The Accuracy of Death Koutarou Isaka

                                        

 This is entire short story The Accuracy of Death by Koutarou Isaka, from the novel of the same name.  I did as my final project for a translation seminar I took at a certain Midwestern university several years ago. I recently found out that there is actually an alternate translation (NOT by me) of this story that was published and is currently available at amazon.com.  
Original Title: 死神の精度

                                               The Accuracy of Death

                                                     1

            Some time ago, the proprietor of a barbershop told me that he had no interest in hair whatsoever. “I use scissors to cut the clients’ hair, right? From when I open shop in the morning until I close up at night, there’s no rest because I’m snip-sniping away. That is, it does feel good trimming the clients’ heads, I guess, but I don’t have any particular love for hair”

            In fact he would die five days later, stabbed to death in the stomach by a phantom killer. Of course at that time, having no expectation of death, his voice was lively and cheerful.

            “If that’s the case, why are you running a barbershop?” I asked again. With a crooked smile, he answered. “Because it’s my job”

            That was my exact thought and, if I exaggerated it, agreed with my philosophy.

            As for me, I have no particular interest in the deaths of humans. Traveling at 20mph on top of his personal parade car, the young President is shot; elsewhere, in front of Reuben’s painting, a boy together with his beloved dog freeze to death, and I have no interest.

            Come to think of it, that same barber also revealed to me that he was afraid of dying. In response to that I asked him “Do you remember things from before you were born? Before you were born, were you scared? Did it hurt?”

            “No.”

            “It’s because death is just like that, you see. It is only a return to a state of pre-birth. It is neither frightening nor painful”

            There is no meaning in a person’s death, nor is there any value. In short, if you think about it in reverse, anyone’s death becomes equal in value. That is why, to me, there is no connection between which human would die and when. However, in spite of all that, today I was also purposefully heading out in order to ascertain a human’s death. Why? Because it’s my job. Just like that barber said.

            I was in front of a building. In a spot that was separated from the front of the subway station by about 100 meters, was the twenty-story office building of an electronics manufacturer. A face of the wall was like a glass window, projecting a reflection of the pedestrian bridge opposite, and the building’s emergency stairs. I was standing at the flank of the main entrance while not knowing what to do with my folded-up umbrella.

            The black clouds overhead made me think of brawny muscles expanding. The rain was drooping. It was not intense but, in that instant, it made me persistently feel as if the rain would never end.

            Whenever I’m on the job the weather does not favor me. I understand that for “a job that manipulates death” bad weather is an accessory but, if you were to ask my other colleagues, it was as if this kind of thing is non-existent; that it’s just a coincidence, as it were, these days. So it can’t be helped that, when I mention that I’ve never seen a cloudless sky, my colleagues, more than humans, can cast eyes that look as if they want to believe that.

            I looked at my watch. It turned to 18:30.  Exactly as I was remembering that according to the schedule that I had been passed by the Information Department that it was around the time that a figure would soon appear, she came out of the automatic door, so I followed her.

            Holding a transparent vinyl umbrella while walking, her figure was not clear. Of middling height, and didn’t seem to be carrying any extra fat, that was the extent of her finer points. Because she was bent-backed and bowlegged, looking down as she walks she looked much older than her twenty-two years of age. Jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail gave a dark impression, more than anything, something like a sense of fatigue, a sense of tragedy, a worn out shadow hung from her forehead to her neck. Looking as though wrapped in a dull lividity, it couldn’t have been just the fault of the rain-dampened earth. It wasn’t that make-up would have helped; it was as if the will to adorn oneself was absent to begin with, and the suit she was wearing was far from brand name.

            I advanced with long strides, following her back. The entrance to the subway should be about 20 meters ahead, contact should be fine there. I’m pointing this out. Even though I think it every time, it’s something I want to be allowed to finish quickly. Go about your business, and nothing more. Because it’s my job.

                                                              2

            In front of the subway stairs, in a part that was covered, I folded the umbrella. Before folding it up I loosely shook it two or three times, casting a spray of water. Standing in front of me, the accompanying slush flew onto her back.

            “Ah!” I raised my voice. The drops had been bigger than I was expecting. She turned around with a questioning look.

            “I am so sorry. The mud, it just…” I bowed my head.

            She twisted her neck, casually pulling at the suit she was wearing, and eyed the dirtied spot. When she confirmed that, in its birthplace of beige, the mud, the size of a standard ¥500 coin, was there she once more turned a doubtful eye towards me. Appearing to get angry, no, naturally she had every right to be angry, more than that; it was also a perplexed look. Since she left it at that and began to go down the stairs, I hurriedly got in her way.

            “Wait a second, I’ll get out the cleaning charge,” I offered.

            Not that I had fully checked, but this time I should have had an appearance that was appealing to a young woman. The explanation that I received from the Information Department was that I would pass as a male model from a fashion magazine, a young man in his mid-twenties.  For every investigation they deduced the form that would facilitate the job and determined our appearance and age.

            Therefore, it was difficult to think that my appearance had given her any unpleasant feelings but, maybe the sudden talk of money was rather strange after all?

            She said something. I was able to grasp the content was something like it’s ok or its fine; but since she spoke in such a tiny secluded voice I couldn’t understand her very well.

            “Please wait,” without thinking I reflexively tried to grip my date’s arm.  I immediately drew my hand back.

            I had forgotten to put on my gloves.  It was decided that the body of a human must not be touched with our bare hands.  The moment we touch them humans faint, among many other troubles, that is why, so as to remove this urgent state of affairs, it was forbidden.  It’s a regulation. Violators are compelled to perform manual labor in body of flesh for a fixed period, as well as attending lectures on the study curriculum.

