Chapter 107 Nakamori Akina and the Railway Worker
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Following the flow of Kitahara Iwa's pen was an old stationmaster named Sato Otsumatsu.
The story is set at the end of a snow-covered stretch of Hokkaido, on a remote, nearly abandoned side line, at a small station on the verge of being forgotten by time: Horomai Station.
The railway, amidst heavy snowfall, connects several desolate villages whose populations are constantly dwindling.
Sato Otsumatsu, however, steadfastly remained at this small station, whose very name exuded a chilling atmosphere, for his entire life.
Every morning, he gets up on time, puts on his faded railway worker uniform, and meticulously puts on his cap. He stands on the platform like a proud monument, welcoming and seeing off the few trains that come and go.
Regardless of the scorching heat or the blizzards that could engulf a person, he never missed a single day of work.
Because he stubbornly believed that as long as he was still standing there, the heart of this small station was still beating, and the railway track still had meaning to extend.
However, fate and the times did not show him any kindness because of his extreme loyalty.
He did not rush home on the day his daughter suddenly fell ill and died in her infancy.
Because a very important train was about to pass through Horomai Station that day, he had to stand in the wind and snow waving the dispatcher's flag.
During the years his wife was seriously ill and hospitalized, he visited her only a handful of times.
Because of a shortage of manpower for side missions, he simply couldn't leave.
Even on the day his wife breathed her last, he was still wearing that crisp uniform, standing alone on the platform, numbly watching the train slowly pull in and then mercilessly drive away with its whistle.
He poured his entire life, his family, and all his blood and bones into this cold railway.
And now, all that he has been loyal to is about to abandon him.
With passenger numbers plummeting and maintenance costs rising, a cold, hard decision has been made from above.
The Horomai Station will officially close next month.
Sato Otsumatsu's unwavering dedication over forty years ultimately resulted in nothing more than a flimsy retirement notice and an abandoned platform destined to be buried forever by heavy snow.
This is very similar to Japan right now, where countless ordinary people who have dedicated their lives to the country's economic take-off are being ruthlessly abandoned by the times as the bubble bursts.
But what Kitahara Iwao wanted to write about was not just suffocating cruelty, but redemption at the end of despair.
The story's final scene is set on New Year's Eve, when the mountains are blocked by heavy snow.
The last train from Horomai Station had long since departed, leaving the empty platform deathly silent.
The snow fell heavier and heavier, as if it wanted to bury all the suffering in the world.
Sato Otsumatsu stood alone in the wind and snow, his cloudy eyes fixed on the end of the disappearing railway tracks, waiting for the moment when his mission would come to an end.
Just then, a girl in a red coat, like a warm flame, walked towards him with a smile from the vast snowstorm.
Her face was delicate and gentle, and her eyes held a light so clear and almost transparent that it was impossible to look away.
She stopped in front of the old stationmaster, looked at the lonely old man abandoned by the times, and softly called out:
"dad."
This is his daughter, Yukiko, who died in infancy.
This is what she would look like at seventeen if she could grow up safely.
As the pen tip drew a period on the last line, Kitahara Iwa slightly raised his wrist, gently placed the pen on the table, and then leaned back in his wide chair.
The sky outside the window was beginning to lighten.
A thin layer of morning mist floated on the surface of Tokyo Bay, and the distant horizon was gradually changing from deep black to a cold gray-blue.
Kitahara Iwa sat here writing all night.
Twelve thousand words, flowing smoothly, not a single word changed.
On the specially made manuscript paper, the last few lines of ink, freshly written, still had a slightly cool feel to them.
At that moment, Kitahara Iwa picked up the cup of black coffee that had long since gone cold, drank the bitter liquid in one gulp, stood up, and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.
Throughout the entire novel, he did not use a single word about stock market investors jumping off buildings, nor did he write a single description of bankruptcy or usury.
It only tells the story of an old man who dedicated his life to the railway, and a cold branch line destined to be ruthlessly abandoned by the times.
But Kitahara Iwao knew all too well that every Japanese person who lost everything in the bursting of the economic bubble would see themselves staring back at Sato Otsumatsu's frail figure.
