By Mike Guest

This is an edited excerpt from Mike’s self-published novel ‘The Little Suicides’ (available at amazon.com in both paperback and Kindle form)

(After communication with his childhood friend, Mark Reddox, suddenly ceases, Mitch Nevin decides to leave the comfort of his Canadian home to trace his friend’s last known movements. This includes a visit to Mark’s home in Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan, where Mark’s wife is equally baffled by his disappearance, and his workplace, where he has to negotiate with both Japanese bureaucracy and a discontented expat English teacher.)

“So, where is Mr. Reddox?”

I was taken aback by this opening gambit. The speaker was a Mr. Toshiyuki Yabe, a tall, reedy, figure whose constantly bobbing head made him appear particularly avuncular. He was clothed in a light corduroy jacket, presumably to ward off the fierce air conditioning but surely also to announce that he was an academic, not a bureaucrat. I had initially assumed that he was Mark’s superior at the Board of Education, but soon found out he was in fact a colleague.

“Actually, I came here to ask you the same thing.”

Yabe seemed equally surprised by my response, altering his posture to lean forward inquisitively. His opening question had thrown me for a loop because although it was I who was making the extended effort to find answers, having journeyed all the way from a Toronto suburb to Kofu, it always seemed that I was expected to be the one providing information. Why would I come all the way to Japan just to tell Mark’s work colleagues what little I knew? Kiyomi had set up this meeting, looking completely authoritative as she had outlined the situation to the department secretary, but how could she have misconstrued, or even mistranslated, the fact that it was I who was here to ask questions, and if possible, check Mark’s now-abandoned office and computer?

I had woken early that morning and had tried again to find any telltale markings on Mark’s home laptop– with no success. Refreshed after the previous evening’s bout of jet lag, I had even tried to take a morning walk as sunlight broke through surprisingly early– Japan apparently not utilizing daylight savings time– but was stymied by Kiyomi’s labyrinthine internal locking system, which seemed comically superfluous given the tranquil and benign aura of the neighbourhood.

After ascertaining from a soon-awakened Kiyomi that Mark had traveled lightly, with just one set of formal clothes and only two changes of casual wear, and that no, they had not experienced any major fight or household trauma for a long while, Kiyomi had driven me to the Board of Education office, a typically muted, functionally squat office building that resembled a word processor on steroids just a little too closely. It was designed not to cause worry or offense to the taxpayer, an edifice whose implicit motto might be, “I’m just getting some work done.” The day was still not yet as oppressively humid as I suspected it would be.

As soon as the English-speaking Yabe arrived, Kiyomi departed for her job at the nearby hospital research lab, leaving Yabe and I to wait for Hugh Pascal, a fellow Canadian and Mark’s longtime co-worker, to appear. Ms. Hidaka, the secretary, served us cold barley tea while Yabe and I exchanged innocuous comments about my first impressions of Japan and the humidity of Japan’s summer weather. While managing the small talk, I started making mental calculations—that Mark must have intended to return soon judging by his paucity of baggage. Also he must have expected to enjoy a little R&R in the Philippines as well the formal meeting, as he had taken shorts, t-shirts, and a pair of flip-flops.

The window opposite my assigned seat faced the mountains. Yabe told me that Mt. Fuji was located in the same direction but that Kofu was on the ‘wrong side’ for a classic view. As I peered out, I noticed a stain of crisscrossing electricity wires that looked like a road-map of cuneiform markings etched into the skyline—a photographer’s nightmare.

Hugh Pascal arrived a few minutes later with a bit of a garrulous flourish, likely because he had been informed that a fellow Canuck was waiting for him. I was somehow comforted to see that he too was sweaty and disheveled, that I was not the only one whose physical appearance resembled a melting ice cream cone. Red-faced, with a pronounced paunch and a receding hairline, Pascal had a rather intense countenance, his eyes locking onto those of his interlocutor as if conversation were either a personal challenge or an interrogation. He greeted me warmly, with a firmly collegial handshake, and directed me to a sofa that was so low that my knees actually interfered with my line of vision.