            Because that kind of rule violation is the same as the human conduct of flicking away a cigarette or ignoring a traffic signal, but I feel I should not list such petty things one by one so I won’t talk about it. It’s because I think there are rules that should be defied as well as rules that must be protected and followed.

            “That’s an expensive looking suit that got dirtied, and I can’t leave it like it is,” I said.

            “Expensive? The whole thing cost ¥10,000,” she finally uttered in an intelligible voice. “Is it gaudy?”

            “I can’t see how it’s that cheap but,” in actuality, it was visible enough. “In that case, it won’t be fine after all. Bargain suits can’t be readily obtained can they?”

            “It’s fine. This kind of stain” she said in a gloomy voice. “One or two splotches of mud won’t change anything”

            That’s right; the amount of mud you accumulated in your life won’t change. Besides you’ll be dead in week, I thought but didn’t say.

            “No, well, how about I do this. Instead of excuses, will you let me treat you to a meal?”

            “What?” she made a face as if she had just heard the lines of a play she had never heard before.

            “I know a good restaurant. But I can’t look like I’m going alone, so could you help me out and be my date?”

            She scowled at me. The truth is that humans are deeply suspicious. They’re extremely afraid of being the only one’s who look like fools; because of that they are easily tricked, and they can’t help it. Of course, there is also no wish for relief from this.

            “Where are all the others hiding?” she said with a thorny voice.

            “What?”

            “Everyones hiding somewhere and laughing aren’t they! That’s the reason why you’re hitting on me like this, so you can have some fun at my reaction isn’t it?” rather than talking the impression was more like reciting the nenbutsu.

            “Hitting on you?” it felt like being ambushed.

             “I may not look all fresh and wide awake, but I’m not bothering anyone so please leave me alone”

            She started moving on ahead. At that time I carelessly grabbed her shoulder with my bare hand. At the moment that I thought “damn,” it was too late. Turning her face towards me, as if she saw the figure of Death, no in reality she was looking at it. At any rate, her face became bloodless and pallid; losing her strength she collapsed on the spot.

            It was too late for regrets. I only pray that I wasn’t seen by any of my colleagues. When I had removed my gloves from my pocket and put them both on, holding the girl who had collapsed in my arms, I picked her up.

                                                                3

            “Really, this isn’t some bad joke?” she was sitting across from me, still suspicious. Since her voice was so hard to hear I brought my ears in close. We were at the table of a Russian restaurant. She had fainted and was barely awake and, while her awareness was still hazy about the gap in time, was partially coerced into being brought here.

            “It’s no joke. I just want to apologize”

            “Is that so…” her expression wasn’t stiff; on the contrary, she gradually blushed.

            “You surprised me when you collapsed so suddenly a little while ago” surely I couldn’t be expected to explain that it was because I touched you with my bare hands. Whenever we touch them with our bare hands, the lifespan of a human shrinks by one year; but because there was a considerable probability that she was going to be dead soon, it shouldn’t be a problem.

            “It’s a first for me too. My body should be healthy”

            You should speak more clearly and say what you mean. A gloomy tone is more wearying for the listener than for the speaker herself.

            “Um, what’s your name?” she asked in a tiny voice.

            “I’m Chiba,” those of us who are dispatched on jobs are attached to a fixed name. Whichever town or city we’re in, even though our form and age change each time, only our names don’t change. It’s kind of like a badge of high office, I guess.

            “Your name?”

            “Fujiki Kazue,” she explained that the Chinese characters in her given name meant ‘a single blessing’. “My parents were trying to grace me with a single talent so they stuck me with a name like this. It’s funny isn’t it?”

            “Funny?”

            “They probably never imagined that they would raise a woman without a single redeeming quality” rather than asking for sympathy, she seemed to be simply resenting her lot in life and sulking.

            After taking a bite of egg and a drink she said in a piece mail way “I’m… hard to look at.”

            “Hard to look at?” honestly, I must have misunderstood her. Narrowing my eyes and drawing my head back “No, you’re easy to look at. You’re not hard to look at,” I answered.

            She broke out laughing at that. It was the first time that light seemed to reach her face; it brightened up in an instant.

            “That’s not what I meant. I meant I’m not particularly happy with myself.”

            “I see” I could not soon deny that. Not particularly happy with oneself. That was it exactly.

            Since she asked my age I answered “twenty-two.” I had been set-up to be the same age.

            “You seem rather settled for your age.”

            “That is often said about me” that was a fact. “You’re so composed,” or “You look cold-hearted,” even my colleagues have said many things like that. I don’t like pointless chatter, and it’s not just that expressing emotions is not my forte, although to an outsider it might appear that way.

            She started talking about where she worked. It was as troublesome as before to understand her, but her tongue looked like it was starting to loosen. It wasn’t that she had cast off her reservations; it was most likely caused by the high pace at which she was drinking beer.

            She said that she was employed at the home office of a major electronics manufacturer.

            “That’s first rate. It’s really incredible,” I said as enviously as could.

            “But it’s in Complaints Processing” she furrowed her brow; again her face lost all affection. “My station is in the Complaint Processing. It’s a job nobody wants to do”

            “Complaint Processing?”

            “It’s taking phone calls from customers. At first, there’s a separate Inquiries section that’s related but, the calls from malicious people are transferred to me. After all, I specialize in troublesome complainers”.

            “That sounds depressing.”

