Book Girl and the Suicidal Mime Page 6

  “So then do you think it’s true that he killed someone? And what about the part where he says he wishes he could die?”

  “If it is true that he killed someone, that’s bad.”

  In any case, “it seems like something is bothering Shuji” was now a contender for Understatement of the Century. He needed help urgently. Even if he was only under the delusion that he had killed somebody, anyone who would put that fantasy into writing was dangerous. I also doubted that a person could go on living for very long with such despair and self-loathing.

  “Osamu Dazai committed suicide about a month after finishing No Longer Human. This might be serious.”

  The letter read like a suicide note. What had compelled Shuji Kataoka to give something like this to Takeda?

  Perched on her fold-up chair hugging her knees, Tohko touched her right index finger to her lips and fell into deep thought.

  “Dazai’s story is composed of a foreword, three letters, and an afterword, and was serialized in three issues of a magazine. The foreword, which acts as a prologue to the story, and the first letter detailing the protagonist’s childhood ran in the May issue. Less than a month after that, on June 13, he and his mistress, Tomie Yamazaki, drowned themselves in the Tama River.”

  Her lips moved mechanically, the rest of her face impassive.

  “The second installment was published while the authorities were still dredging the river for their bodies. They finally found them on June 19. The third letter and the afterword, which served as the story’s epilogue, were published one month later, in July. The story of No Longer Human seemed to be based on Dazai’s life.

  “The protagonist is born to an old aristocratic family in the countryside and feels fear and shame at his difference from other people, so he pretends to be a fool until finally throwing himself into dangerous social movements. But even that is only an indifferent involvement, and he feels disgusted with himself. He carries on an indulgent lifestyle in order to escape his despair.

  “In the midst of all that, he’s implicated in a double suicide attempt with a waitress, which only he survives. He sinks into despair and denial. Even so, an angelic girl offers him her naïve trust and he takes her as his wife, managing some small happiness. But in the end he falls back into a life of poverty, introspection, and degradation.

  “His wife’s purity is sullied, the protagonist becomes addicted to drugs, and his friend commits him to a mental institution. He becomes more or less an invalid.

  “The author, Osamu Dazai, was also born to a landowning family in the country and participated in social movements, but in the end, he tortured himself with the idea that he was nothing more than the coddled son of a fortunate family and attempted double suicide with a waitress.

  “Dazai was saved, but the woman died. After that, he married Hatsuyo Oyama, a bar girl he sent for from his old country home. After discovering her transgressions against him, he was shocked and again attempted double suicide but failed. He became addicted to Pabinal and was admitted to a hospital.

  “When he was released, he wrote Human Lost, the precursor to No Longer Human, and shortly thereafter attempted suicide with his wife, Hatsuyo, but that, too, ended in failure.

  “Dazai went on to write many brilliant stories and was a fabulously active, popular author. He spent about ten years like that, then he completed No Longer Human. He committed double suicide immediately afterward, and this time neither Dazai nor his partner could be saved. That’s why people think it was a suicide note.”

  Tohko trained her unfocused gaze on me and asked, “Have you read any of Dazai’s stories, Konoha?”

  “I’ve read No Longer Human. And I think parts of Run, Melos! and Several Scenes of Mount Fuji in a textbook.”

  “I’ve always wondered why they don’t make an ethics textbook out of Run, Melos! It’s a good story, sure, but there’s just something weird about it. Ah-choo! Ah-choo! Ah-choo!”

  She sneezed several times in succession, probably a by-product of talking for so long.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Snf, I’m fine… hnk-nk. So what did you think of Dazai?”

  “I didn’t really get it. It was nothing but monologue and a really gloomy story. I was really into Run, Melos! The ending was pretty convenient, and I think I was more surprised than moved by it. I only remember snapshots of Scenes of Mount Fuji, but I seem to remember thinking it was refreshing. That, and the style was rhythmical and easy to read. It almost felt like I was talking to the author.”

