Or so I thought. When I noticed that an older woman of around sixty, apparently a patient, had squatted down in the corner of the hallway, I quickly headed for room 401.
In the far corner of the fourth-floor hall, a nameplate identified Misaki’s room: “Misaki Nakahara”, it said.
There was no mistake. This was the room.
I knocked softly.
There was no answer.
I tried knocking again, a little harder; there was still no answer. However, my knocking seemed to have dislodged the door, though it might have been open partially to begin with.
“Misaki?” I peeked into the room.
She wasn’t there.
Well, if she’s not here, there’s nothing I can do. I’ll go home!
I decided to leave behind the fruit basket I had bought in the hospital gift shop. And I noticed someone had left a train schedule open on the shelf next to the bed. The schedule was annotated here and there in red ballpoint pen. Moving it aside, I put down the fruit basket.
As I did, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and read it: “Mikka Tororo was delicious. Therefore, farewell, everyone.”
Shoving the scrap of paper and the schedule into my coat pocket, I dashed out of the hospital and headed toward the station.
The sun had begun to set.
They should have put her on a closed ward with iron bars over the windows, not an open one where she could come and go freely. They should have put her in a straitjacket and pumped her full of medicine to make her happy. But because they hadn’t, Misaki had left the hospital. She was heading back to the town where she’d been born. She was likely going there to die.
I remembered the discussion we’d had a good while ago:
“Tsuburaya, the runner, apparently went home to the countryside right before he died. Then, he ate grated yam with his mother and father, it says.”
“Hm.”
“I guess everyone wants to return to their hometown before they die, after all.”
That was probably true. Misaki, too, must have started wanting to return to her hometown. She likely intended to dive into the sea from the tall, sheer cliffs at the cape, where she’d said she often played. It wasn’t going to be that easy, though. Now that I had found her suicide note and the train schedule, her luck had run out.
As far as I could tell from looking at the notes marked on the schedule, Misaki had boarded the train only an hour or so before. If I chased after her, I should be able to make it in plenty of time. I knew where she was headed, and on top of that, I had money. If I used taxis for part of the trip, I might even reach the destination before Misaki. There wasn’t any reason for me to worry.
On the night train, I opened a map, purchased at a bookstore along the way. I looked for that cape—the one where Misaki said she often played when she’d been little. Here it is. The map showed only one cape near her hometown, so this had to be it.
Misaki probably had boarded the train that had departed right before mine. Mixed in with people returning home for the year’s end, she likely was heading for the town where she’d been born, toward the cape known as a famous suicide spot. However, she didn’t know that I was following her.
I wouldn’t let her escape. I was certain to catch up with her. On that point, at least, I wasn’t worried. The problem lay elsewhere.
When I found Misaki, what should I say to her?
I understood her suffering, if only a little bit. It was just the very tip of her pain; even so, I could imagine it to some degree. She probably felt trapped, as though shed run out of options. And her pain would never, ever disappear, not in her entire life.
Of course, that was natural. In a way, her pain was common to all mankind. It was an ordinary suffering. Everyone is troubled by similar feelings. I, too, was troubled by them.
Even if I keep living, there’s nothing to be done. It’s only pain.
Knowing that, could I stop her from jumping? Did I have the right to stop her? As a member of society, I probably should say something appropriate like, “Even so, keep living!” or “Stop whining!”
I understood all that.
I understood it, but still…
While I was mulling over these things, the train arrived at its destination.
Exiting the station, I found that the town was deserted. It was already the middle of the night; but even given the time, the area around the station was as silent as a ghost town. There was no sign of anyone on the streets.
On top of that, it was snowing and really cold. As the town was located on the Sea of Japan, it was in something of a blizzard zone. I fastened shut the neck of my coat and headed toward the sole taxi in sight. The driver seemed surprised by a customer’s arrival. The man, poised at the threshold of old age, looked like he’d been sleeping in his seat. Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes.
Getting into the warm car, I pointed at the map to show him my destination. The driver looked at me for confirmation, with an expression that said, “Are you serious?”
I nodded, and the car took off, causing the chains on the tires to clank.
“Sir, why would you want to go to a place like that so late at night?”
“Sightseeing. Please hurry.”
About half an hour later, the taxi exited onto a hilly road that ran along the ocean shore. It headed straight up a steep hill. On the right, the pitch-black sea spread out. When we reached the top of the hill, the taxi stopped.
“This place actually has become quite a famous tourist spot, but there isn’t anything here.” The taxi driver spoke as though in apology.
I paid the fare and got out of the taxi.
“You don’t really plan to… No, the construction is complete, so it should be fine.” With that, the taxi driver pulled back onto the road.
I looked around. There really wasn’t anything here. Or more accurately, it was so dark that I could barely see.
As the ocean was on my right side, I thought I would find the cliff if I headed in that direction, but only sparsely scattered streetlamps lit the area. I felt terribly helpless. For the time being, I crossed the road and, climbing through the space between the guardrails, I set off on a snow-covered path.
Misaki had to be at the other end of this path. Stepping through the snow, which came up to my ankles, and taking care not to slip and fall, I continued down the path cut through the thick brush. With each step, the surrounding darkness grew deeper and deeper.
Before long, the light from the streetlamps no longer reached me, and I could hardly see anything at all. Then, the brush thinned abruptly. The path ended, and in front of my eyes stretched the coal-black sky and the Sea of Japan. That’s right. I had made it to the very edge of the cape. It was too dark for me to see well, but the cliff was about thirty feet ahead. I finally had arrived. I had reached my destination!
But what about Misaki?
I looked around, but I couldn’t see much. A large full moon floated in the night sky, but my eyes weren’t used to the dark yet, so I couldn’t make out anything but vague outlines. There seemed to be no sign of anyone anywhere. That was all I could tell.
What did this mean? Had I arrived first? Or had Misaki stopped somewhere along the way? Or could it be that…
My heart began pulsing violently, and my blood curdled.
No, no, it couldn’t be. There was no way that she could have jumped before I even arrived, right? She’d be here shortly. Soon, Misaki would come walking down that path.
I stepped back and sat on a bench that faced the ocean. With my face turned expectantly toward the little path, I waited for Misaki.
An hour passed. Misaki didn’t come. It began to seem as though she wouldn’t come down the path at all. I put my head in my hands. Without realizing it, I started talking to myself.