The Man Without a Name
Chapter 1
I'm Nobody
Nowaki Kusama carried a clipboard and wore a white coat. His stethoscope was slung about his neck, just like a real doctor, and because of the constant hand washing with disinfectant soap, he smelled like a real doctor.
He knew that, deep inside, he was a fake.
He didn't have the conviction that he knew he would have if he were a completely qualified doctor. Sure, he could tend to the sick and injured and comfort their families. His hands were strong and flexible and could easily envelop most other people's hands with their comforting warmth; they had the skill to bandage a wound, insert an IV, palpate a distended abdomen. The number of things these hands could do was practically endless. Right now they were being used to make notes on the chart of a new patient.
The problem was that his lover, Hiroki Kamijou, was already an assistant professor at M University of Tokyo. The man was impressive, masterful in his field, and Nowaki felt he just couldn't measure up to the standard that Hiro-san had set. Well, it wasn't fair to place the blame on Hiro-san. The truth was that the failure was in Nowaki himself. The only solution was to try harder, he thought, as he turned into a patient room.
"How are you today?"
"I don't know." Nowaki raised an eyebrow at the young man in the bed. "Er, I mean, I still don't remember anything." Nowaki smiled encouragingly. "It's creepy not remembering who I am. Or…anything."
"Try not to think too hard about it just yet. Make sure you eat your meals and sleep when you're tired. We're giving you vitamins. Did you realize that a regimen of vitamins can help restore memory?"
"Er…no, I guess not. Actually I don't know if I knew that, but I don't think I did." While Intern Kusama distracted the amnesiac patient with this conversation, he seated himself by the bedside and examined him. He appeared to be a young man, still in school. Brown hair, green eyes, probably about five foot seven. His face was covered with contusions, so much so that it was impossible to determine what he looked like under normal circumstances. His face was also very swollen, and his skull had been fractured in two places. Those were the most severe injuries, and the ones that had no doubt caused the amnesia. He also had severe abrasions on his torso: it appeared that whoever had attacked him had aimed at his internal organs, primarily the kidneys, as well as his head. They had not achieved what they had hoped for, though, as the damage to his body was almost entirely superficial. Thank God.
The man on the bed looked as if he was trying hard to remember whether he'd known that about vitamins.
"Don't strain yourself over something like that. Hopefully your family will be visiting soon, and that will help. It often does."
"Really?"
"Yes, honest." Nowaki smiled warmly. "I have to go now, but the nurses will be by frequently, and if you need something, just push your button."
"Okay." The young man smiled feebly and held up a hand to say good-bye. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
Nowaki Kusama stared at him for a fraction of a second before turning to continue on his rounds.
The man in the bed stared at the doctor's retreating back until the last sliver of the white coat disappeared behind the closing door. "Don't go." The thought popped unbidden into his head, too late. He had a feeling he wouldn't have said it anyway. Even though he didn't remember what kind of guy he was, he suspected that guy wouldn't selfishly call a busy doctor back just to avoid being alone. He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping he could sleep again.
Nowaki didn't get home until late. He let himself into the apartment he shared with Hiro-san as quietly as he could. He got a beer out of the refrigerator, sat in the living room and read for a while. He could never go straight to bed after coming home from a hospital shift. There were too many details running around in his head. He longed for the warmth of Hiro-san's body, but he knew from experience that if he lay there awake, he would eventually wake his lover, and then his enjoyment would be over, because Hiro-san would be irritable and cranky. So instead he'd wind down on his own with a book and a beer.
But the house at this hour was so lonely, and it was hard for him to wait to get sleepy enough to crawl into bed with Hiro-san and ease himself next to the warm body that smelled of shampoo and soap and books.
Nowaki's mind drifted to the young man with amnesia. In a way, Nowaki was like him. There was so much that Nowaki was missing: no parents or blood relatives of any kind. He was not linked to a long past like most Japanese. He didn't know what his grandparents had done during the war; he didn't have any stories of an old grandmother; he didn't have anybody to disappoint or please with his life: no one but himself and Hiro-san, and Hiro-san seemed determined not to say one way or the other what he expected of Nowaki in terms of his work or achievements. Nowaki sighed. He'd heard many medical students speak of pressures from eager parents who would be ashamed if their children failed to become medical doctors, but Nowaki thought that there was a kind of horrible pressure in having no one looking over your shoulder to see how you were doing. It was kind of like…floating free, but a kind of free-floating that wasn't an ecstatic experience-more like a vast emptiness.
He'd try to explain to Hiro-san this free-floating feeling and why it made him so desperate to catch up with the assistant professor's achievements, but it was clear that Hiro-san didn't understand. He had been raised a normal child in a normal family, and Nowaki was grateful for that.
