11
A white light floated in the air, growing hazy with mist. The more I tried to focus on the whiteness, the less distinct its contours became and the more I was left with just the afterimage of an indeterminate brilliance. I opened my mouth to speak. There was a brief lapse in time before I felt certain that the hoarse sound breaking from my throat was my own voice.
My neck was fixed in place, though I was able to move everything else. But when I tried to raise my right arm, a stabbing pain concentrated at the base of my throat, and it became a struggle to breathe. The afterimage that remained behind my eyes had faded to green, and it swayed from side to side whenever my gaze shifted. My conversation with the doctor drifted through my mind. I had a feeling that I had tried to make all kinds of excuses. Yesterday’s events were similarly obscure. The quilt had been pulled up to my shoulders, but I had a slight chill, and it seemed unlikely I would fall back asleep.
The door opened and Sayuko came in. Seeing her on crutches, my memories of recent events came flooding back. “You’re finally awake,” she said, giving me a smile. Unable to make much effort, I let out a little sound in acquiescence.
“The two of us are really giving this hospital a lot of business,” she joked, as if she didn’t know what else to say, and smiled again. She opened a folding chair with one hand and sat down, stretching out her bandaged leg.
“. . . How are you feeling?” Her expression was somewhat drawn.
“Not great. Even if I could move my neck, I can’t get out of bed.”
“After an accident like that, it’s a miracle you’re not in worse shape.” She raised her downcast gaze, slowly and hesitantly. When she did, her eyes were tinged with the shadow of reproach. “. . . It’s a lie, isn’t it? You said you were out of your head when you crashed, from your escape after being robbed . . . But even if you were really robbed, the rest of it is a lie, isn’t it? You crashed on purpose. Why? Why do such a thing?”
Her lips were trembling, but her gaze was stern and unwavering. I closed my eyes, but was unable to stem the emotion centered between my brows.
“I don’t know why,” I replied frankly. “I just . . . felt like it would be a gentle way to go. You know, like maybe it would be the easiest thing—and then nothing more would happen to me, you know? At that moment, the world seemed gentle. Astonishingly so.”
“What the hell are you talking about? How is dying going to help anything?”
“Not dying . . . That’s not what I’m talking about—not exactly.” My voice trembled with the words. “When I was about to crash, I felt like I was totally one with myself, and I couldn’t stop it.”
“That’s stupid.” She started to cry. “You said you’d always be there for me, didn’t you? Were you lying? This is cruel. You’re such a—such a coward!”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
The moonlight streaming through the window had cast a shadow on Sayuko’s teary face. I could hear a child making noise in the room next to us. The moon was beautiful, and the echo of the child’s clear voice made a lovely sound. The shadow created by the curtain extended out straight, as if to divide the hospital room.
“And . . . The people who did that to you, they aren’t around anymore, are they?” she murmured.
“. . . I know that.”
“No, you don’t . . . ! They’re gone! The people who attacked you are gone now.” Sayuko’s words resonated with warmth and kindness. Yet something inside me still resisted. I wondered, Could that really be true . . . ? The child’s voice quieted, and I could now hear the faint sound of the television from the next room. The announcer was reading the latest news in a businesslike manner.
“For some reason, I feel like crying,” I said, and she laughed.
“It’s all right if you cry, isn’t it? I’m the only one here.”
At the east exit of Ikebukuro Station, in front of where the Seibu Ikebukuro Line let out, there was a constant stream of people, despite it being a weekday. All of them jumbled together, noisily rushing about in every direction in the darkening bluish gloom of evening, the countless neon signs advertising themselves but still only dimly illuminating their surroundings. In the past, being in a crowd like this would have made me feel isolated and alone; I would have hated it. The people gathered together had seemed like an amorphous haze bearing down on me—I’d felt a sense of oppression. I probably still felt it, but I wasn’t quite as aware of it now. I had only just gotten out of the hospital, but as long as I took it easy, I could walk without pain in my neck. I lit a cigarette and looked for Mr. Yamane, whom I was meeting here.
Despite her own injury, Sayuko had done a lot for me while I was laid up. On crutches, she went to the hospital shop, and when they didn’t have what I needed, she refused to be deterred—no matter what I said—and got herself to a convenience store. The nurse told me over and over about the way she made it down the staircase, swinging her thin body from step to step. I didn’t see it for myself, but I could easily imagine it. From now on, I would have to measure up to her.
I spotted Mr. Yamane beside the pedestrian crossing. He raised his hand in my direction.
“I’m sorry, I thought I was right on time—am I late?”
“No, uh, I got here too early. You’re fine.”
For some reason, Mr. Yamane didn’t seem entirely relaxed. We should get dinner sometime, he had said, but I had the feeling there was something specific he wanted to say to me. He was chain-smoking, more so than usual, and smiling constantly. This time, I figured it would be my turn to listen.
“Is there something you’re afraid to say? It’s all right—just tell me.”