  “Exactly! That’s one of the seductive things about Dazai’s writing.”

  She blew her nose with a pink tissue, balled it up, and threw it in the trash before beginning another heated litany.

  “There’s a sense of affinity and immediacy in Dazai’s works, as if the author is speaking directly to you. He dictated the story An Urgent Appeal, which is about Judas Iscariot, and it’s the only one where there’s pretty much nothing stopping the unfettered flow of his ideas, so it’s really incredible. The potential second person in his narration gives rise to Dazai’s greatest magic—that being the sympathy between author and reader.”

  “Sympathy?”

  “Yes. Dazai was an author with divergent tastes. There are people who won’t read him because he’s dark, or gloomy, or hesitant, but he has an unwavering charm for the people who like him. They fall for him completely. Even now, large numbers of people participate in a special memorial to mark Dazai’s death once a year. I suspect that Dazai’s fans could beat just about any other author’s in their intensity.

  “If you wonder why Dazai is so well-loved, it’s because his readers see their own suffering in his stories.

  “I know how that feels. It’s like that for me, too. This character is just like me…. I’m sure you’ve had thoughts like that when you were reading before.

  “There’s a kind of magic in Dazai’s stories that creates that sense of sympathy.

  “Everybody in the world wants to be understood and to have others appreciate them.

  “Being different is scary. Solitude is pain and loneliness. At times like that, Dazai’s stories whisper seductively into your heart. As you move through the book, the reader and the writer become one and you fall headlong into the story beyond all escape. You start thinking, Hey, he’s talking about me. I’m the main character.

  “While he was still alive, Dazai received a lot of letters and journals from readers, pouring their hearts out to him. He even used parts of them to write some of his stories. The story High School Girl relates a day in the life of a perfectly ordinary girl, and it’s taken almost word for word from the diary of Shizuko Ariake, on which it’s based. She had been so influenced by Dazai’s work that her writing style was identical to his. The diary could almost pass for one of his stories with only minor editing.”

  “Do you think Shuji related to No Longer Human, too, and that’s why he wrote this letter?”

  “Could be. He might have felt like the protagonist of the story. That’s the power of Dazai’s stories, but it can be frightening, too. If you read Dazai when you’re depressed, you’ll be dragged down into a sea of darkness…”

  Perhaps Shuji Kataoka had also fallen under Dazai’s spell and had been sucked under.

  “But this letter isn’t finished. I wonder if there are second and third installments, like in No Longer Human.”

  “Ah-choo! Geez, I hope not. If we don’t find out whatever’s bothering him before he writes the second letter, he might try to commit suicide with someone.”

  “Don’t even joke about that…”

  “I feel trapped just reading his letter, though. I wouldn’t want to eat this even if I were starving. I bet it’s like swallowing poison—it would make me want to die, too.”

  Tohko shuddered.

  “I wonder who S is. Do you think the girl he talks about is… Takeda? And most of all, why can’t we find Shuji Kataoka?”

  “Yeah, that’s the biggest problem. We have to
find Shuji fast, and if he intends to commit double suicide or to kill someone, we have to stop him.”

  “But Takeda is still our only clue.”

  The next day was Saturday, so there was no school.

  On Monday the following week, just like clockwork Takeda came skipping into my class during the first-period break.

  “Did you write my letter for today yet, Konoha?”

  She was even more grinny than usual. I cut her off with the seriousness of my tone. “Sorry, I couldn’t write it. I won’t be able to write any more unless I know more about Shuji.”

  The grin disappeared from Takeda’s face. Now she looked more like an abandoned puppy.

  “Could you tell me about him? Everything you know. Then I’ll write you a letter.”

  Takeda was silent, and she stared at her toes.

  She fiddled with her interlaced fingers, then murmured, “Can you come to the library after school? I’ll be in the storage room in the basement.”

  I descended a spiral staircase with clanging steps and met a gray door.

  When I knocked, a voice called out, “Come in!”

