* * *
When Yasahiro opened his eyes, a nurse was smiling at him through her dimples. The smell of anesthesia nauseated him. He wanted to turn to the side but the pain in his abdomen stopped him and he moaned. The nurse adjusted the intravenous stand and told him not to move or the wound would open up. He remembered what had happened and he asked for the picture of his wife and daughter. The nurse handed him the creased memento and left before he could inquire about the old man. As he glanced at Miyuki and Shiori smiling at him, he lamented he couldn’t join them in the sea. He turned his head and saw the snowflakes brushing against the windowpane.
When footsteps paused at the doorway, he inquired about the old man. He waited but no one answered. As he glanced at the picture again, the old man, his cheek and left arm bandaged, strolled in front of the window carrying Yasahiro’s backpack and a tote bag and sat down on the chair next to the intravenous stand. He smiled, his wrinkles creasing his leathery face, and said the lord of the underworld had rejected him. After he had knocked out Scar-Face, he lay on the snow for several minutes. But when he remembered Yasahiro, he scrambled onto his feet, stopped the Good Samaritan’s bleeding, and called the police.
"You know what, you’re damn lucky to have survived, with that wound. A miracle, if you ask me. Of course, your will to survive must be damn strong. Sure, might as well put up a fight against death. Nothing to lose, right?" The old man put the backpack and shopping bag on a chair and checked the bandage on his left arm. "Ha, don’t worry about those scumbags. Won’t be bothering anyone else, except the poor prison rats." Pimple-Face had died from a broken neck and the police had arrested Scar-Face and Eye-Patch.
Yasahiro thanked him for saving his life and for bringing along his backpack. But the old man, in return, thanked him for bringing the origami and for helping him fend off the delinquents.
Yasahiro wanted to ponder alone, but didn’t have the strength or the courage to dismiss the old man. He still had the coffin and the sleeping pills, but he had lost the will to commit suicide. He couldn’t return to Tokyo and his job.
The old man patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, don’t look so glum. It’s only a stab wound. Just think of it as a vacation. And don’t worry about your coffin. Just leave it in my place until you’re ready to pick it up. I know how important a personal coffin is. I probably should have one made for myself. Just in case, you know. I wouldn’t want to leave all the dirty work for my wife. If you’re going to die, at least be considerate of the people around you. I can see that we’re of the same mind."
The old man showed the origami and said, "Just rest here and recuperate. And talk to those nurses. You know, if I were younger, I’d ask one of them out. So what if she rejects me? Nothing to lose. Life’s too short."
Yasahiro would throw away the book and the blade once he could walk. He might return to the mountains but probably not to the cabin for the coffin. Outside the window, the curtain of snowflakes was obscuring the path that led from the town’s gateway into the mountains.
###
About the Author
Leonard Seet is the author of the novel Meditation On Space-Time and the non-fiction The Spiritual Life. His articles and short fiction have appeared in the Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Banana Writers and Blogging Authors. Through his writings, he probes the dynamics of existence, including human consciousness, good and evil, and rationality and spirituality. He learned the art of writing from Brando Skyhorse and Tim Johnston through George Washington University's Jennie McKean Moore Fiction Workshop, which is by application.
Visit the author's blog:
https://leonardseet.blogspot.com
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