            At this her shoulders dropped and with a gloomy face nodded “Yes, it is. It really is depressing. Since it’s only people calling to complain.  Nagging and shouting, non-stop sarcasm, threats. Those are the only kinds of people I ever address. Its like I’m going crazy.”

            That was good enough, and, in my heart, I started to applaud myself. “Is everyday that painful?” I casually took a stab at getting her to open up .

            “Not at all,” she shook her head at that. “Everyday is hellish torment.”

            “How so?”

            “Even though I look like this, when I’m on the phone I put on a very cheerful voice. I think it’s apologetic. But, when they start laying the blame on me, my mood sinks.”

            Since her tiny voice was like the clammy sound of a bubble bursting on the surface of a murky swamp, and though she said she spoke in a cheerful voice on the phone, I could not readily imagine it that way.

            “Recently, in particular, there’s this one strange caller”

            “Oh?”

            “He’s specially nominated me for when he calls to complain”.

            “Nominated?”

            “In the Complaints Processing station I’m in there are five women, and whenever there’s a call it’s randomly transferred to one of us, but that person, he calls out my name and so I’m forced to take the call.”

            “How horrible” he sounded bad, being a stalkeresque caller.

            “It’s unbearable,” hanging her head, she gazed at me with lifeless eyes, and spiritlessly smiling she said, “I wish I was dead.”

            I could feel my voice rising up. Your wish is my command.

                                                            4

            “Outside of work what do you do for fun? During your free time for instance”.

“Free time?” she made a face that looked like she had never been asked such a foolish question. “I don’t do anything. Just housework. After that I flip coins”.

She looked liked she was starting to get drunk. Her articulation was dubious and her eyelids looked heavy.

“Flip coins?”

“’If it’s Heads, I’ll find happiness,’ thinking that, I flip a ¥10 piece. It’s cheap divination”.

She had gone beyond self-derision; it was like she was becoming enlightened. “But, usually all I ever get is Tails. ‘Well, this time, if it’s Tails I’ll find happiness,’ I’ll decide and do the flip but,”

“But then it comes up Heads.”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you over thinking it?”

“Even if I give up on that fifty percent probability, I’ve already lost the will to live” she drained off her beer in gulps. “Since it’s all the same whether I’m alive or not, if I die nothing will change.”

“If you died, there would be many sad people” I said perfunctorily.

“There is one person,” her body was shaking unstably. “That creepy old man who’s always singling me out to call and complain.”  Showing her teeth, she laughed in a loud voice. “I really wish I was dead. Since I have no joy”.

            Even though we don’t actively urge our charges, there are many cases of these “Death Talks”. Namely, it is the trepidation, longing, and knowledge of death, really; with a face that looked like it was staring out from a dense thicket into an abyss, the story comes out bit by  bit.

            It is as if people can guess our true nature. During my training that was what I was taught. “Shinigami give humans a premonition of death.”

            It’s true that, from long ago, there are humans who have a hazy suspicion of our true nature. A certain person will “feel a chill running over me,” another will “feel as if death is at hand,” documents of these clear premonitions of death have been left behind. Sometimes there are also those who sensitively infer our existence and, claiming it divination, inform our subjects.

           “You shouldn’t say such frivolous things like ‘I wish I was dead,’” I said what I didn’t even feel in my heart.

            “Day after day, all I do is answer calls from complaining customers and, on top of that, if there’s not even one bright spot in my personal life, I just can’t see any reason to go on living. I’d like to file a complaint about my own life!” she vomited out those unimaginative lines.

            I stifled the urge to say that your reason for living had not been reaped yet.

            “This is what you call ‘Life’ or ‘Fate’ isn’t it?” it appeared she didn’t have a body that handled alcohol well. Moreover, one of the eyelids on her gloomy face was falling heavily. According to the data from the Information Department, she should no experience in sitting across from a man and eating dinner like this.  That could be why, being tense and in high spirits, she was drinking at a fast pace.

            At the table next to us there was an intimate looking couple sitting across from each other having a meal. When the woman, with a look that was mix of embarrassment and flirtation, said “I’m full, I can’t eat anymore,” the man enthusiastically said, “That’s fine I’ll eat for you!.” “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” The woman seemed to gladly offer her thanks but, what I couldn’t understand was why a person who was handing out food could be happy.

            “There’s a Lifespan,” I answered, returning my awareness to Fujiki Kazue. “Of course, no one can be limited to dying by their Lifespan.”

            She cackled. “That’s weird! When a person dies that’s their lifespan right? Dieing before your lifespan, how would you say that, isn’t it weird?”

            “If everyone had to wait until their Lifespan to die, it would be terrible,” naturally I probably should not have said that much but, since I could see she was already starting to get intoxicated, I continued. “The Balance would collapse”

            “What’s ‘The Balance’?”

            “It’s the population, the environment, the world’s Balance.” While saying this truth, even I did not know the particulars.

            “But, people die by their lifespan right?”

            “There are also cases of death before their Lifespan. Unexpected accidents, un-thought of affairs, those kinds of things are not Lifespan. Fires, earthquakes, and drowning. Those are separate from Lifespan, they are decided later.”

            “Who decides” her eyes started to close.

            I thought I might answer honestly ‘Shinigami’ but, since I thought that name might be disparaging, I instead answered, “God, I suppose”. Because Shinigami were gods, after a fashion, it was not necessarily off the mark.

            “Lies.” she was in high spirits. “If God exists why doesn’t he help me?” Oh, I thought, her voice, which had become somewhat louder, was clearing. For an instant, I heard a very beautiful voice. “But, on what kind of basis does God decide who dies?”

