Suicide Forest (12 page)

“Did you see it too?” I asked.

“The ghost?” Neil said.

I nodded.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You think Kaori really saw it?”

“I don’t think she would make up something
like that.”

“She might have been…confused.”

“It’s possible.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“When she woke me up she was scared white
and in a near fit. She wouldn’t go back to sleep and made me stay
awake with her until morning.” He shrugged. “You would do well to
remember that while no one has been able to prove whether ghosts
exist or not, no one has been able to disprove whether they do
either.”

“You can say the same thing about the tooth
fairy.”

“I don’t want to argue this point, Ethan.
I’m not a full-blown believer, but neither am I a skeptic. There
are simply some things we cannot understand. Let’s leave it at
that.”

And we did.

A
couple hundred
yards along the string we came to yet another ribbon, this one
yellow. Like the original white one, it ran north-south, meandering
into the forest. You could only see its length for twenty or thirty
yards in either direction before the dense bracken swallowed it
from sight.

“What should we do?” Ben asked. “Continue
along the string, or down this new ribbon?”

“I say the ribbon,” John Scott said.

“We did what you wanted, John,” Mel said,
and it was almost an accusation. “We came to see the ribbon and the
string. If you want to keep going, fine, go ahead. I’m making
camp.”

“I’m with you, Mel,” I told her, and she
brightened immediately. “But the ground here is warped and rocky. I
suggest we continue a bit further along the string until we find a
better spot.”

She nodded quickly, apparently happy for any
compromise.

“You guys do what you want then,” John Scott
said. “Ben, you’re cool?”

“Yes, Nina and I will keep exploring with
you. That is why we are here.”

“Since my services are no longer needed,”
Neil said, “I’m going to bow out, thanks.”

John Scott said, “Tomo?”

“I’m bush, man.”

“You’re a bushman?”

“I’m tired. So much walking.”

“Whatever.” John Scott shrugged. “You
pansies go find a good spot to make camp. We won’t be too long
behind. Just don’t leave the string.”

He, Ben, and Nina left without further
discussion. The rest of us carried on along the string.

“What’s pansy?” Tomo asked me.

“A flower,” I told him.

“He call us flower?”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Ethan, be nice,” Mel said from behind
us.

A dozen paces onward I walked straight into
a spider’s web. “Ugh,” I said, wiping the silky strands from my
face, spitting them from my mouth.

“What is it?” Mel asked, catching up to
me.

“Spider web.”

“Wonder what it’s eating out here,” Neil
said. “There’re no bugs.”

“Maybe they come out at night.”

The string didn’t follow a straight line.
Instead it weaved left and right, almost as if the person who’d
left it had been drunk. I wondered at this and decided it wasn’t
unlikely. After all, Yumi had brought a bottle of vodka with her.
Wasn’t that how most people killed themselves? A lethal cocktail of
booze and sleeping pills?

I pictured the person forging the same path
we were on, their shirttail untucked, their hair a mess, a spool of
string in one hand, a bottle of vodka or whiskey in the other.
Stumbling as they walked toward their death, drifting drunkenly
back and forth between the trees, tears streaming down their
cheeks, cursing their boss or their spouse or the world in general,
knowing they wouldn’t miss it one bit.

We came to a fallen tree. It was decaying
and covered in moss and fungi. The string passed over the thick
midsection. It was too large to clear in a single step. I had to
straddle it and swing my legs over one at a time. As I pushed
myself clear my left hand punched through the rotten bark to the
hollow cavity beneath. A sharp pain ripped across my wrist and I
cried out.

“Ethan!” Mel exclaimed.

Little pill bugs swarmed around the hole I’d
made. I jerked my hand free in disgust. There was a bright red line
across the inside of my wrist.

Mel appeared beside me. “Gosh, you’re cut.”
She examined the thin wound. “We don’t have Neosporin or Band-Aids
or anything.”

“Ewwww!” Tomo exclaimed. “Look this
one!”

“Gross,” Neil agreed.

They were hunched over the hole. The oval
pill bugs were scurrying everywhere. Two centipedes were trying to
squirm back beneath the bark. Tomo was poking a fat black millipede
with a twig. It had curled its segmented body into a protective
spiral.

