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In the distance, a man was screaming. From the direction of the elevator. And it was nothing but words that weren't easy on the ears. Like "I'm gonna be killed," or "psycho," or something. I reacted hypersensitively to those words and broke into a run.
Especially to the words "gonna be killed." My thoughts were a jumble, and they, instead of my muscles, contracted repeatedly, making me run. Partway there, the man screamed again, but then his voice cut off as if that was it. Then, the sound and vibration of the elevator operating faintly circulated through the hallway, which had fallen silent.
Reaching the corner of the hallway, I first cautiously peeked out. In case the person I was looking for was there. So I could approach them with the appropriate demeanor.
My eyes met with the man standing right in front of me.
‘...’ I wasn't looking for *him*.
It was the guy who was standing next to Natsumi earlier. He looked to be about my son's age. His body recoiled with a gasp, clearly displaying his aversion. The man—or rather, the kid—was also frozen, eyes wide. Natsumi, next to him, had her back to me, but she noticed the kid's reaction and turned around.
“Argh! Why are you sneaking up behind me, you damn old geezer! What are you, a ninja?!”
“You're one to talk! Did you walk along the window ledge to get here or something? That's dangerous, you know! You could've died, you idiot!”
Still yelling at each other as if on the phone, we came into each other's view. This time, Natsumi showed no signs of running away. Instead, it was the cleaning staff and their cart that moved away from the spot. On the carpet, a hat, the man, and the cat I'd seen outside the window lay curled up and rolling around. It was hard to imagine just what kind of exchange had taken place in this space in the last few minutes. Natsumi irritably ended the call and then trotted over to me.
“Pervert!”
“What are you yelling about all of a sudden?!”
“That's what society calls a parent who stalks their daughter all the way to a hotel!”
“No, it's the other way around! I was here first, and you followed me!” Probably!
“And can you just take the phone away from your ear already! You're probably not even hearing my voice properly!”
“I'm not so senile that I can't hear a shrill voice like yours, you damn fool of a daughter!”
Aargh, dammit! I have my doubts about whether this is how a parent should act, but I can't stop myself!
“Uh, um, excuse me, could we calm down a bit? Instead of talking in the hallway, how about a room or something?”
The daughter's boyfriend cut in from the side, offering to mediate. Face to face with him, confusion outweighed anger. Having spent my student days in darkness, I lacked the firsthand experience to know how to act in such a situation. I truly thank, from the bottom of my heart, whatever governs the process that allowed me to meet my wife.
Why was I able to meet my wife? It was based on a coincidence born from the currents created by countless people. That's why my gratitude is directed not towards God, but towards all of humanity. Thank you for letting us meet.
“Then, to my room... I mean, your father would be joining us too, so, uh, well...”
“Who are you calling ‘father’?”
I tried out the classic fatherly reaction to a daughter's boyfriend. But actually saying it out loud sounded incredibly foolish. Especially in a hotel hallway. The kid seemed to flinch, then glanced at Natsumi's face. Natsumi, with a sullen, listless expression that said ‘I don't care either way,’ looked at both me and the kid.
“Just take us somewhere, anywhere, damn old geezer.”
“...Yeah,” I replied, though my face was glum. But a quiet place I can take them... uh, here? If it's here, well... There's really only that one place, isn't there.

**Yamana Misato (Suicidal Ideation Person)**
**4:10 PM**

After returning to my room, the first thing I did was reach for the phone.
Watching the cat react to the phone ringing outside, I think I was somehow influenced too.
I picked up the receiver of the room's phone and put it to my ear. It had been a while since I'd felt the sensation of a foreign object against my ear. Inorganic, and cold. The racing heart, the tension so strong I felt like throwing up, the trembling fingertips reaching for the buttons—none of that was there anymore. Even my breath felt dry and tasteless.
After placing the juice can on the side of the desk, I pressed the buttons with my finger. The beeping sounds continued without pause, without faltering. I quickly finished dialing, and my right hand hung limply. Looking at it again, I felt it was an arm with no change in thickness from wrist to upper arm, an arm where you couldn't feel any muscular vitality. A symbol of lethargy.