            “Not even I know that.” I answered honestly. In fact, what kind of standards we have, what sort of principles we follow, how the target human is selected, even I did not know. My post was different. Based on the instructions of that post I did not overdo the job.

            “But, if circumstances are decided in such a way, even meeting with an unforeseen accident is unbearable isn’t it?”

            “I suppose so.”

            “After looking at this closely, it’s annoying not to have it decided,” she spoke in a song like voice; she then collapsed on the table with a thud.

            In my heart I was sure there was no mistaking it. You are definitely the one I came to see.

            In carrying out an investigation, we decide whether a “Death” is appropriate and file a report. That is my job.

            Although I call it an investigation, it’s nothing so grand. One week before we decide, we make contact with the subject, listen to their story two or three times, and all we have to write is “Approved” or “Send them on their way”. However, since the basis for judgment was left up to individual discretion, the investigation system was almost a formality. With no real limits, filing a report of “Approved” came to be the rule.

            Ooh, I wanna die. She was talking in her sleep with her cheek attached to the table. “Even if it’s tomorrow I wanna die”

            While investigating, we have not had a human subject die. Suicide and terminal illness are outside the Shinigami’s jurisdiction. Should that occur we would be at a total loss. However, such a ting happening during the investigation period has never happened. That was why I started to feel a little apologetic towards her. “Unfortunately, you cannot die just yet”.

                                                                    5

            After placing her in a cab I walked around the late night arcade district. I felt the job was progressing towards a favorable response, so my footsteps were light. Originally, my job was carefree. Whenever assuming human form, if you were not weary of meeting humans, after only a brief conversation you could fill out the report forms and it would be over. I was not inclined to be much involved with my colleagues, so if I left the job site I could do as I pleased.

            I entered a CD shop. A CD shop doing late night business was always valuable so whenever I can find one I always breathe a sigh of relief. Even though it was past eleven at night the inside of the store still had some customers. Without delay I passed the shelves until I was at the spot where the preview machines were lined up. Besides doing my job, if I were to talk about my hobbies, there would be nothing other than listening to music.

            I savor the fresh sensation of music flowing from the headphones on my ears, sending shivers through me. This is truly magnificent. I have no interest in the deaths of humans but, if the humans went extinct, music would disappear; and only that is heartbreaking.

            Oh, I just noticed. There was already a middle-aged man wearing headphones in front of a preview machine, moreover he was one of my colleagues.

            I tap his shoulder. Looking as though intoxicated with his eyes closed, the man, taken aback, turned around.  Removing his headphones he laughed, “Yo.”

            “So your charge is in this area too?” I asked.

            “Yeah, it’s over today.”

            “The report is finished? Or, are you Witnessing?”

            “I’m Witnessing but,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Drunk on the way home and fell from the subway platform, you know.”

            When our week long investigation is over, we carry out the results of the report that our post was charged with. In cases where the result is “Approved,” no the majority are “Approved,” the following day, in other words the eighth day, the “Death” is executed. We Witness the action and then the job comes to an end.

            By the by, it is not known beforehand in what manner the human one is charged with will die. Nor does the cause of death occur on the seventh day of the investigation period. For example, there are no cases of a wound suffered on the sixth day worsening and causing death on the eighth day, until the time for Witnessing has come, there is no attached image of the manner of death.

            “Having a last listen before returning?” I pointed at the headphones.

            Smiling he said “Yup. Don’t know when the next time will be after all.”

            There are many among our companions who, if they can find time between jobs, listen to the previews in CD shops. Customers that are avidly listening to the headphones or loitering are most likely my colleagues or I. Before, I had the opportunity to see a movie but, it depicted that “Angels gather in libraries.” Indeed, I admired that they were in libraries of all places. We were in the CD shops.

            “This album is the best!” he handed me the headphones. I put them on. I couldn’t tell whether it was Rock or Pop, but I was able to cheerfully listen to the female vocalist.

            “This is good,” while returning the headphones, I gave my approval.  If we weren’t careful we ended up working during our free time instead of enjoying music. Because of that we have a thorough knowledge of music. The colleague in front of me had a little look of self-praise rising up and started to chat, “You should take notice of this album’s producer.” And, this producer was a genius or whatever, he was talking swiftly.

            “But this music is only good because of the female singer’s voice and sense” I said in reply. “It has nothing to do with the producer.”

            “That’s right. Songs are all about the voice. This producer says so too. Its nature and talent. That’s all there is to it.”

            “That’s all there is to it?”

            “To dig up this singing voice, this producer is amazing.”

            I gave an ambiguous response. The circumstances were suspicious but, might he have a steady job that overlapped with his being a behind the scenes producer?

            “And you?” he turned his chin towards me.

            “The investigation started today. But, I’m lucky, looks simple.” I recalled Fujiki Kazue’s face.

            “Simple or whatever, from the start you decided on “Approved” right? Anyway…”

            “I do intend to judge this a little seriously. I’ve decided that all I can do is gather information and hope that I bring down the correct decision.” I’m that kind of character.

            “But, the result will still be “Approved” right?”

            “Perhaps,” since that was the truth I had no choice but to acknowledge it. “But, for the time being, I intend to seriously grapple with it.”

            “For the time being, huh?”

            “Yes, for the time being.” Nodding my head, I took the headphones next to me and, placing them on my head, I pressed the replay button. “Later.” Raising his hand my colleague left the shop.

            Even if it’s Jazz, Rock, or Classical, whatever it may be, music is the best.

