Kafka Oguro Ward Mayor Novel - Mother's Code: Season 1, Track 2 - Thanatophobia / 1
That day, I woke up in the same hospital room yet again.
Seven-year-old me let out a sigh. My white private room was in the pediatric ward of the Oguro Hospital. I'd been in and out of this hospital since I was old enough to be aware of what was happening around me, but recently, I hadn't been able to go back home at all. Even my memory of the residence on the pier had become faint.
"I wonder if it'll be Dad coming to visit today… or maybe Mom?" I may not have been healthy, but that didn't mean I was unhappy. My family had the means to keep me hospitalized there for extended periods of time. My father, a tourism Ward Mayor, and my mother, a scientist, visited me whenever they could find time off from work.
My mother in particular was extremely knowledgeable, and would share all kinds of interesting stories with me whenever she came over, so I always looked forward to her visits.
My father… Hmm, I suppose he missed having me around at home, but I figured he's also doing his best. I could feel his love.
"But… will I die one day?" I muttered as I gazed at the clear blue sky outside the window.
I'd never been able to go outside much, and I couldn't go to school either, so I didn't have any friends. Even though there were other children hospitalized in the pediatric ward, they'd sort of been keeping their distance from me. It's probably because I didn't act as childish as my age would suggest, and also because my family is distinguished in HAMA.
"You're a little special, you see," is what my mother would tell me.
"Being special is a blessing, Kafka, but don't let that lead you astray. If there were no people who aren't special, how would you know you're special?"
Was that my mother's notion? Or was it mine?
Whichever it was, if this life of mine were to come to an end so quickly, this blessing of mine would be all for naught. If I were to die like this, then what was I even born for?
That day, neither my mother nor my father came to visit, so instead, I got permission from my doctor to go to the rooftop garden.
I may call it a garden, but it was actually a modest little place. I was thinking of sitting on the bench and reading a book when I spotted a dead baby bird on the cold concrete. Maybe it bumped into something and fell? Its tiny eyes were closed as it laid there limply.
Had the baby bird known it would die right here, on this day?
I felt just a bit sorry for it, and wondered whether or not I should bury it. But was it even okay for a frail person like myself to touch the remains of a dead wild bird? When I raised my concerns to one of the nurses, they gave me a mask and protective gloves and helped me bury the bird in the hospital's courtyard.
They said I was a kind boy, but that wasn't really the case; I simply felt that this baby bird that had died so prematurely wasn’t any different from me.
After all, I could get a sudden pain in my chest, collapse, and die just like that one day too. All I hope is that whoever finds me is someone kind.
I stood over the bird's grave even after the nurse left, until a shadow suddenly came up behind me. When I looked up, I saw my mother standing over me, still wearing her white lab coat and looking like she'd just snuck out of work.
"They told me you buried a bird?"
She'd heard about it from the nurse, apparently.
"Yeah. It died."
It may have been dead, but when I held it through the protective gloves, it felt heavier than I thought it would, and just warm enough to make me doubt whether it had truly died.
"Will I end up like that too, one day?" "…"
My mother was silent for a while, and then asked; "What do you think the definition of death is?"
"When one's heart stops beating?" "There is also the theory that death is when one stops thinking," she said as she took my hand and led me to a bench in the courtyard.
"This is a rather sentimental thought process, but some people believe that a person is only truly considered dead when all memories of them are erased from the minds of those still living."
Despite saying this, my mother changed the subject.
"In accordance with JPN's current medical standards, human death is defined as the cessation of both the heartbeat and spontaneous breathing, the loss of pupillary light reflex, and mydriasis. Legally, death is defined as the cessation of breathing and one's inability to be resuscitated."
"Is it the same for animals?"
"This applies to the death of anything with a physical body; death is the irreversible loss of life."
My mother motioned for me to sit on the bench, and then sat down next to me.
A gentle breeze blew through the courtyard, carrying the faint scent of medicine from my mother's lab coat with it.
Neither of us spoke, simply letting the cold hit us and the scent calm us. But I didn’t mind it at all.
“But yes… Fundamentally, all life forms on Earth are dependent on carbon polymers. When you look at it that way, the biological changes that occur after death are not that different between humans and other living organisms. They both stop breathing, decompose, become fertilizer for microorganisms, and what can’t be used is left behind.”
That is how calmly my mother spoke of “death”.
Then, she patted my head and asked, “What do you believe death is, Kafka?”
I took some time to think about it before giving her an honest reply.
