Chapter 07
The Revolving Rock
Part One
Before I knew it, I had gotten run down, both socially and emotionally;
it was that kind of summer. Before I knew it, I had been locked in a kind
of cage, with no hope for escape; it was that sort of July. I tried calling,
"Help me!" Nothing—not love, dreams, hope, effort, friendship, or
victory—could save me. I was in real trouble.
At least Yamazaki had some opinions about his future. Even though
he was shouting, "Arghhh! Don't screw around with me," at least he had
some sort of ambition. He'd been thinking about his family's business
since he was little.
"I'll get out of this shitty countryside and make a name for myself in
the big city! Y-y-you hypocrites! Just watch and I'll show you all! I have
talent! I may not know what kind of talent, but I have it!"
Before I could confirm the existence of my own talent, it seemed as if
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fate would force me to return to the countryside, as well. The
countryside, with its bizarre family ties, annoying smiles, redneck punks,
roads made unnecessarily wide by local politicians, and only one
convenience store. . . I was going to have to make a U-turn back to the
awful, crappy countryside. I contemplated this destination with heartfelt
regret.
I shouted in a beautifully manly way, too. "Waaaahhh! It's terrible,
terrible, terrible!" I didn't know exactly what was terrible; for now,
though, something certainly was terrible. In fact, so many terrible things
were happening that I couldn't see any way to fix them.
For one thing, my allowance from home finally stopped. Even so, for
some reason, the will to work did not bubble up. Even though I had been
worn down, I still couldn't go outside. My title as a "high-level
hikikomori" wasn't just for show. However, I had to manage my living
expenses at the least, or else I might be chased out of my apartment as
early as tomorrow. I had to do something.
With my student credit card, I brashly borrowed money. Following
that, I sold my furniture. I took my washing machine, refrigerator, TV,
computer, kotatsu, and bed to a secondhand shop near my house. I also
tried selling my entire library to a used bookstore. In this way, having
managed to raise enough money to live on, I'd bought myself a little
more time.
Slightly more secure, boredom became the main problem. Both
Yamazaki and I became really bored. Alleviating it occupied most of our
attention. "What should I do? I have nothing to do."
I conferred with Yamazaki.
He seemed to be at the end of his rope. Lying face down on his
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122
apartment floor, he whispered unenthusiastically, "I'm not in as
desperate a position as you, Satou—yet for some reason, I can't calm
down. Even if we are escaping from reality, I'd like to be able to do it in a
rejuvenating way, if possible."
Escaping from reality. . . Triggered by his words, a good idea came to
me. "Speaking of escaping, that's what people do in their fleering youth,
right?"
"Yeah."
"And speaking of fleeting, that reminds me of rock."
I shook Yamazaki's shoulders back and forth. "That's right, rock and
roll! Sex, drugs, and violence!"
Yamazaki stood up, swinging his fist about wildly and bellowing
loudly, "I see! That's fantastic! Speaking of rock and roll, I really respect
Jerry Lee Lewis."
"Who's that?"
"He's the lolicon rocker who, defying social convention, married his
thirteen-year-old cousin, making him the so-called giant of the lolicon
world. His way of life was truly anti-establishment! Great Balls of Fire!"
We decided that our theme from then on would be "sex, drugs, and
violence." If we steered our lives in that direction, we might be able to
spend every day in a more energetic and happily youthful way. At least,
that was our hope, and we clung to it.
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Sex
Speaking of sex, it's not for minors under 18. Speaking of "not for
minors under 18," erotic games! Even now, Yamazaki kept working on
his erotic game. Why? No one could possibly know, but it seemed sad. It
was lonely. That was all I knew. I had no idea why, but it made me want
to cry.
Drugs
Using the money I had secured from selling my furniture, I bought some
serious drugs.
"These are all legal!" Yamazaki complained.
I hung my head. "What else can I do? There's no way I could buy
illegal drugs by mail. For a hikikomori, this is the best I can do."'
"Pathetic. That's so lame."
Violence
Finally, Yamazaki and I ended up fighting in my six-mat, one room
apartment. In the middle of the empty room, we faced each other in
fighting stances. I imitated Bruce Lee, whom I had recently seen on TV.
Yamazaki used fighting games as his reference, adopting the crane pose.
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124
Then, we tried to beat up each other. As soon as we started, though,
I slipped on the floor and fell. I hit the back of my head as hard as
possible. The pain brought tears to my eyes.
"This isn't fun at all," Yamazaki complained.
"Don't say that."
"It just makes me feel even more empty. I know! Should we do this at
the park?"
"Beforehand, let's do the drugs, as we already have them. Don't make
fun of them just because they're legal. They still work pretty well. We'll
have a good time."
Actually, the drugs did work. In fact, the trip was so bad, I thought I
would die.
I thought that maybe I should die.
Part Two
However, I didn't die.
