Hey Mortality (9 page)

I headed to the train station. As I stood on the wrong side of the escalator someone sighed. It wasn’t my fault that they had decided to change the rules in Beppu. In Tokyo, we always stood on the left. In Beppu, they walk on the left and stand on the right, which to me is just confusing.

I got onto the wrong train but didn’t realise until it passed the first stop. I checked my instructions: bus. It clearly said to take the bus. Trains by habit, bus to habitat.

I got off at Nishi-Ōita Station. There was a solitary ticket gate manned by a solitary person. I exited so it didn’t look like I had got on the wrong train; not that anybody was watching. Outside the station I saw a sign for the ferry terminal and thought about escaping.

I waited five minutes outside, before heading back into the station and taking a seat. I noticed that there was a bin for plastic bottles but there was no vending machine. I suppose people came to Nishi-Ōita Station to dispose of their rubbish.

I waited for a while but no train showed up. Behind me, the tracks went off in the direction of Ōita. In front me, the trains headed back in the direction of a desolate Beppu.

I watched from the platform as two massive fork lift trucks moved crates. They didn’t look to be moving them with any purpose; it seemed that they were just tidying up the stacks. The crates were a dark red with no markings or lettering. I wondered what was inside, but guessed that they were probably empty.

There was an announcement through the speakers about standing near the tracks. Seconds later an express train whizzed by before disappearing in the direction of Ōita. Trains seldom stop at the world’s smallest train station.

The surrounding area was somewhat pretty, tranquil. It helped me to take my mind of Lucy and the things that came before. There were many bushes of purple flowers, full bloom. Birdsong played in the trees above me. Cicadas droned on in the background. I gazed into the mountains. They gazed back.

Fifteen minutes passed me by, though I half expected time to pass differently, like one of those places you hear about on the news where no one ever leaves.

An old woman entered the platform and sat down next to me. There were three unoccupied seats to my left, yet she chose to sit beside me.

I thought to myself that the old woman being there suggested that a train would arrive soon, but that was not the case.

I waited a further fifteen minutes as another rapid express train whizzed by.

The woman sneezed. The fork lift trucks beeped as they reversed, disturbing the serenity, perturbing my sanity.

I started to wonder, maybe the old woman wasn’t waiting for a train. Maybe she came to the station for the flowers, the mountains, and the fork lift trucks. The joke was on me. Maybe she knew that the next train wasn’t for another two years.

A young man with glasses entered the station. He stood facing the tracks that lead away from Beppu. He lit up a cigarette and smoked it in one go. He lit up another.

I got excited when I heard an announcement about a train, but it was short lived. The train to Ōita stopped and the man got on. Nobody got off. The doors to the train lingered open for a tempting few seconds longer than they should have. I hesitated, but I was already late for my meeting. In the blink of an eye, the train was gone.

I somehow felt that I had wasted my afternoon as the train to Beppu finally arrived. The woman remained seated. I got on the train, and as it departed, it squeaked and spluttered like an old animal waiting to die.

***

I eventually got the bus to the Monkey Park. I didn’t expect the person who sent me the card to still be waiting for me, but he was.

He was a tall man, extremely old. He was far too skinny though, but in seemingly good shape for his age. He wore glasses and was dressed in a cream coloured business suit. Polished black shoes. His attire otherwise very smart, except for his hat. His hat was one of those cheap duck hats you see in popular discount tax free stores. The souvenir type, and it made him stand out and look somewhat ridiculous.

“Nice to meet you. I’m the Duck Man, and you’re late,” he informed me.

“I’m very sorry,” I said with honesty, “but there was a mix up with the trains.”

“Nishi-Ōita Station?”

“How do you know that?” I asked, somewhat stunned.

“Don’t worry about it,” he grinned, “it happens to us all.”

I decided to move on, “Why did you arrange to meet me in a place like this?”

“I like monkeys.”

I looked around to see thousands of wild Japanese macaques, Old World monkeys. They looked happy enough, well looked after, and well fed. It was certainly the place to be if you liked monkeys.

“Then why do they call you the Duck Man if you like monkeys?”

“Can’t a man like both monkeys
and
ducks?”

“I suppose so,” I said.

“The real reason though is that many years ago I was found guilty of committing quackery.”

“Committing what?”

“Quackery,” he repeated.

“What does that mean? You did something with a duck?”

He began to laugh, “No, no. It was more like something with a monkey.”

“You had sex with a monkey?” I asked him overtly.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, his laugh becoming a smirk.

One of the monkeys was making unusually loud noises, and a member of the Monkey Park staff tried to calm it down using a long stick. An interesting method, but what did I know?

“Many years ago I was working as a physician of quantum mechanics. My studies were to do with time travel. I used monkeys as test subjects. That’s what I did,” he said, a certain sadness seemed to pass through him as he spoke.

The monkey that was acting up had finally calmed down and the member of staff had disappeared.

Duck Man continued on, “This is why I came here. I feel bad about all the experiments. Feel I owe these monkeys something more, something better. That’s why I bought this place.”

“You own the park?” I had no idea

“I do,” he said. “Bought it twenty years ago.”

“Wow,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Where was I? Oh yes. So after testing on the monkeys I eventually figured out how to send them back in time. I sent three monkeys back in all, the first one back thirty years. The second one I ...”

