The Beginning of the End
After deeply bowing my head with an “I’m really sorry” for the 19th time that day, I had a dizzy spell, collapsed to the ground, passed out, and fell unconscious.
Having to take a taxi to an emergency clinic dealt yet another blow to my hurting wallet. On top of that, my boss told me to take some time off.
I knew I had to cut costs, but I had no idea what more I could possibly cut.
I wasn’t able to depend on my parents, so I had to make my own money somehow.
Having to part with CDs and books made my heart ache. They were all second-hand purchases made after careful consideration, but they were the only things in my apartment that could get me any money - I didn’t even have a computer or a TV.
I switched on a blue-bladed fan from a thrift shop and periodically went to the kitchen for a cup of cold water.
It was my first time taking the day off college. But no one would really pay any mind to my absence. They might not even notice I took the day off.
It was summer, and I was twenty. But like Paul Nizan, I won’t let anyone say those are the best years of your life.
Himeno’s premonition was wrong. At least on my end, nothing good was happening, and there was no sign of good things to come.
Though you could also think of it like this: If my childhood friend went to the same schools as me, I might not have ended up like this.
Perhaps because of that tension she made me feel, I was always striving to be the best I could be.
For the past few years, I’d been constantly having regrets to that effect.
My ears started to ring as I walked under the sun. I might have just been hearing things because of the irregular cries of cicadas. But it felt like it was right there in my ears.
I hadn’t yet gotten a good grasp on the geography of the town, so I was lost, and had to keep checking where I was walking.
So the way it usually worked was that whenever I got lost, I’d end up there. Almost like the roads leading to the store changed themselves around on a whim.
It was gloomy inside the building, with an overwhelming scent of old paper wafting about. I heard a radio playing in the back.
Passing through a tight passage by turning myself sideways, I called to the store’s owner. The old man poked his wrinkled, tired-looking face out from between piles of books.
The man’s face appeared to have something of surprise in it. Well, I could understand that.
“No, nothing like that.”
“Paper doesn’t make for a good meal. Not very nutritious.”
I nodded, and he held his arms together as if thinking deeply.
From the other side of the fence, I smelled incense and tatami mats, mixed with the smell of trees - a rather nostalgic smell overall. Wind chimes rang from a distant house.
After the evaluation was done and I was paid about two-thirds what I’d expected, the old man spoke.
“Yes?”
“It’s not like it just started now,” I ambiguously replied, and the old man nodded, seeming to understand.
“You wanna sell some of your lifespan?”
My reply came a bit late, thrown off by the unnatural combination of words.
“Yeah, lifespan. No, but I’m not buying. I know it sells for a lot, though.”
A fear of old age must have sent this old man off his rocker - that was the first conclusion I came to.
“Can’t blame you for thinking I’m joking. Or thinking this old coot’s gone senile. But if you want to entertain my nonsense, go take a look, I’ll tell you where. You’ll see I’m not lying.”
I heard out his explanation, all with a grain of salt. In short, this is what he told me.
How much it sells for varies between people; it’ll be more if the life that would lie ahead of you is more fulfilling.
I nostalgically recalled the lesson I heard back in elementary school, and thought how familiar it all was.
According to him, besides lifespan, you could also sell your time and your health at this shop.
“Dunno the details. It’s not like I’ve ever sold any of it. But outrageously unhealthy people can live decades, and healthy people can suddenly die - that must be the difference there, right? Can’t imagine what the deal is with time, though.”
The man drew a map on a notepad and wrote a phone number for me.
He must have feared that death was approaching and come up with this notion of being able to buy and sell life.
My expectation was half-right.
But my expectation was half-wrong.
After selling off my books, my legs carried me to a CD shop.
I took a deep breath and let the air soak into my body. The store was playing a popular summer song, which I suppose was still just as popular as when I was in middle school.
His face gradually changed to something that seemed to imply I had severely betrayed him. A face that said “How could you let go of all these CDs?” Basically the same reaction as the old man at the bookstore.
“What kinda turn of events is this?”, the blond asked me. He was a man in his late twenties with droopy eyes. He wore a rock band T-shirt and faded denim, and his fingers were always moving nervously.
“I’ve got somethin’ good for you. Maybe I shouldn’t really be tellin’ you, but I’m real into your taste in music, bud. So just between us, a'ight?”
“Lifespan?”, I asked back. Of course, I realized this was becoming a rehash of the conversation I had earlier. But I just had to repeat the question.
Was it some kind of fad to make fun of poor people?
While I puzzled over how to respond, he explained, speaking quickly.
The blond drew a map and wrote a phone number. It should go without saying that they matched what the old man gave me.
Just for today, I said to myself, inserting a coin into a nearby vending machine, and after much deliberation choosing cider.
The refreshing soft drink sweetness spread through my mouth. I hadn’t had anything carbonated in a while, so each sip made my throat tingle.
It seemed like I was in fact going to go to this building and sell my lifespan, time, or health.
I rolled my eyes, balled up the maps, and threw them away.
It was old. The walls were so darkened that it was impossible to imagine the original color. Maybe even the building itself couldn’t remember anymore.
The elevator didn’t work, so I had to take the stairs to my destination of the fourth floor. I sweat with each step I climbed, taking in musty air, lit by yellowed fluorescent lights.
