Vol 1 Chapter 4.1 (2/2)
”And that's why I should throw everything else away?”
”Toss it. Cut yourself away from all the baggage you've carried until now.”
s.h.i.+on clenched his fists at his sides. He took a step closer to Nezumi.
”Then what about you?”
”Me?”
”Why did you help me, then? I'm just a stranger, but you stepped into dangerous territory to save me. You're not exactly practising what you preach.”
”Some personality you've got,” retorted Nezumi. ”If you really feel that you've been rescued by me, why don't you try to be a little more modest when you say things?”
Nezumi's hand extended to grasp s.h.i.+on's collar. He was pushed against the bookshelf.
”I owe a debt to you,” his low voice hissed at s.h.i.+on's ear. ”Four years ago, you saved my life. I'm paying back that debt. That's all.”
”Then you've paid enough. Too much, even.” s.h.i.+on gripped Nezumi's wrist to pry it away from his collar. But Nezumi's taut muscles showed no signs of relaxing.
”Let go.”
”Make me, little boy.”
”I'll bite your nose off.” s.h.i.+on clicked his teeth. There was a split second of hesitation. s.h.i.+on didn't miss it. He slid a hand around the back of Nezumi's neck.
”Biting noses off is my specialty.”
”Huh? Wait a second, that's dirty―”
”I forgot to mention, over these past four years, I've also learned how to fight.”
”Hey, knock it off,” Nezumi said nervously, ”biting is the worst―whoa―!”
Nezumi lost his footing, and the two fell flailing into the sea of books. Pile after pile toppled over, and books rained down on them from above.
”Ow,” Nezumi grimaced. ”This is the worst. I think I hit my head on an encyclopedia.... s.h.i.+on, you alright?”
”Yeah... what's this? Chumayel's Chilam Balam?”
”It's a Mayan spiritual text ― a story about G.o.ds and humans. You probably wouldn't be interested in it.” Nezumi smiled wanly as he began to stack the fallen books.
”What's that supposed to mean?”
”It's true, isn't it? Have you ever had any interest in other humans, or G.o.ds, or tales before?”
Humans? G.o.ds? Tales? He had never thought deeply about any of those. Not once. But that was before.
s.h.i.+on gazed all about him, and breathed in the warm scent that filled the air. Here was a world that he didn't know. In the days to come, what would he see, hear, learn, and ponder? His heart raced, but he didn't know why. For a single moment, his soul had danced with an antic.i.p.ation, much like the feeling of seeing the ocean for the first time. Then he thought of the look he must have on his face. He felt embarra.s.sed for letting it show, and not wanting Nezumi to see, he bent down and nonchalantly picked up a book laying at his feet.
”What's this?”
”A collection of Hesse's poems,” Nezumi replied.
My soul, you frightened bird,
Over and over you must ask:
When after so many turbulent days
Comes peace, comes calm?[3]
”―Heard it before?”
”No.”
”I figured as much.”
”Don't ask if you already know,” said s.h.i.+on sourly.
”It's your job to learn it if you don't know.”
”And these aren't useless things?”
”It'll come in handy one day,” Nezumi said casually. ”Anyway, enough of that, the soup's gonna get―” Nezumi swallowed his words. His eyes widened.
”What's wrong, Nezumi?”
”s.h.i.+on, your hand.”
”Huh?”
”Your hand... when did those spots...”
s.h.i.+on's s.h.i.+rt sleeve was rolled halfway up his arm. There were dark spots were beginning to spread over its bare skin. They had not been there when he was taking a shower. They had definitely not.
”What? What is this?”
He was screaming. At the same time, he felt a vicious pain pierce his head.
”s.h.i.+on!”
The pain came in waves. They receded for a moment, then attacked, bearing ruthlessly down on him. His fingers stiffened. His legs began to convulse.
”s.h.i.+on, hang in there, I'll get a doctor―”
s.h.i.+on willed his uncooperative body to reach as far as it could. He grabbed ahold of Nezumi by his clothes. There wasn't enough time. It was useless to call a doctor.
”What should I do? s.h.i.+on, tell me what―”
”My neck...” s.h.i.+on said weakly.
”Your neck?”
”The blister... cut it open...”
”But I don't have any anaesthetic.”
”I don't need any...” he grimaced. ”Hurry...”
He was fading out of consciousness. He could feel his body being lifted.Don't pa.s.s out. If you do, you'll never wake up again. He didn't know what made him feel so strongly, but he was almost sure of it. The pain ebbed away for a short while, and an image drifted into his mind of Yamase as he collapsed to the ground and lay still.
―But Yamase-san didn't suffer.
He didn't roll around in pain. He aged instantaneously, and pa.s.sed away like a withering tree. Yamase's symptoms were different from his. Maybe that means I still have a chance―
His brain was pierced by smouldering red needles. They were countless, and came from all directions. His body writhed in pain that he had never experienced before. His own screaming turned into scorching splinters that stabbed through him. He began to sweat profusely. He felt a strong wave of nausea. Blood and stomach fluids welled up inside his mouth, and spilled over his lips.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
s.h.i.+on no longer wanted to be saved, or to be spared death. He wanted to be released from this pain, this suffering. He didn't need to open his eyes. He didn't need to live. He wasn't asking for much. He just wanted to be released―
He felt like someone had grabbed him by the hair from behind, and was dragging him into the darkness. He felt relieved. All he had to do was lend himself to it, and he would be taken to a better place. He would finally be able to sleep.
