A man, forty-something, stares at his reflection in a mirror. “Something’s missing,” he says to his reflection.
He tightens his tie. His hands rest a moment on the knot.
He picks up his briefcase on his way to the door.
With his hand on the knob, the man takes a good look at his house.
The man stands on the platform of the bullet train.
The man’s shaking hands wipe sweat from his forehead.
The bullet train approaches, quickly.
The man’s eyes grow large, and empty.
With briefcase in hand, the man jumps off the platform, meeting the bullet train face to face.
“What do you think, Mr. Suzuki?” asked Yamamato.
“Maybe it’s not too subtle,” Mr. Suzuki responded.
“Hmm. I guess you’re right.”
Mr. Suzuki sat down and stared at the sketches. His exhaustion was evident in his eyes.
“It’s just too…” muttered Suzuki.
“Too…?”
“Why do we Japanese make such sad stories?”
Mr. Suzuki slumped down into a hard office chair.
“If you don’t mind sir, but maybe you and I are too influenced by Japanese novels,” said Mr. Yamato. He hesitated and then continued, “Or maybe… we Japanese lead sad lives.”
Mr. Suzuki’s brows furrowed. Mr. Yamamato wondered if he over-stepped his bounds.
“I’m sorry Suzuki-san, I…”
“No…” Mr. Suzuki interrupted. “I’m not mad at you. I… think you may be right.”
“Right about…?”
Mr. Suzuki intently studied each panel again. Mr. Yamamato watched Suzuki’s eyes as they narrowed and widened, focused and blinked.
After what seemed to Mr. Yamamato like hours of silence, Mr. Suzuki said, “I think you’re right about both. You and I are heavily influenced by the Japanese novel. And, perhaps we Japanese do lead sad lives.”
Yamamoto approached the window and stared out across the megalopolis.
Mr. Suzuki, pacing, continued, “Listen Yamamato-san, Japanese Salary men need a morale boost. Not frivolity, but not depression either. We’ll finish here today. We need a new direction for this comic. Tomorrow morning we’ll start new and fresh. For the rest of today, just brain-storm.”
“Yes sir.”
As both men packed their things and headed out of the office, Mr. Suzuki added, “Oh, and maybe look at some of the more serious Batman comics. And even some Shonen Jump comics. We need something positive for lonely Salary-men.”
On the way home, Mr. Suzuki took the subway at rush hour. He made his way to Shinjuku station and watched the swarms of Salary-men flow in and out of the metro cars. They packed themselves in; unable to even fall over if they’d wanted to.
As the crowds dissipated, Mr. Suzuki took the metro to his home in western Tokyo. When he stepped out, he noticed a young hoodlum kid accosting a Salary-man.
“Oi,” Mr. Suzuki yelled.
The young hoodlum ignored the yell and began pushing the man toward the tracks. The man stumbled down. Mr. Suzuki, already running, arrived just in time to tackle the hoodlum before he could stab the man. Mr. Suzuki’s high school judo club paid off.
Hearing the commotion, the police quickly arrived and broke apart the quarrel.
Mr. Suzuki, out of breath, could hardly speak. The Salary-man explained the whole situation of how Mr. Suzuki was an “everyman hero.”
All three men went to the police station for questioning. When asked why he did it, the hoodlum said that he had wanted to go to jail and didn’t care who he hurt or killed to go there. He was only sixteen years old.
“What is wrong with our country?” asked Mr. Suzuki. “Someone needs to teach these young hoodlums a lesson.”
The next morning, after a night of feverish sketching, Mr. Suzuki unrolled his ideas for the new comic.
A man, forty-something, steps out of a metro into a deserted station.
He turns suddenly toward a yell.
A young hoodlum pushes a Salary-man toward the tracks.
The man tackles the hoodlum….
Labels: Very Short Stories