I waited for the person I'd called to answer. While waiting, my gaze turned to the only thing in the room that offered a change of scenery: the view outside the window. The sun hadn't set yet and was illuminating the building opposite. A faintly yellowish light that imprinted a sense of decadence deep in my eyes. I used to like taking walks outside at this time of day. Looking up at this light made me want to wander aimlessly, to and fro. Maybe it contained some kind of zombie beam.
“.........They're not picking up, huh.”
I murmured. For a moment, I even thought about just starting to talk to myself without the call connecting.
There's no way they'd answer. Because this is *his* cell phone number. This number isn't in use anymore, and if it actually connected, I'd have to suspect this whole hotel was haunted or something along those lines.
“.........Ah.” An idea struck me. If I committed suicide while holding my cell phone, wouldn't it become a ghost phone? I don't know where he is now, but he must have had his cell phone on him when he was killed. After all, he'd sent me a text just a few minutes before his estimated time of death. The text said, ‘Just got to the station. I'll call you when I get home.’ I placed my phone in the center of the room, sat formally, and waited excitedly, like a dog wagging its tail, anticipating a treat. I waited for ten minutes. I waited for an hour without any doubt. After two hours, I wondered if he'd fallen asleep. After three hours, I started to worry he'd been in an accident.
After waiting four hours, I learned that his body had been found. The story was simple: he couldn't come home, so the call never came. That was all. Did I cry? I have no memory of being alive back then. I just kept staring at the phone's screen, recharging it whenever the battery died. My family left me alone for a week, but when it went on for two, they understandably started to fuss over me.
Perhaps the past event of my older sister's suicide resurfaced in my parents' minds. It wasn't that I intended to die back then. I'd lost even the energy for that.
I started going to university again after I heard that the culprit who killed him had been caught. The person who caught them appeared on a local TV show; it was a woman wearing striped clothes like a prisoner rather than a detective. She had a kind-looking smile and appeared younger than me.
The culprit was apparently a local high school student. Nothing more was officially announced. However, according to rumors at the level of old ladies' gossip circles, that high school student was supposedly a child victim of a kidnapping incident from about ten years ago.
I watched that news report on a TV in the university lecture building with a stupid look on my face... and I felt like, so what? Even if you preach the truths of this world to cultivated bean sprouts, the fact that they'll ‘be eaten’ doesn't change.
The truth that he had vanished from my future could never be erased.
It's frustrating that I'm so cowardly and apathetic. I have no desire for revenge, nor can I break free from the past. I just drag it along, like having a kite that can't fly tied to my body. And yet, I don't fight it, I accept it, and I'm certainly not wishing for a life spent wasting time licking the dirt.
“.........Ah, I wanna become a shut-in.”
‘I don't want to work, though,’ I feel like saying at the career counseling office. Just like my sister. A creepy laugh, like crab foam, escapes my lips. If that's the case, then so be it; tracing her path to the very end is the same.
The receiver I'd once put down was pressed to my ear again.
I take the receiver from my ear, return it to its cradle... Remove it. Return it, remove it. It doesn't stay.
Because I talked to someone other than family for the first time in a year, it wells up.
This feeling of loneliness. Because I'm usually so apathetic, when it rears its head, I can't suppress it. I want to talk to him. I want my voice to reach someone.
At worst, even my sister would do. Even if it's someone like her.
I'm seized by the urge to claw at my face, the one people say looks just like my sister's. Is this self-loathing due to resemblance? Just like my sister, whose ‘talent for living’ had fatally dried up even before her depression.
If only there wasn't a phone in the room. Then I wouldn't have to cling to it so pathetically.
I'll try calling some random stranger with this phone. Maybe, just maybe, it'll connect to the phone that went with him when he died. I remember there was a movie we saw together that had something like that. Come on, miracle, happen.
Being brutally murdered beyond recognition by a neighborhood killer is an astronomically improbable event, so this time, work those decimal places in a good direction and grant me a blessing.
