Hey Mortality Read online

  I did anything I could to waste away my days. I started by studying the English language in a private school. With no distractions, my grasp of the English language improved at quite a pace. As I was learning, I recalled a conversation that I had had with Jun about learning every language in the world, with fluency. I considered that option, but even with all the free time in the world, it felt to me like a daunting task.

  I took up jogging three mornings a week, even though keeping in shape didn’t seem to be much of an issue either. I started to paint on Sundays. I drank far too much alcohol most days of the week, and when I wasn’t drinking, jogging, or painting, I would use my time to do something that I had always wanted to do, but never had time. I finally decided to learn a musical instrument, the violin. It was at one of those lessons that I would meet my wife.

  ***

  I chose to learn the violin for no other reason than always having a fondness for the instrument and its beautiful sound. I signed up for a weekly one hour lesson with a tutor. Her name was Amanda.

  When I arrived at my first lesson, I was surprised to find that my tutor was so very young. She was thirty-one, brown hair down to her neck, a smaller than usual nose, soft brown eyes, and a perfect set of clear white teeth. She wore a pair of glasses that made her look intelligent; not that she needed them, she was a very intelligent woman already. For some reason, I was expecting her to be in her sixties.

  Amanda started learning to play the violin at three years old, and had played in orchestras from the age of nine. She graduated from the Royal College of Music, and following that, had pursued a career as a solo violinist, playing in concert halls around Europe until two years ago. When I met her, she was making her living as a full time tutor, twelve students a week.

  I found that from the first moment I picked up the violin, that it seemed to be a very complex instrument. Far more complex than I had anticipated.

  To begin with, I had suffered with just holding the bow the correct way.

  “Thumb round,” Amanda had told me for the twentieth time in five minutes. Maybe this wasn’t for me after all, I had thought, during that first lesson.

  After three weeks of practicing open strings, I had got the bowing down. Amanda would still find faults though. Pointing with my index finger on up-strokes, not maintaining the correct posture, raising my elbow, not leading with my wrist. It was fair to say that she was a strict teacher, and I was a terrible student.

  “I’m just not cut out for this,” I once found myself saying.

  Amanda just laughed, “You’re no worse than some of my other students. And you’re making progress.”

  I found myself apologising throughout lessons, though I realised that her other students would have suffered the same slow process of learning, and she would have too when she learnt for the first time. Everyone starts somewhere, and with the violin, everyone starts somewhat slower. I decided that all violinists start off by suffering through that steep learning curve, and it was those thoughts that put me at ease.

  “It could be worse,” Amanda told me once. “At least you’re starting from absolute beginner. Often, I teach students who have been playing for years, and were taught badly. It is harder for me to correct their mistakes as they are ingrained into the way that they play. At least with you we can iron them out now, so you’ll play better later.”

  Amanda always had an optimism about her that I liked.

  ***

  After about nine lessons I was holding the violin correctly with the left hand, playing well with the right hand; no more open strings. I was learning the notes and playing something that could at least resemble some kind of music. I enjoyed it. I liked Amanda’s company, and we would always make small talk during the lessons and laugh whenever I made a mistake.

  That one hour a week was my escape from the world. During those lessons I could be anywhere. That soundproof room could be Tokyo, Paris, or London. My mind forgot about all of the problems I had had. The people I had lost. The people I had left behind. The things I had suffered, and the sacrifices that I had made. Just me, Amanda, and a chunk of spruce and maple.

  The time came when I stopped using the cheap violin that she brought with her to each lesson, and to buy a violin of my own. Amanda offered to come with me and take me to a few shops, after all, she was a professional player, so she would know what would sound good, and what extras I might have needed.

  We went to a small, family run shop, and tried a few of the violins, before settling on the one that we both agreed sounded the best. Shoulder rest, case, bow, rosin, and a mute. A full set with everything I needed to advance. After the violin was bought, I had asked Amanda what she was doing for the rest of the day. Nothing it turned out.

  “Can I buy you some lunch, as a thank you for helping me?”

  “Sure, lunch sounds great,” she had said.

  We talked over pasta about her favourite composers, techniques I could follow in my own time, and how long it would take for me to master the instrument. We went on to more personal questions. About her social life, about my hobbies. Whether or not she was single, she was. We had a good time, made each other laugh, and everything felt perfectly natural. Like we had known each other for a long time. Just one year older than me, and incredibly intelligent, creative, and attractive, I felt something with Amanda, something warm. Like a bright light inside her was drawing me closer. Maybe she felt the same way. After lunch, I asked her if I could see her again.

  “You will, next lesson is Saturday.”

  ***

  A few months went by with nothing much happening. I had continued to paint when I had the time, and practiced the violin almost every day. The instrument no longer hurt me to hold it; it began to feel natural, like an extension of myself. I began to play some basic pieces, and started to learn how to read sheet music, under Amanda’s guidance of course. I had got a few of the scales down too. The violin offering a new lease of life to the otherwise boredom of my quotidian lifestyle.