The young man's face had been so horribly beaten. Nowaki wondered if under the bruises was a beautiful face or an ugly face; or perhaps it was merely the most ordinary face, but beloved by a mother and father or by a girlfriend. But for them, it was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. And for the young man, it was as if his history had been wiped out by an unseen hand.
While letting these thoughts drift through his mind, Nowaki gently fell asleep and uncounted minutes later woke with a start to the sound of the clock ticking. He picked himself up off the floor, sleepily cursing himself for having missed precious time in bed with Hiro-san.
He was awakened four hours later when Hiroki Kamijou got up to get ready for his day at the University. Kamijou told himself that he always took care to avoid waking Nowaki, but the truth was that Hiroki Kamijou was not a considerate man. He was a man wrapped up in his own thoughts, and while he was so occupied, his body went on ahead with its activities, making just as much noise as was necessary to get those things done without unnecessary disruption to his thought processes. Therefore, Nowaki woke up when Kamijou did most mornings.
"Good morning, Hiro-san," spoke the black-haired man from his horizontal position. He watched Hiro-san put his tie on. To Nowaki, the movements of his hands were beautiful. There was nothing that his Hiro-san did not do well, so far as he was concerned.
"Good morning." Kamijou glanced over at the man lying in the bed.
"I'll make you breakfast." Nowaki began to get up.
"There's no need. I'm late. I'll grab something on the way."
"You're late? But it's still ear—"
Kamijou was in a hurry. "I have an early meeting. Are you coming home late again tonight?"
"Yes, I—"
"Then I'll get dinner for myself. Have a good day." Hiro-san's face softened a little as he said this, but Nowaki didn't have much time to enjoy it. One moment, and he was gone.
Nowaki lay in bed, wondering what Hiro-san would do if he rushed out the door after him and offered to accompany him to school. He'd probably punch him. Nowaki sighed, rolled over on his stomach, and sank back into sleep.
Hiroki did have an early meeting. It was a literature department meeting, and the subject was attendance. It seemed that attendance had been dropping recently in literature classes.
"Not in mine," hissed Hiroki, who could have been said to religiously take attendance, except that his students likened him to the devil rather than to God.
"I know, Kamijou-honey!" hummed Miyagi in his ear, sliding a too-friendly arm around his shoulders. "Your dedication to literature is so alluring," the prestigious full professor practically sang in his ear. Hiroki turned around to give Miyagi his patented glare, but he knew it was useless. Miyagi was far too full of himself to be vulnerable to Kamijou's annoyance.
"Professors," the Dean said in conclusion, "Be regular and disciplined in taking attendance. The survival of your department depends on it!"
"Yes, yes, yes!" gloated Miyagi as the meeting broke up. He picked up his briefcase and stuffed the papers in it that he had been working on while pretending to listen to the Dean. Kamijou looked at him with envy. Nothing seemed to dampen this man's spirits, and Kamijou didn't even have the satisfaction of thinking him an idiot. Yoh Miyagi was acknowledged by all, Kamijou foremost among them, to be a scholar of genius. Kamijou could only continue to find his cheer irritating.
"Make sure you continue to do your stellar job with the attendance!" was Professor Miyagi's final greeting as he left to return to his office, while Hiroki hurried to his first class of the day.
The man who now thought of himself as Nobody sat in his room and flipped through channels on the television that sat on a shelf in the corner of his room. He found nothing of interest, but he knew that after dinner, he would be able to see an episode of the anime program that he'd discovered since he awoke from his coma. It revolved around a village of ninjas and a particular boy who didn't have any family and was rejected by the villagers because he was occupied by a demon spirit. Nobody sympathized with this boy's lack of ties in the village and his status as a pariah. Though Nobody had no reason to think he had ever been ostracized, he thought it was natural, no matter who you are, to feel sorry for such a person and want him to overcome the obstacles he faced.
He lay back on his pillow and looked once more around his room, desperate for a distraction. Having amnesia, he had no memories to fall back on. He had no stories inside him. Being Nobody was the most boring thing a person could possibly be, he thought, really painfully boring. It was more boring than…what? He thought he had something to compare it to, some boring experience of the past, but when he reached into the dark bag of memory, it was empty. He sighed. If only Dr. Kusama would come by. That's what he called him, although Dr. Kusama insisted he was just an intern. It just seemed to him that Dr. Kusama did more to heal what was hurting him than any of the guys and women who were apparently entitled to be called doctor.