“1... 7...” my finger pressed the buttons, then stopped. Am I planning to call someone on this floor?
Better than dialing a completely random number and getting a ‘this number is not in service’ message, I guess.
Letting my eyes wander, I casually input the next two digits and waited for the other person to pick up. Phone calls have a different rhythm than face-to-face conversations. I've completely forgotten that sense of timing. How am I supposed to talk?
But I do remember that the silences during phone calls with him were strangely comfortable.
“Yeah, hello. The front desk? You calling to apologize now? Totally okay, but...”
The other person answered. A dry voice, devoid of any shred of friendliness. A man, I think.
“Ah, yes, hello...” I found myself bowing repeatedly.
“What do you want? Prank call?”
“No, it's just, um, well—” Slowly, the other person's voice seeped into my brain. Ahh, a phone call, this is nice. If it were his voice, I'd definitely be crying right now.
“So, what is it? To be honest, I'm not particularly busy right now. But I don't need to talk to you either.”
“What you say is perfectly reasonable, but, um...” I wish he'd bring up a topic.
“Speak clearly, quickly, and to the point. It's a pain to listen.”
His tone sounded irritated. Scary. Different from him. I should hang up. Just as I thought that and was about to put the receiver down, I heard a cat meow from beyond his irritation, and I stopped.
Before I knew it, that became the topic, and my mouth started moving.
“Do you like cats?”
“What's wrong with liking them?” His tone hadn't changed, but this time I wasn't scared.
“No, it's just that I heard a cat's meow.”
“That's 'cause it's with me. Here, here.”
As if showing off, he let me hear the cat's meow over the phone. Ohh, it's that ‘Whaddaya want, meow?’ cat, with its grumpy-sounding meow. I wonder if it made it back to civilization safely after that.
“The hotel's... ah, by any chance, is it a white cat?”
“That's the cat from my room. Did it cause you any trouble?”
“Ah, yours...” The number on that key card was, I'm sure, ‘1701’.
“Huh?”
“S-seven...”
“So, the room you and the cat are staying in is Room 1701, right? Next to my room...”
“Huh?!” His voice conveyed the feeling of having stepped on a cat's tail.
“Not at all! Are you a spy from the front desk after all?! You're trying to laugh at me, aren't you!”
“H-huh?” He spoke so fast, I could only catch about half of it.
“It's 7! Not 1! Can you hear me? Shichi! Not ichi! Repeat after me!”
“Yes! Hello, and goodbye!”
The super-fast talker seemed to be short-tempered too, and he cut off the call abruptly.
His gruffness was the polar opposite of *his* personality. But he liked cats, that was the same. I incidentally recalled how my university friends—some cat lovers, some animal haters, both types were there—used to laugh, saying, ‘But somehow we all get along, don't we?’ ‘1707’ is probably that guy's room number... Huh. That matches the number the little girl shouted while pointing at me earlier. Maybe because that was stuck in my head, the supposedly random number was unconsciously decided. Or rather, perhaps that shout was the very trigger for me to think of calling that number... Hmm, including what the girl said, I don't understand anything.
But my loneliness was dispelled by the ferocity of that phone call, so, well, that's good. A sense of fulfillment now swells up, trying to satisfy the next desire.
Drowsiness washed over me, and I stifled a small yawn. If my head became fuzzy and half-asleep, maybe my brain wouldn't work enough to hesitate, and I could just jump obediently—that idea occurred to me. For a while, I tried yawning.
I felt like a dust-covered cell phone. Sleepiness enveloped my shoulders and scalp, making them heavy. Unsteadily, mimicking a sleepwalker, I approached the window. I moved without resistance. Yeah, this might work.
I threw the window open. A gentle, lukewarm breeze softly caressed my nose. A feeling similar to the liberation after a late lecture ended and I left the classroom spread through my chest. The ‘not’ disappeared from ‘cannot’.
I felt like a little bird chirping peacefully outside the window. I was elated, with death right before me. My drifting consciousness would probably feel refreshed if it took a nosedive, but it would just be too late then.
