a primary school kid’s.”

  Yuuki could guess the reason. He looked at Miyata, who nodded.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he must have lost all his toes to frostbite.”

  24

  It was about a fifteen-minute drive from the North Kanto Times headquarters to the prefectural library. Yuuki drove carefully; he still had the sense that he was looking at everything through yellow lenses. In addition, he’d had a sharp pain around his temples ever since waking up.

  He spotted Suetsugu even before getting out of his car. As he was parking, he saw a solidly built man entering the library. He couldn’t actually see his shoes, but the man had a peculiar, jerky gait.

  Yuuki hurried in through the main entrance and looked around. The man had just entered the building.

  “Suetsugu-san?”

  The man turned, and Yuuki took in a wide, friendly face, deeply suntanned. He looked to be in his mid-forties—just around the same age as Anzai.

  Yuuki approached and offered his business card. He quickly explained who he was, dropping the names of Anzai and Miyata.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have a business card.”

  Suetsugu laughed quite innocently, but with a touch of what sounded like pride.

  Even if there were several varieties of rock climber, Yuuki would still have placed Suetsugu in the same “easygoing and openhearted” category as Anzai. His shoes were very small. They looked to be made-to-order, and from their appearance and Suetsugu’s overall balance, it was fairly safe to assume that he didn’t have any toes left at all.

  Yuuki invited him to go to the café on the third floor, and Suetsugu agreed, but he wanted to look in on the first floor on the way. Apparently there was a memorial collection dedicated to Anzai’s previous climbing companion somewhere in the local history section. Seeing as he had come all the way to Gunma Prefecture, he thought he would take a look at it.

  “Actually, I had a copy, too, but it was lost in a fire about six months back,” said Suetsugu. Even while describing such terrible misfortune, he didn’t stop smiling.