I might be living a dismal hikikomori life. At the moment, however,
I did technically, have plans to meet someone. As evening fell and all
traces of other people had disappeared outside my apartment, I filled my
stomach with a late dinner. When it was dark, I set off toward the
neighborhood park. The summer night breeze felt good.
I sat on a bench and looked up at the moon and stars in the sky. A
black cat sauntered leisurely in front of me. His eyes flashed with the
reflection of streetlights.
Ah, it's night. It certainly was night.
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Misaki materialized, there in the park.
"You're late." She had been creaking the swing back and forth when
noticing me, she energetically jumped off. The black cat crept over to
where she stood, and Misaki picked it up. The cat meowed but didn't
struggle.
"Good girl. I'll give you some canned food, okay?" Misaki pulled cat
food out of the bag on her back. Apparently, she'd been feeding the cat
every night. "Cats are great, don't you think?"
"What's great about them?"
"Cats just seem to be content wherever, whenever, even if they'd
alone."
I didn't quite comprehend what she meant, but I tried to answer her
appropriately. "Cats don't really understand gratitude."
"I know."
"It'll forget all about you soon, Misaki. Investing in cat food is such a
waste."
"As long as I give the cat what it wants, it'll be fine. She'll remember
me. Don't be cruel. You'll come to the park every night, right?" She
gently stroked the cat's back as it gobbled down the food. When it
finished eating, it slowly strolled away into the bushes.
We sat down on the bench. Misaki took her "secret notebook" out of
her bag. And so, tonight, the first counseling session on escaping from
hikikomori life began.
Misaki had called it "counseling." From the very first, her actions and
words had been more than strange, so I totally thought it was some kind
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of joke. However, it seemed she'd been serious.
"You're late. It says in the contract that you'll come after eating
dinner, remember?"
"I just ate dinner—"
"My family eats dinner at seven o'clock."
How the hell should I know that?! I wanted to yell, bur I held it back.
"Well, starting tomorrow, come a little earlier. Anyway, we'll begin
your first 'escaping hikikomori life' counseling session now, okay? Here,
have a seat."
I moved next to her on the bench, as instructed. Misaki sat beside
me, turning to face me.
The park at night. . . no one else was there. What in the world was
about to start? What did she plan to do? I was a little nervous. Misaki
put down the huge bag she carried and started rummaging around inside
it.
Whispering something like, "Oh, here it is, here it is," she pulled out
a college-ruled notebook. On the cover, "Secret Notebook" had been
written in black marker.
"What's that?" I asked.
"A secret notebook."
"Like I said, 'what's that?'"
"Uh. . . it's a secret notebook." Misaki opened the secret notebook
and flipped through pages she'd marked. "Well then, I'll start the lecture
now?"
Backlit by the street lamps, her face wasn't visible. The tone of her
voice was serious, though. Not understanding what was going on, I
gulped deeply.
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Misaki started her lecture. "Um. . . I'll begin with an outline of the
hikikomori. Okay, what causes someone to become a hikikomori? Do
you know, Satou? Hm? You don't? That's what I thought. You dropped
out of college, so there's no way your mind could answer this difficult
question, Satou. I know. I'm smart, after all. I'm studying for my GED
right now. I study five hours every day. Good of me, right? Ha ha ha. . . "
She laughed a little more before she continued, "According to the
results of my research, not just hikikomori, but all emotional problems
are caused by an inability to conform to one's environment. Basically,
because you can't get along well with the world, various difficulties
arise."
Misaki turned to the next page. "Long ago, we humans thought of
many different ways to get along with the world. For example, take the
idea of gods. There are all kinds of gods. Even in Japan alone, there are
eight million. . . Huh? Eight million? That's a little excessive, isn't it? Is
this true? W-well, anyway, there are many gods in the world, and it
seems they ease the suffering of quite a lot of people, like those at a
church gathering. Those people who can't be saved by Gods think of
other means. For example, philosophy."
Misaki began digging around in her bag again. After sticking her
head inside the enormous bag, she finally found what she was looking
for, "Oh, here it is. Here you go." Pulling out some sort of book, the
handed it to me. The title of the book was Sophie's World.
"This is kind of hard, so I didn't really understand it, but it seems
that this one book can teach you everything you need to know about
philosophy. I borrowed it from the library, so read it by tomorrow
okay?"
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Nonplussed, I took the book. I was at my wit's end over what to do
while Misaki's lecture droned on. "Um, well then, after philosophy, we
have psychoanalysis! It seems to have been popular from around the
nineteenth century, after some guy named Freud thought of it. People
say that if you undergo psychoanalysis, your problems really do
disappear. For instance, do you remember any dreams you had last
night? I'll analyze them for you. Tell me what happened in your dreams,
Satou."
I told her. "A really huge, strong snake appeared. It dove into the
ocean, and I stuck a thick sword into an apple. Also, I blasted away all
around me with a black, shining, amazing gun."
Upon hearing this, Misaki withdrew another paperback from inside
her gigantic bag. This one was entitled Dream Analysis: With This Single
Book, You Easily Can Grasp the Depths of Your Psyche!