  As I cautiously pulled the door out, I caught a sweet scent.

  It wasn’t sweet like whipped cream or chocolate; it was the smell of old books.

  The room was dusty and cobwebs stretched across the ceiling. There were a few rows of bookshelves and several stacked mounds of books on the floor.

  It was like a graveyard for books. There was a space in the midst of it all just big enough for an old-style desk with a built-in chair. A lamp stood on the desk, providing the only illumination in the room.

  Takeda was seated at the desk, apparently writing something. She shut her notebook with the duck picture and looked at me. She had a mug next to her, and it, too, was decorated with a drawing of a duck.

  “There are cockroaches and mice in here,” she said, a slight smile crossing her face.

  I gawked at her and looked down at the floor.

  “The librarians hate it here, too, so they hardly ever come down. But I like it. It’s like my secret hideout.”

  “I… I see.”

  “Do you not like cockroaches, Konoha?”

  “I don’t think many people do.”

  “I guess you’re right. There aren’t a lot of cockroach fan clubs or Internet shrines.”

  “I think mice might be worse than cockroaches. When I was in elementary school, I stayed at my grandma’s house in the country. When I woke up one morning, there was a dead mouse by my pillow and when I rolled over, I planted my face right on top of it. My grandma’s cat had left it there. Urk, just thinking about it…”

  Remembering the blood-spattered, still-warm body of the mouse, I shuddered.

  “Oh, that’s horrible. But it’s fine, I hardly ever see any mice down here. If one comes out, I’ll chase it away for you.”

  Takeda thumped her chest.

  “Thanks. You’re brave.”

  “Oh, would you like some tea, Konoha?”

  Takeda took out an orange thermos, twisted the top off it, and poured out the amber liquid it contained.

  “It’s roasted green tea.”

  “Such refined taste.”

  She giggled. “Sometimes I come here to have some tea without anybody knowing.”

  It must have been the thermos’s insulation that had kept the tea exactly the right temperature to drink.

  “That was great. Thanks a lot.” I set the lid on the desk and took Shuji’s letter out of my pocket. “First, I want to return this to you.”

  Takeda accepted the letter from me without a word, slipped it into her duck notebook, then hugged them both to her chest.

  “I hope you understand why I’m asking, but do you think maybe that letter was meant for someone else?”

  Takeda’s fingers dug into her notebook momentarily.

  “There’s no name on the envelope, and the tone of the letter doesn’t seem like something intended for you.”

  “… You’re right,” Takeda said quietly. “Shuji didn’t give me that letter. I found it by accident, stuck inside a book.”

  “In a book? Here?”

  “Yes. It was inside a copy of No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. I wondered what it was, so I read it, but I was so surprised. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I went to see Shuji.”

  “At archery?”

  After a moment of hesitation, Takeda nodded firmly. “Yes.”

  “But there’s no one named Shuji Kataoka on the team…”

  “Yes, there is.” Takeda raised her eyes, and her voice was firm. “I swear, Shuji really does exist.”

  I didn’t get it. Why would Takeda continue to stand by Shuji Kataoka’s existence?

  Who was the person Takeda believed to be Shuji?

  Or was it that Takeda was able to see him when none of us could? That would be some kind of horror movie.

  Takeda set her notebook down on the desk and drooped dramatically.

  A heavy silence filled the underground room.

  I felt like I could almost hear the squeaking of the mice. I tried changing the subject.

  “Did you know that the letter opens with a line from Dazai’s No Longer Human?”

  “… Yeah. After I read the letter, I borrowed No Longer Human and read it, too.”

  Takeda smiled weakly.

  “But I’m too dumb… even after I read the book, I didn’t understand why this person was suffering so much. He was from a rich family and had servants, and every time his father went to Tokyo he brought back a present. His brothers and sisters adored him, his friends and teachers adored him, and he was smart and wrote things that everyone loved. Girls were all over him and he even had all those people commit double suicide with him, so why did he think he was an embarrassment as a human being? Why did he think his life had no value? That’s… that’s weird. It’s deluded. There was no reason for him to ever suffer like that.”