            Only when I’m listening to music can I be happy. Maybe it’s the same for the others. After all, even though we are Shinigami, by no means should it be acceptable for the picture of a skull to be drawn on just the covers of Heavy Metal albums.

                                                            6

            When I next met Fujiki Kazue it was two night later. As expected, a light rain was falling. Waiting in front of her workplace, I spot her coming out of the automatic door and followed her. Cars were passing through on the road, shedding the water that had gathered in their wake, making a noise that was like the sound of waves.

            At a quicker pace than last time, I caught up with her, even though it took some effort. When I was fairly close I raised a gloved hand and tapped her on the right shoulder. Surprised, she turned around. All I could think was that she was like a sleeping cat that had been tossed in the bath. I flinched, reacting sensitively.

            Seeing my face, she emitted an “oh” in a tiny voice; an expression of relief floated up.  Somehow, it seemed as if it wasn’t me that she was frightened of.

            “The truth is,” I took a handkerchief out of my pocket. “I wanted to return this.”

            “Wha… oh, that’s my…”

            “Yes. You lent it to me when I spilled my beer last time.”

            “Is, is that right?” with a gloomy face she twisted her neck. It was a lie. In fact, I had taken it from her pocket when I placed her in the taxi.

            “Thank you for last time. I don’t remember it very well.” While becoming flustered she bowed her head.

            “How about it? Want to chat a little more?”

            She looked around nervously.  More than the public eye, she seemed to be on the look out for something; so I hesitantly asked “Is now not a good time?”

            “N, No.”  She shook her head. “Well, the truth is, I think he might be close by.”

            “Who?

            “I think I mentioned it last time, that customer that made those complaints calls.”

            “The person who nominated you to tell his complaints to?”

            “Yes.” Her voice narrowed. “There was a call today too but, “I want to meet” is what he said to me.”

            “That’s scary.”

            “That’s why I thought he was close by.”

            Therefore, I promptly hailed a cab, and we moved to the neighboring quarter of the city. I thought she might find this overbearing and refuse but, happily, it had not ended up that way.  Entering a café she was unacquainted with, she adopted a rather relaxed appearance. “If it’s this place it’ll definitely be ok won’t it?” Strength drained from her shoulders.

            “I’ve got a bad feeling about that complainer.” I brought her into the conversation. It wasn’t that I really wanted to chat by any means but, if I could understand just how painful everyday was for her, it would become the basis for my decision that I would write in my report. Above all, whenever I draw out the subjects troubles and do the job in this way, I can gain a sense of completion.

            “The first time, he called to complain that the eject button on the VCR was broken.”

            “Could you speak up a bit?” I said before I was aware of it.

            “What?”

            “When you speak in a tiny voice, it gives a dreary feeling.” it wasn’t just that; since she was wrapped in an air of gloom, I thought that I should at least brighten the tone of the conversation.

            “But when I’m at work I’m forced to speak in a cheerful voice…”

            That’s right, I thought. If she spoke in that kind of voice, complaints wouldn’t pile up.

            “Since the calls that are transferred to me are full of people who fling false accusations over some trivial thing, I carefully listen to their story and just soak them in apologies. ‘I’m very sorry, I’m very sorry,’ over and over again.”

            “Just imagining it, it seems like it could become depressing.”

            “In the beginning it was the same with that person but, along the way I got a weird feeling. All of a sudden he said ‘apologize one more time.’”

            “One more time?”

            “‘Apologize one more time,’ he said. Naturally I apologized but, he kept repeating it. Over and over again. ‘One more time.’ In the end he was talking about something and I got angry.”

            “He’s probably the type that gets sexually aroused by having women apologize.” Not that I had any grounds for it but, since I was often surprised by the variety of human sexual tastes, I thought their conversation wasn’t pointless.

            She was so innocent that her face flushed at the word “sexually.” “Well, that day was over but, the following day, he called again. This time it was the television.”

            “The television?”

            “He said that the picture had gotten progressively narrower and abruptly cut out. Of course, I was going to transfer him to Repairs but then he said ‘that fine, you explain the cause.’”

            “And the cause of the malfunction?”

            “How would I know?”

            “That’s not your assignment.”

            “It’s the Complaints Department. I’ve never even laid eyes on that television. Despite that he said ‘Anything is fine just talk. Speak louder, more clearly.’”

            “For sure, the content of the conversation could be anything at all. He just wants to talk with you,” when I said that, her face became violently hateful.

            “Next was the stereo.”

            “Music!” I spoke without thinking. I was embarrassed with myself. Making an effort to smooth it over I continued, “The stereo was broken?”

            “That was also an absolute lie.” She bent her head. “He said that the CD wouldn’t eject; he made me listen to him sing the song.”

            “Now that is strange.”

            “Isn’t it though? And then, ‘Do you know this song? Try and sing it’ he always said that.”

            “The thing that needs repairing is that guy’s head. How malicious. And, finally, he said ‘I want to meet’?”

            “That’s right.” She spoke in a spiritless frail voice, and looked down. “After he repeatedly complained about his DVD player malfunctioning, he said ‘Can’t we meet somewhere?’”

            “Could it be that he was pleased with you?”

            “Me?” it seemed that she had not even considered that and was startled.

            “Maybe he was charmed by the way you answer the phone.”  If that were so, perhaps her desire for death would disappear.

            “That’s…” she was trembling, and then she showed an attitude that was a little happy looking but, she soon noticed. “Even if I pleased that weirdo, I’m not happy.”

            “Of course not.” I didn’t think that a stalkeresque caller could lead her to happiness. It was also difficult to think that the future of a couple made up of a gloomy woman and a complainer would be bright.