Because these people, just like the old stationmaster, are diligent and conscientious, dedicating their lives to the company and to a Japanese-style belief called "lifetime employment."
They naively believed that as long as they were patient and loyal enough, this vast system would protect them forever.
Then, the myth collapsed.
Just like the notice of cancellation of the Horomai Station, it was just a piece of light paper that uprooted their dignity and life that they had maintained for forty years.
In the story, the old stationmaster saw his grown-up daughter in the snow before he died. This was the last bit of tenderness that Kitahara Iwao gave him in his life.
But those who are abandoned by the times and left to suffer in the cold winter cannot even wait for this illusory tenderness.
Kitahara Iwa looked out the window at the Tokyo steel forest that was gradually being illuminated by the morning light.
The true destructive power of this novel does not lie in how many tragic and heroic scenes it piles up.
What makes it so compelling is its extreme restraint and gentleness from beginning to end. So gentle that when you turn the last page, there's no time to burst into tears. Instead, you find your face already streaked with hot tears amidst this silent, immense sorrow.
Just then, the landline phone on the coffee table rang.
Kitahara Iwa stood up, walked over, and picked up the receiver: "Feeding?"
"Teacher Kitahara?"
A clear, crisp female voice came from the other end of the phone, tinged with confusion.
It was Akina Nakamori.
"it's me."
"Teacher Kitahara, have you moved?"
Akina Nakamori's tone carried a hint of unease as she said, "I just went to the apartment you used to live in and found a 'For Rent' sign on the door. I asked the property management and found out that you've already moved out."
She paused for a moment, lowering her voice slightly, and said, "I thought something had happened..."
Kitahara Iwatsu sensed the unspoken worry in her voice and replied gently, "Sorry I didn't have time to tell you. I moved to Minami-Azabu a few days ago to avoid the media."
"Minami Azabu?"
Nakamori Akina paused slightly upon hearing this.
As a top-tier diva who has been working in the entertainment industry for many years, she certainly knows what kind of class barriers those high-end residential areas in Minami-Azabu represent.
However, she tactfully refrained from asking further questions on the topic, and simply breathed a sigh of relief, saying, "That's good... I thought you had moved out of Tokyo to avoid those reporters."
After saying that, Akina Nakamori's tone became lighter: "Teacher Kitahara, are you free now? I happen to be nearby and would like to come and see you."
"It's convenient, come over here."
Kitahara Iwatsu gave the specific building and floor number, and briefly explained the extremely secure security checkpoint at the entrance to the underground parking garage.
After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Iwa glanced at the stack of manuscript papers with "Railway Man" written on them on his desk, picked up a paperweight to weigh it down, then turned and went into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of warm water.
About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Kitahara Iwao opened the door, and Nakamori Akina stood outside the entrance hall.
She was wearing a well-tailored camel coat and a dark cashmere scarf.
Her hair had grown a bit longer than when we last met, and it was casually draped over her shoulders.
Even without heavy makeup, the cool and aloof look in her eyes and the superior bone structure make her highly recognizable.
"Sorry to bother you."
Akina Nakamori gave a slight bow, changed into indoor slippers, and walked in.
Upon entering, Nakamori Akina was not stunned by the unbeatable sea view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows like Otani Kamui; instead, her gaze immediately and precisely landed on Kitahara Iwao's face.
Then, her brows furrowed slightly.
"Teacher Kitahara, your eyes..."
Akina Nakamori raised her hand, her fingertip lightly pointing towards the area under Kitahara Iwao's eyes, and said with a hint of disapproval, "Your dark circles are so heavy, did you stay up all night?"
"You just received two awards, why don't you take a proper rest?"
Kitahara Iwa subconsciously raised his hand to touch the corner of his eye, only then truly feeling the slight pain in his nerves after staying up all night.
"Nothing serious, I just spent the whole night writing."
"All night?"
Akina Nakamori frowned even more deeply and quickly said, "Do you really not care about your health at all? Staying up all night writing..."
Akina Nakamori paused mid-sentence.
"The manuscript?"
Akina Nakamori's expression instantly shifted from concern to something else, a hint of intense curiosity appearing in her clear eyes as she asked, "Kitahara-sensei's new work...may I take a look?"