A thick, bitter liquid was being poured into his mouth. It was hot. It slid down his throat, and s.h.i.+on could feel himself rise up out of the darkness. But it also meant that he was being pulled back into the throes of suffering.
”Keep your eyes open.” A pair of grey eyes were peering into his face.
”Nezumi... I can't take it...” s.h.i.+on implored faintly. ”Let me go...”
He was slapped sharply across the face.
”Don't bulls.h.i.+t me. You're not going anywhere. Drink up.” The strong and bitter liquid was forcefully poured into his mouth again. The darkness was lifting. Weak pulses of pain throbbed in his head.
Nibble nibble nibble... nibble nibble...
s.h.i.+on thought he heard a sound― or was it a hallucination? It was the sound of his brain being eaten alive. There was a ma.s.s of countless black little insects. They crawled all over his brain, making nibbling sounds,
Eating. Eating. Eating.
Was it a hallucination? Or was it... it hurt terribly. He couldn't bear it. And he was terrified. A scream tore through his throat.
”That's it. Yell. Don't give up. You're still sixteen. It's too early to throw in the towel just yet.”
s.h.i.+on felt the strength leave his body. He felt heavy, as if he was being tied to a lead weight. He felt suffocated. But the pain had receded just a little.
”Keep screaming. Stay conscious. I'm going to cut it open.”
There was a silver scalpel in Nezumi's hand.
”I don't have anything fancy like an electronic scalpel, just to let you know. Don't move.”
Whether it was because half of his nerves had gone numb from severe pain, or because all the strength had left his body, he didn't know, but s.h.i.+on didn't move a muscle. He couldn't move.
There were three mice, sitting side-by-side atop a pile of books. Above them, a round clock was hanging on the wall. It was an a.n.a.log clock. Tick, tick, tick. He could hear its sound. It was his first time hearing the sounds of time pa.s.sing by. A second pa.s.sed, then a minute. Time engraved itself. It pa.s.sed, gentle, meandering, and vague. The world before him blurred. His cheeks were hot. A tear slid down, touched his lips, and was absorbed, still hot, into the sheets.
”It's over.” Nezumi let out a long breath. Was the metallic clink the sound of the scalpel hitting the floor?
”The bleeding isn't too bad. Does it hurt?”
”No... ” rasped s.h.i.+on. ”I just wanna go to sleep...”
”Not yet. Hang in there for a little more.”
Nezumi's voice faded away. s.h.i.+on could only hear the sound of the clock ticking.
”s.h.i.+on.”
He was being shaken.
”Keep your eyes open. Just a little more―please―open your eyes.”
Shut up, he wanted to say. Shut up, shut up. A little more? How long is a little more?
”Don't give me this s.h.i.+t. You put me through all this trouble― you can't just go off on your own. s.h.i.+on, you know what that means? Your mama's going to cry. What're you gonna do about that girl, huh? Safu, or whatever her name is. Have you ever even slept with a girl before? What a waste it was to turn down that invitation.”
Shut up. Stop talking. Just stop....
”You don't know anything yet. About s.e.x, or books, or how to fight properly. And you still think you don't need to go on living? s.h.i.+on! Open your eyes!”
He opened his eyes. He saw four pairs of eyes staring back at him. One pair was grey, and they belonged to a human. The other three pairs were grape-coloured, and belonged to the mice.
”There's a good kid. I'll praise you for that.”
”Nezumi...”
”Hm?”
”I... didn't get your name...”
”My name?”
”Your real... name...”
”Well, there's one more thing you don't know. I'll tell you when you recover completely, and that'll be your get-well present. Look forward to it.”
He was fed the bitter liquid several more times. He drifted off to sleep only to be woken up again. s.h.i.+on felt like he had repeated this countlessly. He broke into a fever. He perspired heavily, and vomited again and again. It felt like all the moisture in his body was being wrung out of him.
”Water....”
He pleaded repeatedly, and each time, a cool draught watered his throat.
”It tastes good...”
”Doesn't it? The world's not such a bad place after all.” Nezumi's hand slowly caressed s.h.i.+on's hair.
”It's alright now. Go to sleep.”
”Can I...?”
”Yeah. You're past the worst of it. You've won. That's quite something.” The fingers that stroked his hair were gentle, as was the tone of Nezumi's voice. Relief washed over his body. s.h.i.+on closed his eyes, and dropped off into a slumber.
References and Notes
Shakespeare, William R. Macbeth. New Haven, CT: Yale UP, 2005. (Act 5 Scene 1 ll. 44-48) (back)
Ibid. (Act 5 Scene 1 ll. 58-60) (back)
Hesse, Hermann. ”Keine Rast.” -- Originally in German.
Many thanks to soap for the English translation! The original German is as follows:
Seele, banger Vogel du,
Immer wieder musst du fragen:
Wann nach so viel wilden Tagen
Kommt der Friede, kommt die Ruh? (back)
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