“Careful,” Neil said. “They spray acid.”

I checked my wrist again. The blood had
begun to flow freely.

“Shit, man!” Tomo said to me. “You look like
suicide guy.”

“You need to put pressure on it,” Mel said.
She shrugged off her backpack and scrambled through the main
pocket. She pulled out a white sock and handed it to me.

I pressed it against the wound.

“You have to hold it there until the blood
clots,” she instructed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s not deep.”

“The ground’s a bit better here. We’ll make
camp and boil some water to wash it out. You don’t want it getting
infected.”

I glanced at the surrounding forest. It was
already getting dark, the greenery losing its vibrancy, the shadows
gathering and lengthening.

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

I
shrugged off my
backpack and unbuckled the tent I had brought. Unlike Neil’s
traditional tent—a flysheet held up by poles and guy ropes and
anchored to the ground with stakes—mine was a small dome design,
made for one person, but it would be fine for both Mel and me. I’d
suggested everyone bring a tent in case the huts lining the trail
up Mt. Fuji were not open. I’d read online that many shut down in
September. John Scott, I’d noticed when we’d first met this
morning, hadn’t brought a tent. That was his problem though. He
could sleep under the stars or, if it started raining, squeeze in
with Neil or Tomo or the Israelis. All I knew was that he wasn’t
cuddling up next to me—or Mel for that matter.

When I’d finished erecting the tent, Mel was
still determined to boil water and rinse my wound thoroughly. Neil,
however, brandished a bottle of whiskey he’d brought and poured a
tiny bit over the cut. The alcohol didn’t sting as much as I’d
thought it might. Mel gave me a fresh sock, which I tied around my
wrist.

“Anyone fancy a nip?” Neil asked, holding up
the bottle.

“Yeah, man,” Tomo said. “Let’s get
drunk.”

“I said a nip,” Neil said. “Get drunk on
your own booze.”

“I don’t bring none.”

“Guess you’re not getting drunk.”

Neil retrieved some paper cups from his
backpack and poured a finger for both Tomo and me. He offered Mel
some, but she declined.

“
Kampai
,” Tomo said, raising his
cup.

“To nature,” Neil said.

I thought about the gravesite, the young
woman who had likely perished there, and said, “To life.”

“To life,” Neil repeated thoughtfully.

We sipped.

“Hey,” I said to Neil, “where did you learn
to tie two strings together like that?”

“I used to kayak now and then in New
Zealand. It’s how we tied grab handles to the boat.”

“You don’t kayak anymore?”

“In Japan? Nah.”

“By the way,” I added offhandedly, “what did
John Scott say to you guys when we met up back there?”

“What do you mean?” Neil asked.

“I saw him congratulating you and
stuff.”

“He said we did a good job at the hole.”

“Did he tell you that if he were there, he
would have saved Mel single-handedly?”

“He never said that, Ethan,” Mel intervened.
She was sitting behind me, on a rock.

“It’s what he was thinking. I could
tell.”

“You’re just angry he didn’t give you any
credit.”

“I couldn’t care less what he thinks. The
guy’s a joker.”

“Give him a break, Ethan.”

I turned to look at her. “Why do you keep
defending him?”

“He’s my friend.”

“From high school. You know how long ago
that was? Did you keep in touch with him afterward?”

“A little bit.”

“Did you see him during college?”

She frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“What was up with him touching you and all
that shit?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Checking your hands for wounds and
everything.”

“Ethan, stop this.”

“Stop what? You know, I still don’t know why
he’s on this trip with us.”

She sighed. “Can we not get into this
again?”

“Did you guys used to date or
something?”

She stood abruptly and went to our tent.

I turned back around.

Tomo and Neil were trying not to act
awkward.

“What?” I said. “Do you guys like him?”

They didn’t say anything. Shaking my head, I
leaned against the rock Mel had vacated and sipped the whiskey.

I regretted mentioning John Scott. I should
have left things as they were. Mel was already on edge and
stressed. The last thing she needed was me accusing her of sleeping
with John Scott. And what if she did? It would have been before I
met her. She was perfectly within her rights to do that.