At this moment, her speech unconsciously quickened by half a beat. After saying the words, she seemed to realize that she had been a bit rash, and quickly added, "I always look forward to reading your works, so..."
But then Akina Nakamori suddenly stopped, took a half step back, and added a hint of apology to her tone.
"I'm sorry, you've been writing all night, you must be very tired. You should rest now, I won't bother you any longer, we can talk another day..."
"Need not."
Kitahara Iwa waved his hand, interrupting her, and said, "The effects of that coffee haven't worn off yet, I'm perfectly fine now."
As he spoke, Kitahara Iwa turned and walked to the desk, picked up the heavy manuscript paper that was being held down by the paperweight, and gently weighed it in his hand.
When he turned around, a smile appeared in Kitahara Iwa's eyes, which were usually devoid of emotion.
"Moreover, this article will be published alongside Mr. Haruki Murakami's in the same national special issue as a dual-engine publication."
Kitahara Iwao handed the stack of manuscript papers, still smelling of ink, to Nakamori Akina, and said, "To be honest, to be able to have a verbal exchange with Murakami-sensei, the author of 'Norwegian Wood,' on the same page..."
"This rare game of chess keeps me wide awake even without coffee."
Akina Nakamori looked at Kitahara Iwa, who was not complacent about winning two awards. Instead, when facing an opponent of Murakami Haruki's caliber, her eyes revealed the sharpness and focus of a top-level strategist.
This pure creative attitude made her pause slightly.
Having worked in the entertainment industry for many years, she had seen countless people become arrogant and conceited after achieving overnight fame...
People like Kitahara Iwa, who can maintain their true selves, are truly rare.
A smile immediately appeared on Nakamori Akina's lips as she said, "Then I won't stand on ceremony, Kitahara-sensei."
Akina Nakamori extended her hands and solemnly accepted the thick manuscript paper.
Then he sat down on the sofa, laid the manuscript flat on his lap, and began to read.
Kitahara Iwa didn't disturb her. He turned around and went into the kitchen to make her a cup of hot tea.
By the time Kitahara Iwa placed the teacup on the glass coffee table next to Nakamori Akina, she had already turned the first few pages.
Kitahara Iwa sat down on the single sofa opposite him and waited quietly.
In the spacious living room, only the extremely faint rustling sound of the manuscript being turned over and the occasional cries of seagulls flying past the French windows could be heard.
Akina Nakamori read very slowly.
She didn't read quickly; instead, she read word by word, sentence by sentence.
Occasionally, he would pause at a certain line, his cool gaze sweeping over the same passage two or three times, as if he were struggling to process some kind of emotion.
Furthermore, Kitahara Iwao noticed that starting from the third page, Nakamori Akina's page-turning became increasingly slower.
When she reached the fifth page, her fingers lingered on the edge of the paper for a long time before she gently turned the page.
About ten minutes later.
Akina Nakamori finally turned to the last few pages.
When she read about the snowy New Year's Eve, the old stationmaster stood alone on the soon-to-be-abandoned platform, gazing at the tracks disappearing into the white expanse of heaven and earth.
A girl in a red coat, like a warm flame, walked out of the wind and snow with a smile, softly saying "Dad."
Akina Nakamori's fingers froze completely.
She didn't turn to the next page.
Because her vision had become completely blurred.
Tears, I don't know when, silently burst forth from my eyes.
It wasn't the kind of violent, wailing crying, but rather a quiet, yet uncontrollable flow that occurred after the defenses had been completely breached.
It's like a long-standing, festering scar deep within my heart was gently touched by these few lines of extremely tender words, and instantly shattered into pieces.
Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, one falling onto the manuscript paper and spreading into a small water stain on the white surface.
Akina Nakamori snapped out of her daze and hurriedly raised her hand, using trembling fingertips to wipe away the trace of the tear that had seeped into her skin, her movements as urgent as a child who had done something wrong.
"I'm so sorry... Mr. Kitahara... I got your manuscript wet..."
Her voice was extremely hoarse, with a heavy, nasal tone.
Kitahara Iwa watched her reaction without saying anything, but simply took a few tissues from the tissue box on the coffee table and handed them over.