With Pascal present, I felt that I had earned the cultural nod to launch directly into the proceedings. After going over what I knew of Mark’s disappearance thus far– even informing them of the final, cryptic email from the Philippines and the connection to the postcard from two decades back. Then, I ventured into unknown territory.

“I’ve wondered why, since Mark was on a business trip to Manila, that the Board of Education hasn’t launched any official inquiry into his disappearance.”

Pascal unlocked his eyes from mine, crossed his legs rather defiantly, and, betraying a slight smirk, gestured for Yabe to respond.

“Mr. Reddox is not a Japanese citizen so the Ministry has no power to investigate,” Yabe began.

I interrupted. “So if a foreign tourist goes missing somewhere on, say, Mt. Fuji, no one here will search for him because he’s not Japanese?”

Pascal cocked his head back and smiled smugly at Yabe. It was an ‘I told you so’ expression, and it was a supportive one.

Yabe continued. “Of course we would. Because in that case the tourist would be inside Japan but Mr. Reddox, umm Mark, is not in Japan in this case.”

“But if another employee here, a Japanese, went missing abroad, the Board of Education would take some action, right? For example, Mr. Yabe, if you had run into some trouble on a business trip abroad, surely you would hope and expect your company to help out.”

Pascal did not avert his accusing gaze from Yabe.

I went on. “Or imagine a Japanese citizen, employed by a Canadian institution, who suddenly goes missing while on a business trip to Mexico. Wouldn’t you feel that the Canadian company that employs this Japanese person bears some responsibility?”

Yabe nodded his assent and called for Ms. Hidaka who brought another tray of cold tea, this time green. She was militantly efficient, maintaining a constant state of high tension, her breathless responses barked out like those of an obedient sorority underling, often to the extent that it made me feel like my presence was a major imposition.

A round of Japanese banter followed, one item of which caused Pascal to lose his smirk and adopt a mask of startled confusion instead. After a beleaguered exchange of double-checks and confirmations, Pascal took the lead.

“Apparently, and I didn’t know this until now, it wasn’t an official business trip. According to the secretary.”

“What?”

“Mark asked for nenkyuu, personal leave, not shuchou, which is a business trip.”

Yabe nodded in agreement. This certainly took the wind out of my rhetorical sails and somehow made the ceiling seem lower, the walls of the room closer, more constricting.

“Did the Board of Education fund the trip?”

“No. He used his own money.”

“Did he leave an itinerary, some travel plan?”

Again, no. Apparently this was also why no work-related insurance scheme had kicked in. Why hadn’t Kiyomi discovered this fundamental piece of information by herself? And if she had, why hadn’t she told me? Then again, I cautioned myself, I had been withholding details from her too.

“How many days’ personal leave did Mark request?”

The secretary had the documents at hand.

“Three work days. Five days total including the weekend”.

“That sounds more like a business trip than a beach vacation,” I added. “But OK, who were Mark’s contacts in Manila, whether he went there on official business or not? He’d been there before, right?”

Again, it took Hidaka only a few moments to retrieve these documents, which she duly passed on to Yabe.

“Mr. Reddox went to the Philippines twice before on official business. Once was to an English teaching conference in Manila…”

“I was on that trip with him,” cut in Pascal. “We both did presentations there.”

Yabe continued without acknowledging him. “The other was to St. Paul’s University in Manila. Something about the possibility of setting up an exchange program.”

“When did these take place?”

“The conference was, what, two and a half maybe three years ago,” said Pascal.

“The business trip to St. Paul’s was just over one year ago,” Yabe added.

“Do you know his contacts at St. Paul’s?”

“We always require documentation for business trips.” This was followed by an extended freeze-frame of inaction and silence.

“So…” Did I have to spell out that I wanted to see them? However, having heard that directness wasn’t an admired quality in this country, I checked my impatience– I wasn’t on my own cultural turf here.