“If all things eventually die, then it’s not that scary… But honestly, I’m not sure. There are times when I think I might die, but it turns out I’m still alive.”
My mother stayed quiet for a while as she continued patting my head.
Eventually, though, she drew her hand back.
“ … I have thanatophobia. I’m constantly… afraid of death. Honestly, I was very scared when I was giving birth to you.” She said quietly, her voice far removed from its usual dignified tone.
I raised my head to look at her, but she was staring off into the distance, looking deep in thought.
But soon after, she turned to me and smiled.
She pulled me closer to her and held me to her body tightly with a sad look on her face, before adding, “I’m glad I gave birth to you, though, of course.” "… I just wish I could have given birth to you in a healthier state. There are things you only come to understand when you’re knocking at death’s door. I know that now.”
It was rare for her to make feeble complaints. Sometimes–really, only sometimes–my mother said melancholic things like that when talking about my body, or about death.
I think that even my mother, an accomplished genius, lost her bearings when it came to my frail body and looming death.
My father always looked so happy when he talked about how alike my mother and I are. He often spoke of how proud he was that I was born with my mother’s beautiful face and her smarts. But it would’ve been better if I didn’t take after her weak constitution as well. He didn’t say it out loud, but I knew that’s what he thought.
“Kafka, unlike me, there is a surgery you can get that could lead to your complete recovery. … All you have to do is make it to your twenties… If you do, you should be able to hope for a normal future, just like any ordinary person.” “… Unlike you?” “I…”
My mother went quiet after having said that. I guess there was no hope for her. She may have been working, but she was often bedridden and hospitalized, just like me.
“Kafka, let’s make a bet. If you live until you turn twenty, I’ll give you a reward.” “What?”
I wanted to ask her if she’d still be alive then, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
But those bets we made were like secret little games between my mother and I, and they were always fun.
That’s why I knew my mother was trying to encourage me.
The bets we made helped me look towards the future while living out these monotonous days, every day exactly the same–waking up and falling asleep in the same hospital room–if only a little bit.
That’s why… I didn’t want to bet with her on something so far into the future.
“I think it’d be more fun to bet on what we’re having for dinner tonight.” “Haha, you might be right.”
We made a bet on whether we’d be having hospital jelly or not for dinner, and then my mother put her face near mine and whispered:
“Until your surgery when you turn twenty… No, even after that… It’s okay for us to be afraid of death, Kafka… Because even if our bodies die, the heart is a much more complicated thing…”
“… You’re afraid of death even though it’s so close? Isn’t that tiring?” “Sometimes… It’s the legitimate fear that allows one to find the true meaning of being alive.”
My mother looked right into my eyes as she said that.
It was as if she was sharing a very important secret with me.
“If you continue to live honestly like that… You could even come to learn the secrets of the world.” “… What secrets of the world?”
When I asked that, my mother laughed with a slight sense of melancholy
“Whether knowing those secrets will bring you happiness or not…is entirely up to you.”
I had no idea what she was trying to say. Just what were the secrets of the world? Were they truly so impressive? Even more so than unproven mathematical formulas, undiscovered intellectual property, or the origin of the other side of the universe?
Did my mother, who’ds lived while fearing death… know the secrets of the world?
“You should think on it when you go fishing,” my mother cheerfully said for some reason as she let go of me and stood up. She mentioned fishing so suddenly that all I could do was stare blankly at her. Before I could gather my bearings, my mother laughed playfully and tugged at my arm.
“There’s a fishing spot near the hospital. You can get to it if you pass through the courtyard. Your father is good at fishing, so you can ask him to teach you.” “I don’t know… I’d rather be on my laptop.” I whispered, and in response, my mother whispered back…
“Then let’s make a bet. Even when fishing, you have to calculate things such as the currents, the wind, the weather, the season, and the bait you’ll use… Between you and your father, I’ll bet that your father will catch more fish.” “Sorry, but with those conditions, I’ve got the upper hand. Dad can’t do those kinds of calculations.” I declared.
“Okay, okay. You’ll be betting on yourself, then.” My mother replied.
“I know! I’ll learn from Dad, and then I’ll show you how to fish!”
My mother laughed as I boldly exclaimed.
The sunlight hitting the courtyard reflected off of her hair and eyes, causing them to sparkle.
It was as if I was looking at the ocean from the pier on a sunny day…
Track 1 | Track 2 | Track 3 | Track 4 | Track 5