            She was silent for a while. While I was worrying about what I should talk about I looked out the window. I caught sight of the scowling faces of the pedestrians walking and holding umbrellas. On the sidewalk outside, puddles formed and carved a relief into the uneven surface.

            “There’s been a lot of rain recently hasn’t there?”

            “Whenever I’m working it always falls.” I confided.

            “So you’re a Rain Man.” She was smiling, but I couldn’t understand what was amusing. However, at that a question from long ago came to mind. “Is a Snow Man like that to?”

            “What?”

            “A man that, whenever he does anything, the weather turns to snow?”

            She broke out into laughter again; “That’s ridiculous.” She clapped her hands.

            I was unamused. It was not my intention to have a serious statement misunderstood as humor. What part had been ridiculous? Since I myself didn’t understand, I couldn’t revive the question in the next conversation. I have quite a lot of these experiences; those times are unpleasant.

            After a short time passed her voice leaked out, “What kind of a life is this?” It was as if all her wounds were boiling over; I was shocked. An expression that was like an appeal rose up in her eyes. It resembled a woman who had fallen down a hole and couldn’t climb back out looking up at the sky saying, in a voice that’s a mix of flirtation and urgency, “Won’t you lower a rope for me?”

            Could it be that she was appealing to me for help, I thought. She appeared to have the expectation that the one who would scoop her up out of her joyless low-flying life was none other than the man before her eyes. I must say, my appearance this time was rather glamorous. That was not a happy thing. Unfortunately, I had no such plans; it was outside my job classification.  “Since the subject is going to die next week anyway, I want to at least give them happy memories of this brief period.” Among my colleagues there were those who put on various productions like that, but I had no such hobby. It was the same as applying decoration to hair that was going to be cut “because it’s nice.” Since there was no changing that it was going to be cut, it was meaningless to wonder what to do about it. Just as a barber doesn’t save hair, I would not save her.

                                                            7

            Four days later, I wasn’t doing anything that could nearly be called work. No, “nearly” wasn’t accurate it was “at all”; since I had not contacted Fujiki Kazue until I received a call from the Department of Supervision.

            On that day I was wandering around the CD shops downtown, enjoying the music in front of the preview machines until the clerks kept suspicious eyes on me. Loitering at a park late at night I saw groups of young men attacking salary-men. At a bookstore I was engrossed in reading a music magazine.

            There was an interview published in the magazine about the “genius” producer that my colleague was so enthusiastically talking about the other day. I didn’t know his name but, I had been introduced to his work from listening to any number of CDs. I remembered that every one of them was a masterpiece; I acknowledged that he was indeed a genius. Whenever it comes to music, I’m quite sweet on humans.

            Within his words the word “Die” caught my attention. “I’m waiting to meet a truly new talent before I die.” Whether it was his steady self-confidence or his firm belief, I felt jealous of that vitality. Of course, I had no plans to quit my job. However, I didn’t have on hand any of the passion that seemed to ooze out of that producer.  Was that it? I thought. What I’m lacking is passion towards my work.

            Since I was pushing the button on the preview machine when a call came from the Department of Supervision, I hurried out of the store.

            “How’s it going?” it was enquired. It was the same as an unannounced inspection; they would contact us at an indeterminate time and check on how the job was proceeding.

            “I’m on it.” I ambiguously answered. For me it was a response that concealed neither enthusiasm nor motivation.

            “If you’re going to file a report you can do it early,” he replied with the stock phrase.

            “It may take until the last minute,” that was also always the same answer. Of course, it was a lie.  It would be fine to submit the report now. As far as Fujiki Kazue was concerned, no matter what the case, if I wrote “Approved” and submitted it, it would be concluded. However, there are many of us in the Investigation Department that didn’t do that kind of thing. We walk around the city in human form until the deadline period. Why? In order to fill our time with the joy of music.

            “Roughly, what kind of feeling do you have?” my partner finally inquired.

            “Probably “Approved,” I imagine.”

            This kind of back and forth was becoming something like a custom, a courtesy, a mere formality. After the call had ended, I thought that I should probably be going to meet Fujiki Kazue.

            As before, she left work at the same time. Was it my imagination? More than last time, shrugging her shoulders, she was emitting an air appropriate for one whose death waits nearby.

Holding her umbrella, she continued on at a half-run through the lightly falling rain. Presuming that, as always, she was heading for the subway station, I followed; but, contrary to my expectation, she passed by the entrance to the subway. She was crossing at the intersection.

She progressed along a tree lined avenue where the boutiques of famous name brand merchandise were lined up; she was progressively entering into a confusing area. There was a lot of foot traffic in the covered area that was exclusively for pedestrian use. The loud sounds of the game centers and fast-food restaurants were like cacophonies defiling the air.

            She came to a stop there. She sat down at a bench that was close to a small fountain that had been set-up in the middle of the path.

            Her face was turned down and she was clutching a women’s fashion magazine to her breast, but there was no indication that she would read it. I suppose she’s waiting for someone, I guessed. I was able to believe that the magazine was a sign that she was joining up with somebody that I wasn’t familiar with.

That Fujiki Kazue could be waiting to meet someone was beyond my expectations. Who could it be? If it were a friend or an acquaintance then it wasn’t necessary to be worried. “Could it be…”the thought came to me. Is it that guy? Even though there was the small possibility that she would offer herself up, wagering her dislike of the days where at all took a turn for the better No, she may have decided that, if you were to compare them, whatever the painful events that might occur were preferable to the utterly changeless days where nothing took a turn for the better. And so, she had decided to meet that guy who she only thought of as a degenerate.  It was possible enough.

