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NO. 6 Beyond | Atsuko Asano
I have not forgotten about them.
The chronicle of their lives is perhaps
the only one worth telling.
***
Could we fully believe in people again?
***
Let me tell you a story. A story that I know. Story? No―it is reality, humans will probably say.
They will say it is reality engraved in human history.
But for me, the deeds of humans are all but stories. At times a comedy, at times a
tragedy; sometimes predictable, sometimes wearisome―nothing but fabrications.
Yes, humans are always but foolish actors.
They act out a farce, dancing at the mercy of their greed, love, and emotions. They are
foolish, ignorant, and avaricious.... They destroy with their own hands what they have created.
They aspire to rule over others and become the one and only king of the world.
Why is that, I wonder?
Why are humans the only ones unable to live by the laws of nature, leaving everything
as is? They are such strange creatures.
In the story I am about to tell you now, the main character is also a human―no. The
main character is actually a city. A city-state. People called it No. 6. Have you ever heard the
name before? It is the most beautiful, yet most fearsome, existence created by human hands.
Worthy of a star role in a farce, don't you think?
But... strange as it is, for some reason, I feel a sort of love towards that city, No. 6. The
story surrounding No. 6, as well those who have lived in the story itself, are endearing to me.
Does that make me the possessor of a "soul"?
I know of two young boys.
Night and day; light and dark; earth and wind; one who embraces all, and one who
attempts to throw it all away. They are so different, yet they are very much alike. Both were
deeply involved with No. 6. They lived their lives along with No. 6.
What? When was that, you say?
I wonder. It feels like only yesterday, but at the same time, it feels like a thousand years
ago. I do not feel time the way humans do.
I feel no difference between a single moment or an eternity.
But I have not forgotten about them.
Sometimes I feel that the chronicle of their lives is perhaps the only one worth telling.
Come hither, now.
Let me tell you a story.
The story of two boys and of No. 6.
CHAPTER 1
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NO. 6 Beyond | Atsuko Asano
Inukashi's Days
The ceiling was spinning. It actually felt like it was whirling.
Huh? What's going on?
Inukashi collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes. He felt ill. He was not only dizzy, he
even felt nauseous. He kept his eyes closed as he took several deep breaths. He inhaled through
his nose, let the air sit in his stomach, and exhaled slowly through his mouth.
Once, twice, three times....
Any ailment, physical or mental, was usually cured by this―whether it be his agitated
heart, his disarrayed thoughts, his throbbing wounds, or dull headaches. No one had taught
him this; it was something he had learned without even realizing. But as for his empty stomach,
there was nothing he could do. No matter how deeply he inhaled to make his stomach expand,
as soon as he exhaled it flattened back out again. There was nothing he could do about his body,
growing colder from his hunger.
I hate hunger. It's horrifying.
Inukashi gave himself a shake. Hunger was like a demon.
With its sharp fangs and claws, it uprooted and stole any will to survive, any hope of living.
But now, he was alright.
Of course, he was still hungry. Inukashi didn't remember the last time his stomach was
full. Empty―that was just how stomachs came. That was his idea.
He carefully lifted himself up on the bed. He didn't feel dizzy anymore, but his nausea
was still present. He felt heavy, like someone had attached weights to his arms and legs.
I feel
like someone's chained metal balls to me, like a prisoner of some country.
This is bad.
He lay back down again, and mentally clicked his tongue. Falling ill in the West Block
was like beckoning Death to your side. Here, there were underground shamans of questionable
nature, or self-proclaimed doctors, but no one who could give proper medical treatment.
Inukashi didn't know of any, at least.
His body felt heavy. With his eyes closed like this, he felt like he was being dragged into
the watery depths.
In times like these, I have to think about fun things,
he told himself.
Fun? Have I ever enjoyed
myself?
You did. Yesterday evening, remember? You were freed from hunger, just a little bit. Yeah, see,
that was it. That was ultimate happiness.
He'd eaten some meat. There had been a chunk of raw meat in the load of food scraps
from the Correctional Facility. It was not someone's leftovers: this was a block of meat that had
not even been cooked. It was free of bruising and rot. Upon closer inspection, it was peculiarly
flat. Perhaps the chef at the Facility staff restaurant had dropped it on the floor, where someone
else had stepped on it.
"Oy! You just ruined a perfectly good chunk of meat!"
"Oh, sorry. But you dropped it."