“Wait, what did you say?” I interrupted.

“Which part?” he asked.

“You sent a monkey back in time?”

“Yes I did,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I can prove it.”

I didn’t really know how to respond so I let him continue.

“The problem with time travel though, is there is no coming back. A one way trip. When I published my papers on time travel, I was exposed as a quack and ridiculed as a physician. Nobody believed me, not one person. The paper I wrote never did see the public light of day, and my reputation was shattered. Perhaps they didn’t want what I wrote to get into the wrong hands, for fear that there would be serious consequences or people time travelling all over the place. Imagine the chaos. Either that or they outright didn’t believe my work.”

“They didn’t believe your
proof
?”

“I didn’t have any physical proof at the time. The real proof came later.”

“I see,” I told him.

“The official explanation I was given was that I had been expelled for promoting magical thinking.”

“I see,” I told him once again.

“This is where the name Duck Man comes from. Officially I am a quack,” he quacked.

“So how do we get your research back?”

“My research,” the Duck Man laughed again. “My research has long been destroyed. All I have left is the Time Stone.”

“The Time Stone?”

“Look, there is something I need you to do for me.”

“Go on,” I said, hesitantly, as if already knowing where the conversation was going.

“I need you to travel back in time thirty-eight years, and save my life.”

***

When I was a child, I had always wanted to do something different with my life. Something to be remembered for or something that actually meant something. I think most children are like that too. We have such high aspirations for the future, or strive to become someone of power or fame. But when the Duck Man had mentioned time travel, that wasn’t really close to what I had imagined when I was young.

After our meeting, I had told the Duck Man that I would think about his offer, and made an appointment to meet with him for a second time later that week. We had arranged to meet once again at the Monkey Park, to talk more about his proposal. I needed to take things in and give it a world of thought first.

***

Back at the Ocean View Hotel, I sat in silence and allowed myself to be devoured by thoughts of time. I thought a lot about the possibilities that came with time travel. If what the Duck Man had told me was true, that I had to travel back in time to save his life, then that would be a great achievement, but, something about not being able to come back disturbed me slightly. I would perhaps be trapped in a time before I was born, thirty-eight years ago. What would I do? I suppose the opportunity would arise to save more lives. Perhaps I could forewarn people about some of the biggest natural disasters before they happened, give them time to evacuate their homes, save themselves. But would anyone believe me? And could I even change the timeline? Presumably everything happens the same anyway.

After thinking about time until my head hurt, I decided what I needed was a drink. I headed out to the nearby supermarket and bought a bottle of whiskey, before returning to my hotel room and calling up Jun.

“Hey man.”

“Hey.”

“So what happened? You meet with the mystery card man?” he asked.

“I did. And it was strange.”

“Strange? How so?”

A one way trip
.
No coming back
. Duck Man’s words echoed around my brain like a pinball trapped in a machine, endlessly bouncing around.

“He has given me an opportunity to leave this world forever.”

“You mean, like die?”

“No, that isn’t what I mean. To leave here, this point, leave behind all of my friends, my family, my job. Let everything go and start again fresh elsewhere.”

“You mean, like move to another country?”

I couldn’t really explain it so well to Jun. Because he had suffered a large share of mental difficulties in the past, I didn’t feel comfortable mentioning time travel to him. It could have set off his imagination beyond repair, so instead I chose to lie to him.

“Yeah, like move to another country,” I told him.

“But you can still come back and visit Japan, right?”

“Well, Jun, it’s actually more of a one way deal. I won’t be able to come back, and I won’t be able to have contact with anyone from this life ever again.”

Jun became quiet, and the quietness stayed around for far too long. The other side of the phone offered no sounds, just a dark empty void of deathly silence.

“Jun ...”

“Yeah, I’m just thinking. It sounds like a big decision.”

“It is.”

Jun returned to the void and said nothing for what felt like forever.

“Jun?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. Look, I have a quick story, if you have time?”

“Sure, I have a lot of time.”

“Many years ago, there was a boy, eight years old, perhaps nine. He lived in Kyōto with his mother, and he was the smartest child in his school, the top of his class. Somewhat antisocial, as you would expect from a boy with such intelligence.

“One day, on the way home from school, the boy was kidnapped. A large sack thrown over his head, captured for no reason; suffering in darkness and taken from this world.

“Over weeks, he was carried, tied in a sack on the back of a cart. From the sound of hooves on the road, the boy knew the cart was drawn along by horses. Every now and again, the cart would stop, and he would hear the voice of a man talking in a language he couldn’t make out. Muffled by the sack and shrouded by the darkness.

“Eventually, the boy, who had not been fed for days, sadly died. It isn’t certain at what point in the journey he perished, but he was absolutely dead in a sack on the back of that cart.

“Finally, the cart stopped at its destination. The man who had kidnapped the boy discovered that he was dead, and without emotion, picked him up and tossed him into the Sumida River. It was never discovered who the man was, or why he had chosen that special boy to be the victim of such a brutal crime.

“After weeks of searching for her son, his mother eventually took the trip to Tokyo, to the Sumida River. At the river, dewdrops fell delicately from the trees above and created ripples on the surface of the water. From the point that the droplets hit, a huge bird emerged.