Suicide Forest Read Online Free PDF

hundred
yen. The catch was you only had thirty minutes to imbibe before you
had to pay again. Being unapologetic boozehounds we were
good-heartedly smashed within the hour. While taking the train home
with my Scottish roommate, I was on my cell phone, speaking loudly
to my ex, Shelly, back in the States, who’d just happened to call.
The Scot sat across from me, staring silently at the glass in his
hand, which he’d taken, full of rum, from the restaurant so he
could keep drinking. I was oblivious to the old man who’d stalked
over until he began railing me out in Japanese. I had no idea then
how big a faux pas it was to speak on your phone on the train, and
I argued back. The Scot stared up bleary eyed, said something, then
puked all over himself. To his credit he managed to catch a fair
bit of vomit in the stolen glass. The man, red-faced, stormed off
the train at the next station.
    At the time I thought the guy was being an
asshole for not minding his own business. In retrospect, I realized
I was being the asshole by not conforming to Japanese societal
norms. True, he probably thought of me as a typical gaijin ,
but that’s exactly what I was. So was he being racist? I don’t
think so. Japanese have a complex set of sensitive rules to dictate
social situations. They know those rules. Foreigners often don’t.
Hence foreigners are perceived—and treated—differently. That’s
simply Japan. You either get used to it, or you go elsewhere.
     
     
     
    We must have walked
for another ten minutes before we found what we were looking for.
To the left of the main trail a rope was strung horizontally
between two trees. A placard hung from the middle of it and read
“DO NOT ENTER” in English. Beyond, a narrow, lightly trodden path
snaked away deeper into the forest. The spindly saplings lining the
margins leaned inward, their branches interlocking overhead like
bony fingers, forming a forbidding tunnel.
    The uneasiness I’d felt earlier was back,
more persistent, and I began second-guessing the wisdom of our
camping out here.
    Mel was apparently on the same page. She
folded her arms across her chest, as if she was suddenly cold, and
said, “Don’t tell me we’re going down there?”
    “Yes, of course,” Ben said.
    “Why don’t we camp right here?”
    “Here is no adventure.”
    “I’ve had a pretty good adventure so
far.”
    “People will see us.”
    “Who? We’ve only passed those three
hikers.”
    “We walk down the path,” Ben said, “find a
good spot to make camp.”
    “That Japanese guy threatened to report us,”
Neil said. “What if he does just that and the local police come? I
don’t fancy getting arrested.”
    “Arrested? For what?” John Scott said.
“Straying off the path?”
    “Trespassing. They saw all our camping gear.
They can put two and two together.”
    “This is public land.”
    “That sign specifically says not to
enter.”
    “There’s no threat of punishment.”
    “What does that bit say there?” Mel said.
She pointed to a placard next to the English one. It was smaller,
the words written in kanji.
    “Don’t go in woods,” Tomo translated. “You
get lost.”
    “That’s all?” I said.
    “See?” John Scott said.
    I glanced about, searching for other warning
signs—and spotted a surveillance camera ten feet away, atop a black
metal pole. It was partly hidden behind a tree.
    “What the hell’s that?” I said, pointing to
it.
    Everyone looked. There were a few
exclamations of surprise.
    “Who put that there?” Neil asked. “The
police?”
    “Must be,” Ben said. “But it is no big
deal.”
    “What do you mean?” Mel said. “They could be
watching us right now.”
    “Even if they watch,” Tomo said, “they don’t
care.”
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “They worry the suicide guys. You?
Foreigners? They know you don’t suicide, right? They don’t
care.”
    “So are we agreed?” Ben said. “We go
in?”
    I looked at Mel. She shrugged resignedly,
and