"The original manuscript is fine, we'll just have to copy it again later anyway."
Akina Nakamori took the tissue and gently dabbed at the corners of her eyes, but new tears immediately welled up again.
At this point, she simply stopped wiping and just lowered her head, gripping the manuscript paper tightly, her shoulders twitching slightly involuntarily.
After a long while, Akina Nakamori finally managed to calm her breathing and raise her head again.
Those beautiful eyes were heartbreakingly red, with glistening tears clinging to their eyelashes.
"Teacher Kitahara..."
Akina Nakamori lowered her head, looking at the manuscript paper on her lap, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the edge of the paper slowly. .
"This old stationmaster... he reminds me of something... completely the opposite."
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze passing over Kitahara Iwa's shoulder and landing in the extremely distant void, a bitter, self-deprecating smile curving her lips.
"I have many siblings in my family, and life was very hard when I was young."
"Later I entered the entertainment industry, singing and making money as hard as I could. I thought that as long as I put in enough effort, I could make my family's life better and bring them real warmth."
At this point, Akina Nakamori paused, her voice so soft it seemed it would shatter at the slightest touch, yet it carried a suffocating sadness and exhaustion.
"But I was wrong."
"In this circle, even in that so-called 'family'... blood ties are sometimes like a bottomless black hole."
"The more they take, the more they feel entitled to it."
"The more you back down, the more brazen they become in their exploitation."
Akina Nakamori's gaze returned to the manuscript paper covered in writing, and tears streamed down her face again.
"So, when reading this novel, we see that even though Station Chief Sato lost everything and was destined to die alone, his heart was filled only with a pure and selfless love for his daughter..."
"So, when reading this novel, we see that even though Station Chief Sato lost everything and was destined to die alone, his heart was filled only with a pure and selfless love for his daughter..."
At this point, Akina Nakamori bit her lower lip hard, using almost all her strength to hold back her tears: "I'm actually... a little jealous of this girl who died in the snowstorm."
"Thank you for writing this story, Kitahara-sensei."
Through her blurry, tear-filled eyes, Nakamori Akina looked at Kitahara Iwao across from her, her voice trembling slightly as she said, "It showed me... what a father, or rather, true family love, should be like."
Kitahara Iwa held the cup of warm water and listened quietly as she opened up about her wounds.
Kitahara Iwa didn't offer any judgment or words of comfort.
He simply sat there, looking at this pop diva who was suffocating under the weight of her family of origin with a peaceful and tolerant gaze, and then nodded slightly.
In this cruel world, some extreme pains don't need any extra words to respond.
Simply being heard quietly, being touched by these words that are gentle to the core, is enough.
Three days later, on the morning.
Chiyoda Ward, Kadokawa Shoten Headquarters, Special Issue Editorial Department.
A sealed file folder, delivered directly by a special person, was placed on Da Gu Shenying's desk with utmost respect.
The sender's name was written as "Kitahara Iwa".
Upon seeing this, Da Gu Shen Ying took a deep breath, carefully cut open the seal, and pulled out the thick stack of manuscript paper.
Right in the center of the first page, the title is prominently displayed: "Railway Man".
Da Gu Shen Ying held the manuscript paper in both hands and turned the pages one by one.
Outside the door was a bustling, chaotic editorial department, but inside Da Gu Shen Ying's office, all the noise seemed to have been completely removed.
The only sound in the air was the extremely faint rustling of the manuscript paper being turned over.
Ten minutes have passed.
Twenty minutes have passed.
The rustling sound stopped.
Just then, Haruki Kadokawa, the person in charge of the special issue, pushed open the door and walked in, saying, "Otani, Kitahara-sensei's manuscript..."
But as soon as he opened the door, Haruki Kadokawa's voice abruptly stopped.
Because he saw that Oogu Shenying, who was sitting on the sofa, was looking down, his hands tightly gripping the last page of the manuscript, and he was not moving at all.
The middle-aged editor-in-chief, who had seen many ups and downs, looked utterly dejected, as if all his strength had been drained.
Hearing the door open, Da Gu Shen Ying slowly raised his head.
His eyes were very red at this moment.