Alright, let's do this. Grabbing the window ledge, without any affectation, I threw my body out— “Heyyy—”
“Woah-oah-oah!”
A knocking sound, like an alarm clock, made the film in front of my eyes snap.
Clinging to the window ledge I'd grabbed, I hurriedly pulled myself back into the room... “Aaaargh!” So it's no good, huh. My legs are shaking uncontrollably, this is terrible. How many times does he have to interfere before he's satisfied? This dull-voiced old guy.
“Um, you see, as promised, I've come to impose on you.”
A voice from outside, announcing his return.
The drowsiness that had acted as an anesthetic blew away, and my head felt as clear and stark as a stake driven into a wasteland.
“...Haaah.” It was too much trouble to sort out what emotions were mixed in with my exhaled breath. As long as I'm in this room. As long as I'm alive. Had I promised to greet him? The thought that an old guy like that was the only one who could rely on me was somehow amusing.
Dragging my feet, I lazily approached the entrance. “You damn fool...” I muttered softly as I opened the door to greet the bothersome old guy. The old guy, looking down, seemed apologetically surprised, and behind him, two people—that couple—were stuck to him like a three-colored dango or goldfish poop.
The college student-looking guy seemed apologetic, while the girl with him was indignant. All three of them, though with varying degrees of intensity, were clutching cell phones in their hands. Was this a deliberate jab at me, who only has *his* number saved in my phone, you jerks? And what's more, the old guy's phone was pink. Who are you trying to appeal to, you bastard?
“Um, well... we've got more people than the reservation... Can we come in?”
The old guy, with a sheepish grin that seemed to say he'd decided to just brazen it out, asked for my permission.
I felt like proclaiming, “No one but the old guy is allowed.”

**Sakurayama Eko**
**4:10 PM**

A ringtone, more piercing than a cicada, blared from behind, and I turned to face this public nuisance. A mandrill-like woman, whose only trump card was being three or four years younger than me, had stopped pushing her cart and was staring blankly. A noise worse than my sister was ringing from inside the cart. Is this mandrill smuggling cicadas, I wonder? Hesitantly, the mandrill lifted the cloth covering the cart, and out came a cow and a pig, as if being shipped. Those two from earlier were cowering between them, fattened up, like animals fearing fire.
Even I was surprised by this. What value is there in transporting unprocessed cows and pigs? The mandrill, too, seemed to have lost all strength in her legs and sat down on the carpet, as if lamenting that they were alive.
“Ah!” And at this exact moment! Those damn pigs! Despite probably having less than a gram of brains, the cow must have arrived at the pearl-before-swine answer of suspecting me. The pig, on the other hand, is probably still blissfully unaware, enchanted by the smell of the pot she's destined to be simmered in as braised pork. She should just become happy braised pork and contribute to humanity's happiness; no need to imitate cicadas, just get processed already.
The cow and pig sluggishly escaped from the cart, letting out vulgar cries, begging the mandrill, “Don’t kill us, don’t eat us!” The pig in heat seems to be overwhelmed by the ringing phone, a tool of humankind. Oh my, how pitiful. If *you* were a truly lovely and beautiful pig, I could help you, but my husband dislikes dirty things, so naturally, I can't touch you either, I'm so sorry.
No, it would have been better if you weren't a pig in the first place. If only you'd been born human. Just as I was thinking, ‘How unfortunate~,’ she started screeching things like ‘Aargh! Hey, geezer! Wh-what's this number?!’—cries utterly devoid of intelligence, so I've changed my mind. *You* just stay a pig. Because if I accidentally killed a human, I'd be a criminal, but if it's a pig, I just eat it. No one will get angry. So just go get killed by someone, you low-grade product, inferior even to an Iberian pig.
The cow, smitten with the pig, managed to recognize me using its dull nerves. Diverting its attention from the mandrill, it grew wary of me. To think it would harbor hostility towards harmless little me, who isn't even carrying a meat cleaver—has this cow's brain been eaten by mites or something? Are you from an underground shelter?