"Hm. . . snake, ocean, apple, sword, gun. . . " Muttering to herself, she
was searching the index when suddenly, she looked away, face
reddening. For some reason, I grasped the situation, even in the pitchblack
park.
"Th-that's enough Freud! Next, let's do Jung!" Misaki yelled loudly.
"Hey! What are the results of my dream analysis? Misaki, tell me
what the big snake could possibly symbolize." I persisted, but she
ignored my attempts at sexual harassment.
"Jung. . . This guy argued with Freud, and it seems he went in a
different direction. Well then, let's start a Jungian psychoanalysis."
"Hey, don't ignore me. Wait a second!"
"As far as I can see, you're 'introverted,' and 'emotive'! You're afraid
of the 'Great Mother.' Additionally, you also are fighting with the
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shadows. How terrible! To learn more, please read this book." Misaki
once again pulled out a book and handed it to me. This one was All
About Jung, Explained by Manga!
My head was starting to hurt, yet Misaki's lecture kept going. And
going. From Jung to Adler to Lacan. "I don't understand Lacan! I just
can't lock on!"
I was stunned that she could make this horrific pun, smiling all the
while. I wanted to go back to my room. As if noticing my reaction,
Misaki boldly changed direction. "Oh, I'm sorry for talking about all this
difficult stuff. It seems that you really aren't suited to these academic
discussions, after all. Satou. That's okay, though. We still have
tomorrow."
"Huh?"
"We're people, so it's painful."
I didn't say anything.
"I feel bad for you, experiencing such troubles. Let's look up as we
move forward, though. You're fine the way you are. You have dreams so
you'll be all right. You're not alone. If you keep walking, you'll find your
path. Everyone is cheering for you. As you do your best, you shine.
You'll succeed if you keep moving ahead with positive thinking; so, let's
walk toward tomorrow together. The future is bright. We're people
we're people, we're people. . . "
Pulling Misaki's bag out of her hands, I upended it. A load books
avalanched onto the ground: Public Health Service paperbacks
Intelligent Living paperbacks. Quick Introduction to Psychoanalysis,
Complete Mental Illness Manual, The Book to Read When You Stuck in
Life, The Rules for Success in Life, Murphy's Ghost, Cerebral Revolution,
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130
Mitsuo, Mitsuru, etc., etc.
"Hey, Misaki, do you think I'm an idiot?"
Misaki gave me a look that said, "No, I don't," and she shook her
head.
Anyway, after a week of interacting with Misaki, the only thing I truly
understood was how hard she was trying. She really was working very
hard. For the first few days, that effort stalled without result; while
working to the best of her ability, her passion was certainly real. Of
course, I didn't know where her true intentions lay or what she actually
was planning. I didn't know, but I didn't really care, either.
If my thoroughly rotten emotional state could be infused with even
just a little energy through this exchange with a girl, I would be happy.
Even if it led to problems in the future, I no longer had anything left to
lose. Not to mention that, whatever happened, we'd part soon enough
Eventually, I would be kicked out of my apartment, or I'd go somewhere
else for another reason. Either way, I would disappear soon. Meeting
with Misaki was just a way to alleviate my boredom until that time
came.
And because I was thinking in such irresponsible terms, I had no
trouble at all conversing privately with a girl I barely knew, despite the
fact that this situation was one that would usually cause a hikikomori
the greatest amount of stress possible.
Of course, no matter how cute Misaki might be, I had no intention
of doing anything to her. The sign at the park entrance read, "Beware of
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Perverts," but even given the way I looked, I was still a gentlemanly
hikikomori. Please, don't worry, Misaki. . .
"What? What are you grinning about?" she asked me.
"Nothing, nothing. More important, what's on today's special
training menu?"
Facing me while sitting on the bench, as usual, Misaki peered into
her secret notebook. "Hm, on tonight's menu is how to converse with
others."
"Eh?"
"In general, hikikomori suck at having conversations. Because
they're bad at speaking to others, they tend to shut themselves up in
their rooms. Tonight, I thought we could reform that part of you."
"Oh."
"Therefore, starting now, I will teach you wonderful conversational
techniques. Please, listen carefully."
Misaki started her lecture, periodically glancing at her secret
notebook as I listened carefully. "When talking to people, you get
nervous. That leads to being at a loss for words, turning pale, or getting
excited. These make your emotional stability erode even further, and
your conversation consequently gets worse and worse. How can you
break this vicious cycle? The answer is easy: You'll be fine if you avoid
getting nervous. Given that fact, how can you avoid getting nervous?
Well, why do people get nervous? It's because they lack confidence in
themselves. You think your companions may make a fool out of you,
they may look down on you, or they may dislike you."
So what? I wanted to butt in, but Misaki's tone was serious.
"Ultimately, the problem comes back to having confidence in
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yourself. Having self-confidence, in reality, is a pretty difficult thing to
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