This wasn't a loud, emotional breakdown, but rather the faint redness of an adult's eyes as they tried so hard to suppress their sadness, yet still couldn't stop it from seeping out from the depths of their eyes.
Upon seeing Haruki Kadokawa walk in, he quickly took off his glasses and pressed his thumb hard against the corner of his eye, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Seeing this, Haruki Kadokawa quickly asked, "How's the quality of Kitahara-sensei's manuscript? Is it alright?"
"President..."
Ooko Shin's voice was unusually hoarse. He cleared his throat and managed to squeeze out a complete sentence for Kadokawa Haruki.
"I've been an editor for twenty years...and received thousands of manuscripts..."
He lowered his head, his gaze filled with complex emotions as he looked at the stack of manuscript papers in his hand.
"The other articles in the special issue... they were squatting in the mud, desperately describing to the readers how smelly the mud was."
"But this piece by Kitahara-sensei..."
Da Gu Shen Ying took a deep breath, his tone filled with deep admiration, and said, "He didn't write a single word complaining about the times, yet in the freezing cold, he delivered an extremely gentle blow to this crumbling era."
"If this article is placed at the beginning... then what about the articles later on about loan sharks and suicides..."
Da Gu Shen Ying gave a wry smile and shook his head.
He didn't finish his sentence.
But Kadokawa Haruki instantly understood what he hadn't said aloud.
Those articles that peddle anxiety, placed after this article "Railway Man," do not complement each other at all; instead, they are an extremely cruel public execution!
Then, Otani Shin's fingers lingered on the edge of the last page. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, "President, in the novel, there's that scene where Sato Otsumatsu stands in the snow waiting for his daughter..."
Otani spoke very softly, clearly recalling his own experiences.
"My father worked at a steel mill for 35 years. Last month, the factory announced layoffs."
"The night he received the notification, he didn't say a word at the dinner table. He just kept his head down and drank the cold miso soup, sip by sip."
Da Gu Shen Ying's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, and tears welled up in his eyes again, but he clenched his teeth tightly.
"Only today, after reading Kitahara-sensei's novel, did I finally understand... just how painful my father's silence that night was."
After saying that, Da Gu Shen Ying solemnly tidied up the original manuscript in his hand.
His movements were as light as if he were handling an extremely fragile, priceless treasure. He carefully placed it on the desk and pushed it toward Kadokawa Haruki.
It silently breached the defenses of a seasoned editor-in-chief with twenty years of experience who had long since developed an immunity to words, using only twelve thousand words...
Haruki Kadokawa was absolutely certain that this special issue would not only completely dispel the gloom over the entire country of Japan.
It will create a terrifying miracle that will be recorded in the history of Japanese literature during this harsh winter!
Then, Haruki Kadokawa took a deep breath, took out another sealed brown paper bag that he had been carrying in his arm since he entered the room, and placed it on his desk, right next to the original manuscript of "Railroad Man".
Kadokawa Haruki looked at Otani Kami, his eyes gleaming with an uncontrollable fervor, and said, "In that case, Otani, why don't you take a look at Murakami-sensei's manuscript too?"
"Just now, Murakami-sensei's manuscript also arrived."
Upon hearing this, Da Gu Shen Ying's body stiffened abruptly.
My thoughts, which were still deeply immersed in the profound sorrow of "Railroad Man," were instantly pulled back by this seemingly casual sentence.
He lowered his head in disbelief, staring intently at the brown paper bag on his desk.
"Murakami-sensei's... has arrived too?"
Otani's voice still carried a heavy nasal tone from his crying, but the look in his eyes had changed.
As a veteran editor with twenty years of experience, his instincts made him instantly realize what a terrifying scene, worthy of being recorded in history, was unfolding before him.
Two of the most influential writers in the Japanese literary world today have brought together their powerful writings, which they used to respond to the pain of this era, on the same day!
Thinking of this, Da Gu Shen Ying took a deep breath, trying his best to calm his heart, which was pounding in his chest due to the great shock.
Then, with utmost solemnity, he stretched out his hands and, with utmost reverence and care, moved the brown paper bag in front of him.
Then, little by little, he unraveled the white thread sealing the manuscript, as if he were opening a rare treasure, and pulled out Haruki Murakami's original manuscript.