As I was thinking that, a middle-aged man approached the bench she was sitting at with long strides. He was probably in his early forties.  His shoulder length hair was permed and he wore colored glasses. Of medium build and dressed in black from head to toe; I judged that this human was in no respectable line of work.  So as not to bother the pedestrians I drew up to the side of a building where I covertly examined the situation.

The man spoke to Fujiki Kazue. She looked at the man with a frightened face; in that instant, a disappointed look rose up on her face.

No matter how favorable a light one looked at the middle-aged male, he could not be classified as a good-looking man. He also didn’t show that he held the kind of wealth that would make women happy.  It was because he had no charm that could compensate for the defect of being a complainer with no common sense. With a moment’s glimpse she had probably also guessed that.

“Looking at her, was he also disappointed?” I thought; but I was disappointed. When their eyes met he said, in voice that showed no air of frank disillusionment, “I see.”

He was calling out to her, trying to induce her into coming into the inner parts of the quarter. She hesitated for a considerable while but, in the end, she stood and walked with the man.

However this may play out, there was no hope for a happy ending. I was already starting to wash my hands of them.

In this way, a woman, who is ignorant of the ways of the world, is lead to different daily life by a man who unexpectedly appears; I had witnessed it many times. If, entering into the adult entertainment industry, there were women who destroyed their bodies through its cruel labor, there were also those who, awash in debt, have lost their fortunes. Since I have no interest in the tragedies of humans, I also have no sympathy nor do I feel any pity for them. Besides, I imagined that Fujiki Kazue had allowed herself to be persuaded onto that path.

Entering a back-road, I continued on behind them. Then, in a spot that was about twenty meters away, the sight of the man forcefully dragging Fujiki Kazue came into view.

The place he was pulling her into was a karaoke place. The word “KARAOKE”, set-up in gaudy decorative lighting, was attached to the building.

I don’t really care for karaoke. For me, listening to music is unequalled, regardless. I’ve entered karaoke places any number of times as part of my job but, I had never really wanted to escape the discomfort. I didn’t understand the reason why; perhaps, to my way of thinking, I wanted to cross over the deep chasm between music and karaoke. It wasn’t a question of which was superior; I was on this side of the chasm, where I was only able to be happy, it’s better not to get to close to the other side; that’s all there was to it.

I was able to guess the reason he had taken her to this place. If you went into that place, a private room could be prepared and, like the sign said, listen to each other sing with a “natural voice,” it was also suitable for closing the distance between them. Of course, once they entered the room his true intention may have simply been to pounce upon her. He may just as simply have only wanted to relieve some stress. In any event, it was nothing unusual.

She was considerably angry. Dragging her hips, she was on the verge of being prone. She also looked like she would drop her umbrella.

I had thought that the above had nothing do with me.  It wasn’t my job to settle the troubles between men and women. Turning around, I thought that I would retrace my steps; but, at that exact moment, a voice flew out at me. “Chiba-san! Please help me!”

It had a definite contour; it was a loud voice. Like a trumpet emitting a deep echo, Fujiki Kazue had called out my name. Unfortunately, it had taken some time for me to notice that it was name.

                                                            8

“What’s going on here?” I had decided to approach this in a manner that suggested that I had by pure chance happened to be present there.

The man standing next to her was suspicious of my intentions. From top to bottom, he scrutinized me with his gaze.

“Chiba-san! Please help me.” rising up, she tried to grab my arm. Since I wasn’t wearing my gloves, I avoided physical contact.

“Is there a problem?” it was tiresome acting as if I only half-understood the circumstances and asking that.

“This person…well, I told you before.”  Since she paused as she spoke, I showed my good judgment. “The man from the phone?”

“That’s right.”

“And who might you be? Rather than when I had seen him from a distance, I could see he was the type who had common sense. Still, he didn’t have the appearance of a conventional company employee. I became disturbed when he glared at me with an acute glint in his eye. The collar of his black jacket was getting wet with rain, but he didn’t really seem to be concerned about it.

“Just an acquaintance.” When I said that, Fujiki Kazue’s eyes grew sorrowful, and she turned her gaze away.

“And yourself?” I inquired.

“I have business with her.” I dare say, has he no intention of talking about the situation honestly?

At that time, Fujiki Kazue vigorously started running away. Although she stood like a withered plant and gave no sign of moving, she had suddenly escaped. It wasn’t me, but the man who was the one to call out “AH!”

It was bad form, but it was a dash that conveyed desperation. In a reckless manner, he tilted his head and, while his bag looked as if it might fall off, ran after her. “Chiba-san, I’m sorry, but...” I could hear the cry from a great distance. Echoing in the arcade district, her loud voice became a very nice sound.

“Don’t interfere!” he closed in on me. Since he was probably more excited than he himself was aware of, he sprung upon me with the force of his previous loss. In the instant that I thought “Ooh scary,” he lost his balance and fell onto me.

I clicked my tongue. Appearing to hold him in my arms, we tumbled to the ground. Water had collected on the manhole cover under my ass. The pants I was wearing keenly conveyed the coldness to my skin. That was when I noticed that I had touched my opponent with my bare hands.

Why are humans so fond of creating these kinds of problems? Looking at his profile, in that tedious moment, I was startled.