  One lesson when I arrived, Amanda was wearing a smart grey suit. She didn’t normally dress up for the lesson, so naturally I commented.

  “You look smart.”

  “Thanks,” she said, flashing me those glorious white teeth.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “I have a solo performance tonight, and another student straight after you. I won’t have time to go home and get changed.”

  I realised that I was wearing a baggy pair of ripped jeans and a faded orange shirt.

  “As long as you’re not wearing that to make me feel underdressed,” I said.

  “Yeah, actually that’s it, I checked my schedule this morning, realised I was teaching you and thought, I better dress in a suit to show you up.”

  Following the lesson—an intense metronome driven practice session of keeping in time with sweeping long bow strokes, mixed in with half notes and thirds—Amanda offered me an invitation.

  “You can come tonight if you’re not too busy?”

  “To your solo concert?”

  “Sure, I think it would be good for you to watch me play. Focus on how I hold the violin, my fingering and my bow movement. There’s only so much you can learn by practicing alone in a dark room.”

  “How do you know I practice in the dark?” I said, half-jokingly, though the room I used was rather dimly lit.

  Amanda laughed, “It starts at seven-thirty, I can put you on the guest list, but you might need to wear something smart.”

  “These are my only clothes though.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she remarked, in a way that was incredibly deadpan. I couldn’t tell if she was actually being serious, as was often the case.

  “Okay, I will be there,” I said, “and I’ll pick out something smart to wear.”

  She gave me the address of the venue, written in incredibly tidy black ink on a thin piece of card.

  ***

  Following the lesson, I went out and bought a nice suit, spending
a small percentage of my fortune in the process. The rest of the afternoon I killed time with some light reading. I did a little research into the economy and how the stock market was doing, went for a long walk, and then that night, I went to watch Amanda perform.

  ***

  The way Amanda played the violin was hypnotic. It was as if she had drifted away into some other world, and all that was left behind was her body, with those fluid movements; like a beautiful flower dancing in the wind. She played for one hour exactly, and the audience applauded at the end in seated harmony.

  After the performance, I waited around at the bar. I had chance for only a few brief words with Amanda. It was as if she knew everyone in the audience, and had to spare a few minutes talking to each of them, receiving their compliments, and their remarks about how well she had played.

  “Like a flower?” she asked, a confused look on her face as she processed the metaphor somewhere deep inside her skull.

  “Yeah. Like a beautiful flower dancing in the wind.”

  “I’ve had some compliments before, but I’ve never heard that one. Thank you,” she said, seemingly pleased with my words.

  “Do you want to go for drinks some time? It would be nice to get to know you,” I asked.

  “Sure, but only if you wear that suit.”

  “Deal,” I said, smiling.

  ***

  Amanda and I began to date. Slowly for the first two months, but gradually becoming a regular feature of my otherwise mundane week.

  Eventually, one night, our relationship took to the sheets.

  After a few more months of spending two or three nights a week together, often meeting up for expensive dinners at high class restaurants, I invited her to move in with me.

  “Why is your house so small?” she had said, the day she brought her things over.

  “I’m Japanese. I like small spaces.”

  “Is that so? Maybe because you have been so used to small spaces for so long, you think you like small spaces, but actually, perhaps deep down, you like large spaces.”

  “I have to disagree,” I told her, in disagreement. “Small spaces are easier to clean and offer a certain clarity that larger spaces never seem able to provide.”

  “You do have a point, they are easier to clean.” I did have a point.

  Despite the limited room in my house, Amanda never seemed to raise it again as an issue, it was as if she just accepted what I had for what it was. I liked this about her. Something honest and trustworthy, she was devoid of any conflict.

  We fell into each other in a way that felt perfectly natural, like everything was always meant to be that way, and that it would never change.

  Things were going great, and I loved that we had so many days together. With her only working for twelve hours a week, except for the occasional live performance, and me not working at all, there was no paranoia on my part or lack of trust. Just a healthy relationship between two healthy beings.

  When she was out at work, I would clean the house; a process that took up very little time. I would prepare lunch for her when she came home between students, and in the evening we would go out to a show or a restaurant, or catch a movie. One good thing about living in England, and understanding the language, was that I could see so many movies that I had never even heard of when I was living in Japan.

  My life was good, it had purpose again, and had returned to that of a steady train driving on a single track, its destination unknown, but at least it was steady. For the first time in a long while I had completely forgotten that I was a time traveller, that I had come from a distant future, and about everything else that was once important to me. I was simply living.

  ***

  After a three years of living together, we decided to get married; a simple wedding in a church, nothing too fancy, nothing too expensive. Amanda and I weren’t interested in the whole idea of high cost weddings, we both thought that they were designed to exploit the wealth of others, and to show off to friends and family.

  Married life was great, and after five years of being my wife, Amanda fell pregnant.

  I was somewhat relieved to hear the news. I thought that a child would be great for us, and selfishly, a great distraction to fill the void of free time that I had accumulated. There were only so many hours of cleaning, cooking, playing violin, painting, and studying language that could fill a day.