“You're, um, the detective lady...”
“Huh?” The mandrill's eyes went wide. That beast over there seems to have just learned to speak, I see. But there's no need to be ashamed of your ignorance; your position as a guinea pig for life is guaranteed anyway. “It hasn't been *that* long, has it now?”
I was expecting our next reunion to be at the dinner table, so why are *you people* still alive? I approach them amicably. Because I *love* beef, you know, so a cow doesn't even need a face.
“I was just looking for you. I was getting worried about where you'd gone off to.” (They should have been out grazing and fallen off a cliff, the shits. Or had their guts gouged out by aliens, that would be fine.)
“No, you're the one who...”
“They were inside this cart,” the mandrill behind me interjected. (Wow, this must be Animal Land where all the little animals can talk, how faaaantastic! All of you, become fertilizer for the soil! Be kind to the Earth, you beasts!)
“What, playing hide-and-seek?” (Since these beasts have the option of calling the zookeeper ape, I decided it was premature to cause a scene here.) “Here you go.” For the first time in my life, I gave a pearl to a cow. Since the outcome of giving it to the pig is obvious, if it's come to this, I'll expect my bitter yet wisdom-filled decision to promote the cow's evolution.
“This is...” The cow stared at me with a clueless look, not understanding anything. (You don't normally eat cow eyeballs, so they should just be deleted.)
“It was dropped in front of the elevator. I thought it was probably yours.”
“Huh? The el-elevator, you say?”
“Yup.” (Oh my, this cow looks unconvinced. The notion that only humans lie is a mistaken perception, isn't it? My husband often said it's important to question common sense, so I'm not careless. To doubt means nothing less than to know lies. I wonder where cows acquire such knowledge?)
Since this cow is afflicted by the folly and foolish thinking of doubting me, if I don't return the key card here, its shed will be destroyed and it'll be disposed of, which would be great, but I can't have it infecting me with mad cow disease, so I have no choice but to return the key card as if I picked it up. Ah, what a health-conscious person I am. This devotion will surely reach my husband, which is why our marriage is so harmonious, isn't it?
“Thank you very much.” (Whether it has doubts or not, the cow has no choice but to nod. For the sake of the pig.)
“Not at all, you're welcome.” (Go ahead and copulate to your heart's content, now that you've snatched the pearl from me.)
Cutting off the conversation, I turned towards the elevator, improvising a hum of the anteater's song with the woman-like voice that was playing on the radio. I can't help but feel respect for the anteater's consideration in arranging it so even humans can sing it. The cow, incapable of such thoughtfulness, is muttering, and the pig is being noisier and more annoying than just oinking. I feel so sorry for the key card that ended up in the cow's hand; even an object that's used must want to choose its user, right? There's a right place for the right tool of civilization, something those animals behind me probably can't understand.
Leaning a hand against the wall next to the elevator, I racked my brains. Where should I procure the next key card? I should have bought the key card from the camel and hippo's room earlier. But if I go back now, I'll run into the mutton. I hate mutton, so I can't do that. I was planning to leave before the mutton started bleating unbecomingly for its age and called the dogs and apes, but now I want to demand damages from those who raised this ill-bred cow and cook beef for my husband.
As for the key card, if a mandrill or a giraffe gets into the elevator, I'll just relieve them of it and bring it to its rightful place—with me.
The elevator arrived. And since something was rolling around beyond the opened doors, I stepped on it. What could this be? Probably a platypus. Its fingers are bent like claws, so that seems appropriate. When I lifted my foot, the platypus, delighted to have been acknowledged by a human, started rolling away. It should have just kept rolling until its neck got caught in the elevator door gap and gone up to the next floor with me.
Inside the elevator stood a spirogyra. Perfect. The spirogyra seems to have the key to the zoo, so I'll collect it. The spirogyra even seems to be smiling, as if relieved about the key card's fate. I, too, shall pay my respects to an understanding animal and permit it to accompany me in the elevator.