Once again, a short discussion in Japanese ensued followed by Ms. Hidaka retrieving yet another set of documents. Yabe broke the ensuing huddle.

“The invitation was signed by a Dr. Margaret Guttierez from the Faculty of Education at St. Paul’s. That’s the only name we have.”

I leaned over to see the documents for myself but Yabe yanked them away from view. The combination of the low sofa and the constant leaning to get a glimpse of the papers was causing my arm to stiffen up. I then stood up, knowing that the simple force of my height might carry some authority, as well as allowing myself an escape from the stifling sofa posture.

“If possible, I’d like to check Mark’s office, and in particular his computer. I’m confident that I can find some hints there.”

Silence again. Pascal started rocking his head back and forth, emitting a knowing chuckle.

“Have you left it as it was, or removed the computer, or…?”

Yet again, a mini-conference in Japanese between Pascal, Yabe, and Hidaka ensued. Pascal was now rolling his eyes. Yabe noted this and began painstakingly, pleadingly, explaining something in elaborate detail. It was Pascal who brought me back into the circle.

“They say that since the computer is government property, non-employees can’t touch it due to security matters. Apparently, security trumps missing people.”

This was followed by another awkward silence in which Pascal’s eyes pierced accusingly into Yabe’s. Yabe conspicuously avoided the high beams.

“Mr. Nevin, come with me. I think we can work something out.” Yabe led me down a corridor and, when out of hearing distance, let his shoulders drop and allowed a smile to crease his lips.

“I understand you’ve come all the way from Canada to help your friend. I think the system here can be… what’s the word… limiting. So I want to help, but, if I allow you to access the computer I will have violated a rule.”

I could see Pascal’s head now peering inquisitively down the hall.

“So I will access Mark’s computer instead of you. But after I turn it on you can, umm, help me with it. Do you understand?”

I thought I did.

“Just a moment, I’ll get the key to Mark’s room.” As Yabe returned towards the reception area, Pascal replaced him at my side.

“Don’t mind them,” he implored, “they’re worried about the dirty foreigner tainting their pristine system.”

I gave him a quizzical look.

“It’s typical Japanese behavior,” he went on. “Even though you’ve come all the way from Canada to help Mark, all they can see is the possible infiltration of their system by the outsider. The problem here is, is that compassion’s not a strong suit.”

“Mr. Yabe says he’ll let me in and help him check Mark’s computer.”

I made the quotation mark gesture when I said ‘help him’. This seemed to catch Pascal off guard. Should I have said it?

“They’ll let you see what they want you to see,” came Pascal’s rejoinder. His eyes bore in at mine defiantly, daring me to contradict or doubt him.

“They?” I added.

“The Japanese.”

“What’s that thing on the wall?” I said to change the topic, referring to an electronic board mounted behind him, a science-museum-like diorama displaying colour-coded pulses. The explanation was in Japanese.

“That shows how much electricity each section in the building is using,” Pascal explained. “Since 3/11 they’ve been trying to cut down on energy consumption, so they keep up these reminders, turning it into some kind of competition. Saving Japan,” he added sarcastically.

“So I wonder how much energy it takes to power this display!”

“Touche.” He liked that.

When Yabe returned, Hidaka was beside him, brandishing the room key like a holy relic. It became morgue-silent as Hidaka inserted the key into the lock with Yabe, and Pascal lurking expectantly, as if they were about to trespass into a yellow-taped crime scene and come across a decaying corpse.

Mark’s room appeared not to have been touched in the preceding four months, and the immediate activation of the air-conditioning was a welcome relief from the oppressive humidity that had obviously built up inside. The room was neither clinically ordered nor scatter-trashed. It looked like it had been worked in until the last moment. My eyes were immediately drawn to desktop photos of Kiyomi and Maki, and separately, Riku.

“That’s his family,” I said, perhaps redundantly, but also hoping to remind everyone what my mission here was.