I certainly didn’t believe the story about selling your lifespan.
I stared at the doorknob for a good five seconds without breathing, then grabbed it with determination.
Through the door was a room unimaginably clean considering the exterior of the building. I didn’t show any surprise.
From a general point of view, though, it was a very bizarre room. Like a jewelry shop with no jewelry, an optometrist’s with no glasses, a bookstore with no books.
"Welcome.”
I failed to find the time to ask “Just what the heck kind of shop is this?”, because she asked before I could open my mouth:
If you want to tease me, go ahead and tease.
I’d just let this play out for now, I thought. What did I have to lose at this point?
I wasn’t as cocky as I was back in elementary school, but I still held onto the belief that I was worth more than the average person. So I thought I could sell for 10 million a year.
I turned away from reality, which showed no signs of a turnaround, and told myself that someday, surely, I’d be such a big success I could write off these worthless years as never taking place.
With every year I aged, the scale of the success I dreamt about grew. The more cornered you are, the more desperate you are for the tables to suddenly turn.
Soon enough, I came to dream of eternity. I thought that unless I achieved such legendary success that my name would be known by all and never forgotten over the ages, I couldn’t be saved.
Maybe for my course to be corrected, I’d need someone, just once, to completely deny me. With nowhere to run and no way to protect myself, I needed to be beaten until I wept.
Then not only my past life, but even my life to come would be completely denied.
“Your evaluation will take about three hours,” she said, her hands already beginning to type on a keyboard.
Of course, that value was strictly something decided upon by them, not necessarily universal. But it was one standard.
I left the building and puttered around aimlessly. The sky was starting to dim. My legs were getting tired. And I was hungry. I wanted to take a break in a restaurant, but I didn’t have the funds to spare.
I sat down, casually slid them into my pocket, then went into an alley. I stood by a pile of scrap wood, lit a cigarette, and took a deep breath of smoke. It had been all too long since my last smoke, so it hurt my throat.
I stamped out the cigarette and headed for the train station. My throat began to feel dry again.
Her fashions seemed too young for her age, and the way she threw the food seemed restless; watching her filled me with a feeling I can’t say for sure what it was.
I’d initially thought in the realm of 600 million, but as if to avoid having to haggle for more, I tried to imagine the worst case scenario.
Though, when I first considered the value of life back in elementary school, and I heard that from a classmate with such gloomy prospects ahead of her, I thought “You couldn’t put a price on the chance to live your life - I’d ask for a disposal fee!” That, I had forgotten.
“Mr. Kusunoki,” the woman said - she definitely said that. I had no memory of giving my name to them, nor any form of identification. But they knew it, some way or another.
I could give all number of complex reasons for why that came to happen, but the one that stood out most was that woman.
Maybe it’s strange to have such an impression of someone from the very first time you meet them. But… I felt like anything she was involved in couldn’t be a lie.
But looking back on it, I came to realize maybe my intuition wasn’t quite right.
…Let’s get back to the evaluation.
As soon as I started to hear the word “three” out of her mouth, clinging onto a hope deep in my heart, I think for an instant my face lit up with expectation. I instinctively thought that my childhood estimate of 3 billion was right on.
“These are the results of your evaluation. What would you like to do?”
At first, I thought the number “300,000” on the form was the value of one year.
“24 million” repeated itself again and again in my head.
But as much as I tried to make excuses, it was futile. The only thing having a hard time was my common sense. Every other of my senses told me “She’s right.” And it’s my belief that when faced with something irrational, those are the ones you trust.
“As it turns out, your per-year value is 10,000 yen, the bare minimum one can fetch for lifespan. Since you have thirty years and three months remaining, you will be able to leave here with up to 300,000 yen.”
I laughed then not because I took her words as a joke, but because I couldn’t help but laugh at myself when faced with such an awful reality.
“Of course, this in no way indicates a universal value. This is strictly the result that is in accordance with our standards,” the woman said, as if justifying herself.
If I just wouldn’t be happy, or just wouldn’t make anyone happy, or just wouldn’t achieve any dreams, or just wouldn’t contribute to society - if I would just be worthless in one of their categories, I’d be fine with that.
“Why’s my lifespan so short?”, I asked, thinking I’d at least try.
“Let me think for a little.”
Ultimately, I sold off all thirty years, keeping only three months.
While the woman had me confirm every detail of the contract, I mostly just kept nodding to everything without thinking. Even when she asked if I had any questions, I said not really.
I left the shop with an envelope containing 300,000 yen.
Though I had no visual indication or any idea of how it was done, I definitely felt like I’d lost my lifespan. I felt like upwards of 90 percent of something in the core of my body had left me.
I felt more impatient in a body that was all but guaranteed to die without seeing 21 than one I expected to survive to 80. The weight of a single second was greater than ever.
I had also unconsciously thought that “Hey, I’ve still got sixty years left” back then. But with three months left, now I was attacked with impatience - like I had to do something.
It extremely aggravated me.
I stopped by a liquor store on the shopping district and bought four cans of beer, then five pieces of grilled chicken from a shop I stumbled on, and worked through both of them as I walked home.
I was feeling sick in no time, and spent thirty minutes puking once I got home.
This was how I started my last three months.
In almost the worst possible way.