"Well, we can't help it now. Can't use this anymore."
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NO. 6 Beyond | Atsuko Asano
The meat had been tossed into a metal garbage bin and forgotten. Eventually, it had
made its way into Inukashi's hands along with other trash and food scraps―perhaps that was
its journey.
Whatever. I don't care what its journey was like, or how it got here. All that matters is I'm
holding a chunk of meat in my hand.
What incredible fortune this was.
He quite literally danced for joy. When was the last time he'd had something this good in
his hands? He searched and searched in his memories, but nothing turned up. Inukashi licked
his lips as he held the hunk of meat, shining with fat. He swallowed hungrily.
He didn't know what kind of meat it was, but he didn't care―as long as it wasn't human
or dog. Inukashi returned to his dwelling in the ruins, and jumped right into cooking. He
selected vegetable cuttings and bones out of the food scraps, threw them into a pot, and let it
simmer. Right before it finished cooking, he divided the hunk of meat into sections and threw
them in. He considered setting aside half of it to cure, or take to the market to sell, but in the
end he decided against both. Inukashi was well aware that nonperishable food was a precious
commodity; he also knew that if he took the meat to market, it would bring him a decent
amount of money.
But I think I'll finish this meat off in one go.
That was his decision.
I'm allowed to
treat myself once in a while. I'll enjoy the good fortune that's come to me―the fortune that heaven
decided to throw my way out of chance.
This is the West Block, where I can't even predict what my fate will be tomorrow. Even God
doesn't guarantee anything for anyone in this place. I might as well enjoy the present without thinking
about tomorrow.
Steam rose from the pot.
A mouthwatering smell drifted up. The dogs gathered around, drawn by the smell.
"I know, I know. You guys'll get some to eat, too. Don't worry."
White, black, patched, tan. Long-haired, short-haired, curly-haired. Flopped ears, erect
ears, one-eared. Inukashi kept twenty or thirty dogs with him, ranging from one as big as a calf
to one smaller than a cat. For some reason, that number never increased. Puppies were born
every year, so that meant an equal number of dogs probably died or left.
An old female dog died yesterday. She was a great mother, having birthed many
puppies and raised close to half of them successfully.
I remember her sons and daughters licking her
cold, stiffening body in turn.
Dogs were deeply loyal. They were warm, and gentle. They had a definite compassion.
They never betrayed their friends or family.
They're much more decent and trustworthy than human creatures.
"More fearsome than hunger, than the frozen earth, are humans."
I remember... that was Gramps' line.
Inukashi shook his head as he stirred the pot with a
wooden spatula.
Why did I have to remember him? It's not gonna help satisfy my hunger. But, no―he
shook his head even more fiercely.
I gotta remember him at least once or twice a year, for his sake. I have to remember and recall how
dear he was to me. I owe that old man. We don't forget the good deeds that people have done for us: that's
another virtue about us dogs.
I don't know how old Gramps was, or why he lived here in the ruins with the dogs, or where he
came from or where he went. I don't feel like I need to know, nor do I intend to find out. But I wouldn't
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have survived if it wasn't for Gramps. I feel the weight of what he did in every inch of my bones.
It was winter when I met Gramps.
I remember the freezing wind and the whiteness of the snow that piled up in front of me. So yes,
it was winter. Years and years ago.
He had no memory of his mother, no recollection of his father; yet, he could remember
vividly the frigid wind and the snow dancing. He recalled the approaching footsteps, a dog's
tongue licking his cheek, the warmth of a human bosom; even the floating feeling he felt for an
instant when he was scooped up.
How old was I then? Was I still a baby? Probably, huh, because I was still getting milk from
Mum. Babies sure remember a lot more than we give credit for.
He was an elderly man dwelling in the ruins of the hotel, and he had picked up Inukashi
and raised him. Or perhaps one could say that the man had picked him up, but the female dog
was the one who raised him.
She was young, and had just given birth to a litter. Inukashi suckled at her breast, and
slept nestled up to her belly with the other puppies. Thanks to her, he had avoided starvation.
He had avoided freezing to death. He had survived.
This intelligent and sweet-mannered dog was Inukashi's one and only "Mum".
"You're a strange child... or special, I should say." The old man had made this statement
when Inukashi had grown old enough to walk, and was able to compete with his fellow dogs in
lunging for food. The old man had spoken in a warm, reflective, gentle voice. Inukashi
remembered that well, too.
"Speshal?"