“Run! That guy's a pedo!”
(Shut up. Basically, perish, platypus.)
“Hey! It's true! You might get killed!”
Why can't animals read my mind when I think they're being noisy? My husband sees through everything about me—no, in the first place, my husband is never noisy, you know. When he talks with me, we're both all smiles, aren't we, *my dear*? Your happiness becomes my happiness, and happiness becomes me itself, and you too are limited to happiness. It's all too simple.
“I appreciate your warning.”
I gave the platypus a reply that would satisfy it. Aren't I admirable? Hey, *my dear*, where are you now? Even though I gave such a good reply to shut it up, as the elevator doors began to close, the platypus howled again. There are too many untamed animals here, it's disgusting. It stinks of beasts. Without a master to take them away, a zoo is just a place where things are stuck.
“That man is a titan who has furthermore passed the super-dreadnought pervert course, combining pedophilia and necrophilia, commonly known as the ‘Recycling Plant,’ with an albatross score! Be warned!”
It seems the platypus has finally abandoned all intelligence, as I can't understand a word it's saying. It's not that my knowledge is lacking. Why? Because platypuses are creatures that inherently lack the ability to speak. If I've judged it so, then a platypus cannot possibly speak. Therefore, what it just uttered wasn't words; it was merely screeching. I've explained this phenomenon quite logically and coherently, but what do you think, *my dear*?
The spirogyra seems to have resonated with the platypus and is shouting things like “Hey, you!” It's terribly unpleasant, as it seems to be directed at me. And while I'm at it, the spirogyra itself is unpleasant. It's filling the elevator with a nasty smell; it should hurry up, take a bath, and go to some other building.
The elevator doors finish closing. Just as the spirogyra, with a sigh of ‘Good grief,’ took a key card from its pocket and was about to move, I moved too. So that we would cross paths and collide. (Oh, *my dear*, I'm so sorry. Will you forgive my transgression of once again touching a male animal other than you, a human? Yes, it's alright, isn't it? After all, you didn't answer my call either. Is the reason because your guts are spilled out, or...?) The spirogyra cries out something like “Excuse me.”
The spirogyra sidestepped me as if to go around, then grabbed my arm. Sweat burst out from the force concentrated in its foreleg. The spirogyra, with a feigned elegant smile, bent my arm behind my back and restrained me. I let out a moo, like Sakurayama Eko the cow.
“Sorry, but I can't give you this key card.”
“What are you saying?!” A sense of danger welled up instantly. (This spirogyra thinks like me... More importantly, let go of my arm! I'll have to wash it and scrape it again! The only good germs for me are the ones I catch from my husband. Disgust is taking precedence. What should I do, *my dear*?)
(Me, to a mere spirogyra like this... Ah, ah, why me, how could this... *My dear*—)
“Actually, you see, my key card is also just borrowed from someone else. Subletting it is a bit, well...”
“Ah, aaah, a-ah—”
The elevator began to descend.
“Imagining how such a militant type like you managed to get this far up makes my blood run cold, Sakurayama Eko-san.”
“Wha- huh?!”
“Eh?” Why is my name known in the world of spirogyra? I have no recollection of living in a way that would endear me to spirogyra. This means it's a phenomenon that couldn't occur unless a spirogyra's intelligence is equal to mine. Considering other possibilities, there's only one answer: The sole truth that I am devoted to my husband!
“...Uwah.”
“AAAAAAAHHH, I'M SORRY, MY DEAR! MY DEAR, AAAAAAAAAHHHH!”
“You have to learn! You mustn't be lazy! Using the same trick and looking smug... *You* said it, didn't you, *my dear*? That people have to learn! That's right, OOOOOH, MY DEAR, AAAAAGH! I'VE LEARNED, AAAAAHHH! That's why I love you, OOOOOHHH!”
Somehow, not missing the instant the spirogyra's grip on her arm loosened, she stomped on its foot while twisting her body to attempt an escape. The moment her arm was free, she shoved the spirogyra against the wall and created distance.