A few desktop papers in English were obviously work-related. I wanted to scour them immediately but instead tried to affect an air of patience and circumspection. I was not going to start digging until I had some privacy, some freedom of movement. Yabe seemed to sense this.  

“Mr. Nevin, please don’t open any of the Japanese files on Mark’s computer,” he said.    

Pascal shot me a knowing look.

“Trust me, I have no intention of doing that,” I responded.

“Yeah, a veritable treasure trove of NSA-level classified documents those department meeting progress reports.” Pascal chuckled a little too forcibly, obviously hoping for me to chime in on the joke. I smiled to placate him. With this, Yabe poked the computer’s power button and immediately left the room, much to Pascal’s surprise.

Since Ms. Hidaka was still lingering, I asked Pascal to translate a few questions to her. First, did Mark leave any important work unfinished? Pascal had some trouble phrasing this and apologized for his ‘mediocre Japanese,’ which sounded fluent enough to me.

“The problem is, is that my Japanese has atrophied,” he said by way of explanation.

Ms. Hidaka answered that Mark had finished up everything he was supposed to do, that he had been tidy in completing his work. Apparently, the end of March, just after Mark disappeared, is the end of the fiscal and academic year in Japan and therefore it is standard behaviour to have all your t’s, i’s and dollar signs duly crossed by March 31^st. Knowing that Mark had not left work hanging confirmed for me a salient aspect of his personality and it was, I thought, revealing that he had gone AWOL at a rather opportune time. However, I did not share this insight with Hidaka and Pascal.

“And has she taken any garbage out since then?”

Unfortunately she had– the day after Mark had left for the Philippines– fully expecting his return.

*****************************************************************************************

Apparently satisfied with my ‘professionalism’, Hidaka left, but Pascal grabbed an empty seat, trying to worm his way into prime viewing position as I dickered with Mark’s desktop keyboard. Did I have to spell out the privacy issue involved? When I glanced at him, his eyes locked onto mine again like it was feasting time and he was a starving lion. It was unnerving, a look that you might expect from religious doctrinaires. I decided to block his view by engaging him.

“So, what exactly did, OK does, Mark, Mark and you, do here anyway?” I asked.

“Well, the thing is, is,” he seemed very attached to those redundant copulas, “that they deliberately keep our jobs undefined here”.

I guessed, correctly, that ‘they’ equaled ‘the Japanese’ again.

“Mark helped local high schools and colleges, universities too, with setting English teaching policies. Doing teacher training. Making recommendations for curriculum and admissions. He taught some English classes at Nashidai, umm, Yamanashi University, too”.

“So, why did he travel on business internationally so often?”

I had a pretty good idea of the answer to these questions, having heard them from Mark himself previously, but was wondering if Pascal might offer up a new angle.

“Mark liked it. He’d get grants, write papers and articles, go to conferences, give presentations, make international connections for exchange programs, research programs, that kind of thing.”

“And you?”

“Similar I suppose, but Mark was more into it than me.”

“Into the traveling? Or the work?”

“Both. I think a lot of what we’re doing here is artificial. The thing is, is,” there he went again, “that they like us to run on the treadmill here and I’m not really into playing their game.”

“So, what’s your game?”

“I’m a man of literature. The poetry of Seamus Heaney. The novels of Cormac McCarthy. The gritty stuff. But here in Kofu there aren’t too many chances for meta-discourse on that topic.”

After more of Pascal’s wagering about his peripheral role in the BOE, along with the implicit challenges as to whether or not I could see and raise his ‘meta-discourse’ on literature (as a photographer, I considered invoking the names of Mapplethorpe and Man Ray but thought the better of it), I turned once again to the desktop and he finally got the message. Before he left the room though, he intoned just a bit too ominously, “There’s some other stuff I should tell you. But not here. Do you want to grab a beer tonight? There’s a half-decent drinking joint called The Vault, near Starbucks. They have Guinness. It’s on me.”