  We did that thing that apparently couples do, we designated our own sex to naming rights of the child. If it was a boy, I chose the name. If it was a girl, Amanda chose the name.

  I settled for Jun.

  “Jun,” Amanda had said on hearing my suggestion, “I like it.”

  “It’s the name of one of my childhood friends,” I reminded her. “And if it’s a girl?”

  “I really like the name, Lucy.”

  Of all the names that she could have settled for, she chose that one. At the time it didn’t stir up any of the negative emotions that it should have. If I was to be completely honest, I was always very fond of the name too, despite my past.

  ***

  Amanda gave birth to a beautiful girl.

  For the first few months Lucy would cry, a lot. I didn’t get a great deal of sleep, but somehow it didn’t seem to bother me all that much. It was nice having a smaller version of us around to care for. Amanda struggled a little, she always enjoyed sleeping, and having a baby in the house disrupted her usual routine dreams.

  The first time that Lucy smiled at me, it felt like every problem of mine, and perhaps every problem in the world, was sucked from my skull and turned into vapour; dissipating off somewhere out of reach, into oblivion, and to never return.

  Months went on with the three of us almost always at home.

  Lucy was a curious child, and often got distracted by the smallest of things. She would be fascinated by the most mundane objects, picking them up and turning them around in her tiny hands. Silently, as if processing every inch, examining every surface; lost in intrigue.

  Eventually Lucy began talking. Amanda and I had decided to raise Lucy bilingual. A difficult task and one that would most likely be confusing to any child, but somehow, Lucy seemed to grasp the basics of both Japanese and English. Not that I could be sure that she knew which language was which, or if she even realised she was communicating with two sets of vocabulary. Perhaps a child of such a young age would just consider that there were two words for everything.

  ***

  Lucy had blonde hair and brown eyes, and of course there was a relevant thought trapped somewhere, lost in the back of my mind. A thought perhaps so dark that every once in a while, when it tried to surface, I pushed it away and thought of something else. I wouldn’t let it come. I told myself not to think of it. But, that feeling had been there ever since Amanda had suggested the name Lucy for our daughter.

  After a few short years of fighting the urge to consciously asses my situation, one day, when Lucy was about three years old, I let it come. I opened up the floodgates and let the thoughts consume me. Sparks filled my brain, as if a nuclear explosion had occurred somewhere far off, deep in the darkness of my mind, and it frightened me.

  It became completely apparent that someday in the future, a slightly younger version of the person I was then would sleep with Lucy; sleep with his own daughter and enjoy it, oblivious to the situation and not knowing the truth about the relationship that they had had. I hoped so much that my intuition was wrong.

  I had a responsibility as a parent, and as another year went on, I continued to block the thoughts of my past actions. It occurred to me that perhaps I could just stay. Raise my child. Enjoy my life with Amanda and Lucy, never leave and never abandon her. Change the course of time, and right then I could still make that choice. I would never have to sleep with my own daughter, never set in motion the events that were occurring and had already occurred. But, if those events didn’t occur, then maybe I would simply cease to exist. Fade away like a ghost. Lost in the wrong time. My conscious
ness transported off to some distant location. Erased and lost and never occurring.

  ***

  Somehow life had a way of pulling me apart, deciding on the direction it would take. I was constantly fighting with my own mind and not sure whether I wanted to leave or not. But the future was perhaps set in stone, it might not have even been my decision to make. Not knowing what I wanted to do left me feeling completely empty. I was also scared of what the future held for Lucy. Scared of leaving Amanda. Frightened by the thoughts that drifted through me with frequent occurrence. Ever since I let the thought manifest for the first time, it had been ever-present, like a weight wrapped around my brain, pulling me toward the ground, toward a giant black hole waiting to swallow me whole.

  I tried my best to raise Lucy, I dedicated my time to her. But somewhere, always thinking of the things that once occurred, the events that had already transpired, just not yet for her.

  When Lucy was four years old, the torment had become too much to bear. I felt sick to my stomach, partly from the fear of leaving both Amanda and Lucy, partly from the fear of life itself. The last thing I wanted to do was wait around, watching my daughter grow up as those strange thoughts continued to manifest. What if I found my own daughter attractive as she got older, what kind of a person would that make me? I wondered. I didn’t want to be around when that happened, that was absolutely the last thing I wanted. That fear and guilt began to eat me alive. It became harder to spend time with my family, even though I forced myself to play the parental role, it had become too much.

  One day, I made the decision to leave. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but fate, or the path that I had allowed to bind me somehow forced me in that direction, forced me to make that decision.

  ***

  I waited until the sun was set and setting, for Amanda to be putting Lucy to bed, before creeping out with my rucksack and heading to the bus station.

  The bus bound for London Heathrow Airport pulled up on time. I paid as I got on and took a seat near the back. The limousine bus was less crowded than expected, with just six other seats occupied.