But if that was the case, why wouldn’t she
simply tell me?

Because it never happened?

Or because something else was going on…?

Neil and Tomo began debating the best
science fiction movie of all time, and I was happy to distract
myself by listening to them. Neil said
2001: A Space
Odyssey
, hands down. Tomo said
Jaws
. This set Neil off
because, according to him,
Jaws
wasn’t science fiction.

“Yeah, it is, man,” Tomo said. “You see
shark so big? Never.”

“It’s a horror film,” Neil said. “Thriller
at best.”

“Science fiction fake shit, right? Jaws, he
fake.”

“Science fiction has to be set in the
future.”

“Not necessarily,” I said.

Neil gave me a look. “Don’t tell me you
think
Jaws
is science fiction?”

I didn’t, but I enjoyed seeing Neil get
worked up over trivial things. I shook my head. “I’m not getting
involved.”

“You’re being a fool, Tomo,” Neil said
testily. “Choose another film.”

“I told you.
Jaws
.”

“I told you, it’s not science fiction.”

“Okay, okay, let me think.”

Neil watched him, his face pinched. Tomo
kept thinking.

“Well?” Neil demanded impatiently.

“Okay. I got it.
Jaws 2
.”

Neil made a disgusted sound and stood. He
took a step toward his tent, turned back, and grabbed the bottle of
whiskey.

“Wait!” Tomo said. “Wait!
Star Wars
.
Best movie.
Star Wars
. Come back!”

Neil disappeared inside his tent.

“Stupid guy,” Tomo mumbled.

“You shouldn’t have pissed him off,” I
said.

“I was joking, right? He don’t like
joke?”

I was pretty sure Neil could hear us, and I
didn’t want to get into his bad books, so I merely shrugged. I
looked for Mel, to see if she’d calmed down, but didn’t see her
anywhere.

I sat up straighter. Glanced at our
tent.

“Mel?”

No reply.

I scanned the forest. It was ghostly in the
near dusk. She was nowhere in sight.

I stood.

“Mel?”

Nothing.

“Mel?” I shouted.

“I’m here,” she replied. She sounded far
away.

“Where?”

No answer.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to the bathroom!”

“Oh—sorry.”

“I’m hungry,” Tomo said.

“I have peanuts in my bag—” I stopped
midsentence, mentally slapping myself on the forehead. “Shit.”

“What, man?” Tomo asked.

I was shaking my head. “My Swiss Army knife.
I think I forgot it back at the crevice, where I cut the vine.” I
set the whiskey aside and went to my backpack, knowing the knife
wouldn’t be there but wanting to check nonetheless. I stuck my hand
in the main pocket and felt around.

“Ow!” I bellowed, jerking my hand free.

For a moment I thought the knife had pricked
me. But the pain consumed my entire hand, as if I had stuck it in a
hot flame.

Tomo was asking me what was wrong, but I
barley heard him. I was staring at my hand in horror. It was
covered with dozens of ants—and they were still stinging me.

“Fuck!” I shouted, shaking my hand madly.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

The pain was incredible. I tried smacking
the ants away, but the little fuckers had sunk their mandibles in
and wouldn’t let go.

I felt a sting on my ankle. Then another.
More.

I looked at my feet.

The ants were crawling all over them.

I kicked off my Reeboks, launching them ten
feet away. Then I stripped out of my jeans, all the while suffering
more bites on my ankles and calves.

I brushed at the ants frantically, my mind
reeling.

Where were they coming from? How many were
there?

What if I went into anaphylactic shock?

Tomo and Neil, who had been quick from his
tent upon hearing the commotion, charged past me, taking the
offensive, shouting and stomping, looking like a pair of Native
American rain dancers.

Tomo nudged my backpack tentatively with the
toe of his shoe, then sprang back. “Ah!” he shrieked. “So
many!”

Neil yelled, slapping his ankle.

In the poor light I made out an undulating
mass of ants beneath where my backpack had been sitting.

I had set it right on top of their bloody
colony
.