It was Dr. Kusama who had thought up the name of Nobody for him. All of the medical staff had encouraged him to just pick a name, and they had come by offering suggestions—so often that Nobody had begun to suspect that it was part of his treatment. Since Dr. Kusama hadn't insisted on it, he thought maybe it was more for their sake than for his, that a person without an identity was too hard even for medical professionals to handle.
It had been yesterday. Or the day before. Nobody paused. He wasn't sure. It seemed as if amnesia could also affect memories you had after your injury. That surprised Nobody, but since he didn't remember anything, really everything should have surprised him. It didn't though. Only some things did.
Dr. Kusama had been passing by, and the person in the bed without a memory had called out to him. Dr. Kusama had stopped as the sound of his voice and had poked his head into the room, a smile on his face. "How are you doing?"
"Eh, feeling kind of disoriented. Do you mind checking me?"
The young intern had smiled, and the patient had suspected that he'd known it was more a bid for attention than an actual physical problem, but he'd come in anyway and shone his little light in each eye, gently probed the swelling places, made the patient follow his finger with his eyes, touch various fingers together, and all the while had kept up a friendly, distracting patter.
"How are you finding the room?"
"It's fine. Not much to do here."
"Pretty boring, huh?" Nowaki switched off the light on his instrument and tucked it in one of his capacious pockets.
"You'd think that a guy like me with nothing in his head wouldn't be bothered by that."
"But you are?"
"I get tired of watching television."
"That's a good sign." Dr. Kusama smiled impishly. "How about books? Have you tried reading? It might serve as a way of awakening memories, but you'd have to go easy. Your head injury is pretty serious, and we don't want you taxing what's left of your brain."
That had made him laugh. The thought of reading made him feel like going to sleep, so he said "Maybe I'll try it tomorrow, if that's okay."
"Yeah, that's fine. So how are you feeling besides bored and achy?"
"Well, all of the staff seems to want me to pick a name for myself, and maybe it would help, only I feel like it would be wrong, somehow. Fake. And even if I'm nobody right now, being nobody is better than trying to be something I'm not." Dr. Kusama had just looked at him for a moment then, a thoughtful look on his face, as if he'd said something profound, which he was pretty sure he hadn't.
"You might have something there, Nobody."
"Huh?"
"It might be better to go with what you're feeling. Recovering from amnesia is a highly individual process, from what I've read. So do what you're comfortable with. Humor us medical people with our requests, but respect what your body and mind tell you."
"No, I mean what did you call me?"
The intern blushed. "I'm sorry."
"You called me 'Nobody.'" He closed his eyes and let the word descend on him like a hiding place in the vast, empty cavern of his own mind. "That actually fits. Would that be too weird?"
"What, to call yourself 'Nobody?' As I said, whatever you feel is right is the way to go for now."
"Okay. That's what I'm going to go by for now."
Dr. Kusama scribbled something on a piece of paper on his clipboard. He tore it off and showed it to the man. "NOBODY," in big block letters, in Nowaki's handsome, firm hand. "I'll be back around in a few hours to check on you…Nobody." He smiled and then paused outside the door to tape the scrap of paper over the place where the patient's name was meant to go.
"Thanks, Doctor."
That had been two days ago. Or yesterday, he forgot which. Now he looked forward to Dr. Kusama's late afternoon rounds. The doctor didn't come in until afternoon, he had learned from the nurses. The nurses seemed to know quite a lot about his new friend—his only friend in the world, so far as he knew. No doubt he was just as kind and gentle with them as he was with Nobody.
His eyes made another circuit of the barren and gloomy room and settled on a small pile of books that had appeared on a chair next to his bed. He picked up the one on top; it had a blue and purple dust jacket with a painting of the moon on the front. The Moon in a Box, he read. Setting the rest of the books on the floor, he sat in the chair and began to flip through it. Dense, small type, going on for pages and pages. He yawned. He flipped back to the first page and began reading.
"Hello, hello! Nobody home?" A hand fell on his shoulder, and he woke up with a start.
"Huh? What?"
"Looks like you dozed off."
"Huh, oh, Dr. Kusama!"
"I see you've found the books I brought for you."
"You brought them?"
"Yes, I checked on you when I signed onto my shift, but you were asleep, so I just left them in your chair. Do you like them?"
"Well, I started reading, and I developed shortness of breath, and I got dizzy, and all my limbs fell asleep."
The young intern grinned. "Sounds like you got bored and fell asleep. But why don't you get on the bed and let me check you over anyway?"
That night, Nowaki didn't even pretend to read as he drank his beer. He sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, his head thrown back, thinking about Nobody and feeling happy that there was someone in this world whom he had actually helped.