"It means you're different from the others. Until now, I'd never even heard of, much less
seen, a baby who could feed and grow on dog's milk. When I took you in, to tell you the truth, I
figured you wouldn't last three days. But I still took you in anyway, because I wanted to give
you a proper burial."
"Berry-all?"
"It means digging up the earth and burying you in it. When you died, I planned to put
you underground and give you a burial that way. I couldn't bring myself to let you waste away
in the open air. I didn't want you to go through what most babies go through on this land,
rotting in the middle of the road, being pecked at by crows, being eaten by beasts. Normally, I
would have... yes, I would have just left you there. I would have passed you by pretending not
to notice. It would be no different from what I've always been doing. But why did I decide to
pick you off the road... why did I want to bury you in the earth?"
"Why?"
"I don't know." The old man shook his head slowly, twice. "I really don't know. I don't
understand it, myself. Why did I scoop you up that day and take you home? I've watched many
babies, dozens of them, die. Why did I decide to extend my hand to you? I can't seem to explain
it. That's partly what I meant when I said you were a strange child."
Inukashi shivered. He made a soft strangled noise at feeling his body grow colder to the
tips of his fingers. A cold sweat ran down his back.
He was scared. At the same time, he was overwhelmed with the impulse to laugh out
loud. He wanted to throw his head back and let his laughter echo to the heavens.
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He was alive due to good fortune bordering on mere coincidence. If it weren't for the old
man's impulse, his body, his flesh, his bones would have been prey to crows and beasts. What a
miracle this was, what luck. Inside his heart was a storm of fear, relief, and the stabbing impulse
to dissolve into hysterical laughter.
By that time, Inukashi had already come to realize how arduous a task it was to survive
every day in the West Block. He sensed that his own future was full of tribulation and hardship,
much like climbing up a steep cliff with bare hands.
But he wanted to live. He wanted to live, to survive, and stretch the limits of his life,
even for a minute, for a second. For that, he would do anything, no matter how unsightly,
deceitful, or shameful it was. It was easy to die. All he needed was some rope and a tree with
sturdy branches. He could also jump off a cliff. Or, he could run screaming into the Correctional
Facility―that was an option, too. The soldiers on patrol would shoot him through the chest or
the head without any hesitation.
He would be finished off in an instant, no matter which method he chose. He would not
suffer for long. At least, he didn't think so. That was why he knew it was easier to choose death.
It was as obvious as the sun rising from the east.
But I don't want to.
Inukashi clenched his fist, though it was still very small.
I won't be
finished off so easily. I won't choose death of my own will. I'll survive and I'll do whatever it takes.
I'll step up to the challenge. I'll challenge the fate which left me abandoned on the road in the
West Block; I'll challenge the world that makes survival such a difficulty; I'll challenge the guys who
made the world like this―and I'll win. In fact, I'm winning right now by continuing to survive.
As a young child, Inukashi did not know how to speak. He did not know how to put his
heart's resolve into words and tell it to others. But the old man nevertheless smiled serenely and
placed a hand on Inukashi's head.
"I have a feeling you'd be able to do it," he'd murmured.
It was about a year later, in the onset of winter, when the old man disappeared. His bed
was already empty when Inukashi woke up that morning, and the old man was nowhere to be
seen in the ruins. But Inukashi didn't particularly go on a frantic search, either. Somewhere in
his heart he had given up, knowing it was no use. He was disconcerted, but he was not lonely.
His dogs were with him. As long as his dogs were here, he was alright.
Gramps probably knew that, too. He knew well when he wandered off. Did he sense the end of his
life coming, or did he find a place he ought to go? Whichever it was, he's probably out there somewhere
now, a part of the earth. People can't turn into the stars in the sky, but they can always return to the
earth. They can leave their memories behind, too.
Thanks, Gramps. I'll never forget everything you did for me. Once in a while, I'll be sure to
remember you and recall some fond memories. But you know, your face is getting blurry lately. I can still
remember the little things: your scraggly white beard; how your balding forehead was shining pink; how
your right eyebrow was unusually thick; how you were always soft-spoken. I remember those things so
clearly, but I can't seem to recall your face. I wonder why? But, well, there you have it. I remembered you
today. That's enough, right?
He gave the pot another stir with the spatula.
A patched dog barked. The other dogs chimed in and began barking, too.
"I know, I know. Right, let's get this feast started. Gather 'round, you guys. But you gotta
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