                                                            9

The man got up and surveyed his surroundings; when he realized that he was in the road, he stood there looking embarrassed. He walked slowly. Concealing myself behind a vending machine, I pursued him. This time, for some reason, it was just shadowing. It wasn’t Fujiki Kazue that this man had me anxious about; it was for a very singular interest. In other words, it wasn’t for the job.

I knew that man.

Since putting it like that may invite the misconception that he and I may, perhaps, be acquaintances, if I were to explain it clearly, I had seen a picture of the man.

It had been published in the music magazine that I had just recently been perusing. It was that “genius” producer that my colleague had told me about. While rubbing his back he staggered towards a back street. Along the way he took out a cell-phone.

That was fortunate; disbelieving my eyes, while realizing my own good fortune, I strained my ears. If it was sound that was transmitted via radio waves then, even if we were in a separate location, we could listen to them. Picking a specific signal out of the innumerable ones flying about was a pain, but it was not impossible. If you knew the location and timing of the transmission it was comparatively simple. Holding the phone to his ear, he jogged until he had moved to a communal living building, and entered the stairwell. I caught the call the phone was sending.

Not long after, a woman’s voice answered, “Speak.”

“It’s me.” I could hear him say bluntly. I didn’t understand; did they leave out the introductions because they were on such close terms, or was it just because they were omitted when phone numbers were transmitted.

“Well?”

“Wait a little longer.” He said.

“It didn’t go well? I can’t wait any longer.”

“Don’t say that!  Still, it’s the real thing. I heard it a little while ago. That voice is the genuine article.” His voice concealed his enthusiasm, it was the same type of feeling I got from that article in the music magazine. “But, I wasn’t able to explain that to her.”

“This genuine voice has it?”

“It does. The talent for singing, in other words, the voice’s appeal.”

“No matter how good a voice is, what about tone-deafness?”

“I had planned to have her sing some karaoke, but there was a misunderstanding.”

“Will it be ok like that?”

“Trust my instincts on this!”

“Why didn’t you just follow procedures and explain things to that girl? She was probably suspicious of you.”

“If she understands that I’m a music producer, and then, if it’s revealed that I’m acting like a scout, usually those bastards have such unrealistic expectations and end up getting all worked up, it would end up looking like a lie.”

“You’re over thinking it.” She was probably working in the same industry as he was, perhaps they were old friends.

“Do you know Catherine Felia?” she asked.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“Who’s that?” I asked inside my head.

“She’s an opera singer. She was working as a switchboard operator when, by pure chance, a caller discovered her voice and, as a result, she became a star opera singer. Well, that’s probably an anecdote they made up after the fact but, what you’re doing is the same.  You fell in love with the voice of a woman from the complaints department who received your call by chance.”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t do anything stupid did you? Moreover, you probably called the complaint line any number of times didn’t you?”

“I had to make sure. The more I listen the better it sounds.”

“How’re her looks?”

“Mediocre.” After that prompt answer he burst out laughing. It was a warm, composed laugh. “It’s okay. It’s common in those that don’t display their talents. Like peeling off skin, if they were to display their talents, their charm will also come out in the open.”

“Well, that fine but… I’ll only wait three days; contact me then.” She said in a voice that I couldn’t tell whether she expected anything or not.

The call ended. When he returned his cell-phone to his pocket, while dragging his feet, and yet appropriate for one who grasped his destination, his back progressively straightened and he entered the narrow road. Since there was no cover he quickly opened his umbrella.

I didn’t follow him any more than that. Instead, I was standing there, considering what would happen.

That producer was attracted to the voice of Fujiki Kazue, the head of Complaints Processing for the electronic manufacturer. Somehow, that’s what it looked like. On the complaint line he had urged her to “try to sing it,” Fujiki Kazue had definitely said that; but was that also all part of his plan? It was an absurd way of doing things. However, I also didn’t think it was an unpleasant way of doing it.

“Well now…” I was staring into space lost in thought.

What on Earth will become of her? Did she really have a talent for song? Even supposing that she had talent, there was no limit to her success; in the human world that was always the case. I couldn’t decide whether or not her life would become happy with realizing those kinds of things.

“What should I do?” I asked myself. As it was now, if I submitted a report of “Approved”, then it would be decided that Fujiki Kazue would leave this world tomorrow. I didn’t know what sort of accident or incident would be arranged, but there was no mistaking that she would die.

I have no interest in the deaths of humans. Without becoming overly-involved, on the grounds that it was a job, I didn’t really care about the form in which the life of the subject I was in charge of would end.

Still, if there was any chance that producer’s instinct was correct; again, if there was a chance that she would succeed in becoming a prominent singer; again and again, I thought that it might be pleasant if the time would come when, I could listen to her songs at the preview machine of a CD shop I would someday visit.

The rain drops bouncing off the ground were starting to make noise when I became aware that the passing shower was strengthening. Just like that, it looked like my conclusion would be rushed.

“Right.” I hit upon the idea after recalling Fujiki Kazue’s face.

Removing my wallet from my pocket, I took out a ten-yen coin. Using my finger, I flipped it without hesitation. The falling coin stopped in the palm of my hand. I placed the coin on top of my rain-dampened hand. Heads or tails, that’s how it would be decided. Will it be “Approved” or will it be “Send her on her way?” Will she die tomorrow? Or, will she live out her Lifespan? Which way would it go; it was insignificant to me, and I could imagine nothing more perfect than a coin toss.

I looked at the coin. It was heads. “That means…” I tilted my head. I had completely forgotten that, in the event it was heads, whether I had intended “Approved” or “Send her on her way.” The rain was growing in intensity. Feeling prodded by that, I decided that it was good enough. Very well, “Send her on her way.”