  Takeda’s eyes looked terribly desolate. She hung her head as she spoke, but she went on, her shoulders trembling and her lips reluctant to form the words.

  “That’s all I could think, which is awful, and I’m just an ordinary, dumb kid, really, really ordinary, just average and stupid, and so, so awful, so I couldn’t understand why Osamu Dazai or Shuji would want to die, no matter how hard I tried. I read No Longer Human five times. But I still couldn’t sympathize with them at all. Finally, I just started to cry.”

  Takeda’s sadness crept into my heart.

  She wanted to understand the boy she liked. But she couldn’t.

  I had also experienced that pain, of not understanding the heart of the person you cared for.

  Takeda gulped, as if to swallow her tears, and pulled over her duck cup.

  “A friend of mine named Shee gave me this cup for my birthday. She was my best friend, and really smart, unlike me. She could do anything. She told me this duck reminded her of me. Like how I’m clumsy and stupid and I get worked up over totally unimportant stuff, and how I’m so ordinary…

  “I know I’ll probably always be like this… I think that’s probably why I was drawn to a person like Shuji, who seemed so dangerous.

  “Honestly, I’m a dumb, regular kid. But if Shuji is in pain, I want to do something for him. I’ll do anything I can.”

  She spoke with a heartfelt and powerful resolve.

  Shuji did exist—inside Takeda, at least—and she earnestly cared for him.

  So how could I argue with her?

  “I didn’t really understand No Longer Human, either,” I murmured.

  Takeda looked up at me with fragile eyes; she seemed to be on the verge of breaking down in tears. Her lips trembled slightly.

  I thought she was going to throw herself on me like she had that day when it rained.

  But Takeda gulped again and tugged the corners of her mouth into a smile.

  “Heh! Ahaha… yeah! Commoners like us think he’s a total jerk for being s
o ashamed of his privileges. Haha.”

  She was laughing as convincingly as she could, but it seemed like only empty cheer. Tears had filled her eyes by the end of it.

  “Konoha… I really like your face.”

  “W-what? Come on.”

  She gazed at me with her tearful smile and murmured, “Your face is really pretty. It makes you look so kind.”

  People had teased me for looking like a girl before, but this was the first time anyone had actually called me pretty to my face. I was flustered.

  “You’re a weirdo, Takeda.”

  “Heh-heh! I have a request for you, Konoha. After school tomorrow, would you go to archery with me?”

  I was surprised, so Takeda gave me one more push. “Please, come with me and meet Shuji.”

  S is dangerous.

  S sees through everything.

  S will probably destroy me.

  Eventually, S will probably kill me.

  What ecstasy that will be.

  As I reread No Longer Human that night in my room, my mind wandered.

  There’s no Shuji Kataoka on the archery team, so who is Takeda taking me to meet? Or am I wrong?

  It had been a few years since I’d read No Longer Human. It was still a story of suffering and hopelessness, but I must have grown up a little during the past few years and fallen out of step with everyone else because I felt as if I understood the protagonist’s feelings better than when I’d last read it.

  Oh, I remember that. It was like that for me, too. I realized those thoughts were drawing me into the story and my heart skipped a beat.

  Oh man, Dazai’s casting his spell on me, too.

  “Konoha, you have a phone call.”

  My mom’s voice sounded from downstairs.

  I picked up the family phone. It was Tohko.

  “Ah-choo! Hello, Konoha?”

  Her cold had gotten worse, probably because she’d been pushing herself to come to school, and she’d gone home during second period. Before she left, she had staggered into my class and scribbled her phone number on my hand, saying, “Here’s my number. Take care of little Chia for me, okay? Don’t get too emotional. Be nice to her, and if you see a ghost throw salt everywhere and then run. Call me right away if anything happens.”