“Ah, uh-hmm, actually, I feel terrible about this.” He stubbed out his cigarette and lit a new one. “The restaurant where I planned for us to go tonight—your father is supposed to be there. If I had told you beforehand, I figured you probably wouldn’t come . . . Ah, of course, I have no particular wish to bring you two together, but . . . he insisted, you see. He probably has a favor or something he wants to ask of you. ‘Let me see him myself,’ he said, since I wouldn’t give him your contact information. He even told me I had no right to refuse him. He’s probably right. But I arranged this meeting on the condition that I be here as well.”
With an apologetic look, Mr. Yamane spoke slowly, choosing his words as he gauged my response. I hated to think about causing such a good man to worry. I smiled to reassure him that it was all right.
“Do you remember the ‘Mercy Event’? About six months after I came to the orphanage.”
“Hm?”
“The ‘Mercy Event.’ Right after I came to the orphanage.”
Mr. Yamane looked at me blankly, but then nodded.
“There were tons of donations. Most of it was clothing. But these weren’t just the usual hand-me-down donations—surprisingly everything was brand-new. The local businesses that had collected the donations were very kind, and we all sang a song in gratitude.”
A car sped up to go through the pedestrian crossing, where the light had changed and the sound was signaling for us to cross. In front of us, a little girl spun around in surprise. Mr. Yamane had stopped inhaling his cigarette and was looking me in the face.
“But I wasn’t the least bit happy about it. I hated being made to wear the clothes, even that they had been given to me, and when the adults asked me what was wrong, I refused to answer. I just sulked in silence . . . Some of the other children became infected with my antipathy, and it almost ruined the event. The employees from the businesses had made the effort to bring these things to us, and I had disgraced everyone. I had repaid their goodwill with hostility, and my behavior caused distress for many people. And the orphanage had been indebted to these businesses for a long time . . . ”
Mr. Yamane had closed his eyes. His face was calm; the deep creases that appeared on his visage reminded me, once again,
how old he was now.
“When the event ended, and we all started to clean up . . . I thought I was going to be beaten. I had made those employees feel ashamed, and my attitude must have caused trouble for everyone, so I thought I would be severely reprimanded. When you came over to me, my entire body was bracing for a beating. I knew if I prepped myself, I could stand it, at least to a certain extent. But Mr. Yamane, you didn’t beat me. On the contrary, you smiled and patted me on the cheek. I could not make sense of it. I couldn’t understand why you didn’t hit me. I just stood there, still holding a chair that I had been about to put away, unable to move. I’ll never forget that moment. If nothing else, no matter what happens, I will always remember that moment. Up until now, I have not been focused on what is important. I’m not talking about just back then. Mr. Yamane, you are still to this day looking out for me . . . I am truly grateful to you.”
I bowed my head as I spoke these words, and made as if to turn around to go back the way we had come.
“Hey.” Mr. Yamane’s voice was loud and frantic. “Of course I can understand if you don’t want to see him, but don’t you think you should meet him, just this once? You would have had a different life if he hadn’t left you in the first place, right? Don’t you have anything to say to him? After all you’ve been through?”
I turned back around to face Mr. Yamane again.
“I was born in the earth.”
“What?”
“I have no parents. Not any more. They mean nothing to me now.”
I turned my back and started walking into the crowd waiting for me, so thick that I couldn’t see in front of me. The hordes of people passed by me, as crowds do, every imaginable expression visible on various faces, each person walking in their own direction. I thought I might have seen “them” among the throng, which gave me a little start, but I kept my eyes open and walked on past. Mr. Yamane did not call out after me, but I assumed he was still back there, watching me. I stepped slowly through the chaos. No matter which way I headed, there was an endless flow of people.
I was planning to take Sayuko on a little trip, once I was a bit more settled back into my life. But first, before we decided on anything or made any demands, I thought we should pay a visit to her child’s grave.
Afterword
The Boy in the Earth was the fifth book I wrote.
I have truly been saved by literature. If I hadn’t met with stories that dive deep into the nature of society and humanity, stories that press on and attempt to reveal our true nature, I’m sure my life would have turned out differently. Literature is still precious to me. It provides me with the sustenance I need to go on living. Even now, having come to write books myself, that hasn’t changed in the slightest.
I want to thank everyone who helped me publish this book, and all the people who will read it.
—Fuminori Nakamura
About the Author
Fuminori Nakamura was born in 1977 and graduated from Fukishima University in 2000. He has won numerous prizes for his writing, including the Ōe Prize, Japan’s largest literary award; the David L. Goodis Award for Noir Fiction; the Shinchō and Nōma Prizes for debut fiction; and the Akutagawa Prize, Japan’s most prestigious literary award. The Thief, his first novel to be translated into English, was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize, was selected by The Wall Street Journal as best fiction of the year, and a World Literature Today Notable Translation. His works have been translated into numerous languages and made into several films. His other novels that have been published in English include The Gun, Evil and the Mask, The Kingdom, and Last Winter, We Parted.
About the Translator
Allison Markin Powell is a literary translator and editor in New York City. Her translation of The Briefcase by Hiromi Kawakami was nominated for the 2012 Man Asian Literary Prize, and the UK edition (Strange Weather in Tokyo) was nominated for the 2014 Independent Foreign Fiction Prize. She has also translated works by Osamu Dazai and Kanako Nishi, among others.
Fuminori Nakamura, The Boy in the Earth
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