The Sea of Trees

And judgement and justice
Are what we must face
If our lives have been selfish
And lacking in grace.

A fragment from the epic poem Seasonal Affective Disorder By Simon R. Gladdish


Sheltering below the glacial beauty of the great Mount Fuji is the ancient Aikogahara forest. It is a mystical place full of myth and legend. It is said that because of the magnetic composition of the soil, compasses do not give accurate readings; so many people never find their way out.

Their spirits roam the forest wailing in the winds that blow through the mighty trees. Here in the roaring silence of these archaic woods people come to end their lives. The Aikogahara has become the most famous venue in Japan for committing suicide. The sad and senseless evidence of wasted lives is to be found throughout the woods. Some partly decomposed bodies hang from trees while others are strewn across the forest floors like so many broken, discarded dolls. The Aikogahara council makes regular forays into the forest to collect the bodies, where they are removed and taken to a hut and laid to rest.
Part one: The beginning of the end

It looked like a simple butcher’s knife. She had been slicing the chicken with it only yesterday morning. Then, it had been stained with the blood of the unfortunate bird. She gave a shiver as she remembered that when she washed it under the tap, blood and bits of flesh formed a little red puddle in the white enamel sink. Now, Yoko held that knife firmly. Dark red blood dripped from the point, stippling the leaves of the low growing bushes.

Except for the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves of the tall trees, the forest was silent. The great trees of the Aokigahara forest strained upwards towards the sunlight but their lichen covered roots writhed along the floor like an ocean of snakes. Yoko looked down at her husband. His body, in its white short- sleeved shirt and beige linen chinos slumped awkwardly against a tree. A dark red stain had spread across his stomach. His head had fallen forward. His sad brown eyes with their puzzled expression, were now hidden from view. She looked wildly around her still gripping the knife. The patches of blue sky visible through the trees became grey and a chilly breeze moaned through the wood, making the branches snap and creak. Yoko gazed at the bloodstained knife in her hand as if she was seeing it for the first time. She raised it to her throat and pressed the tip against her neck. Then a cry of despair escaped her lips, slicing into the stillness and ringing like a bell of bad omen round the hushed, quiescent forest. She began to shake uncontrollably and the knife dropped from her fingers.

A fine drizzle filtered through the spring green canopy overhead and began to soak into her thin silk blouse. Tiny spots of blood speckled her hands and arms and her collar. She stood for a moment, her body trembling. The spell was broken when she was suddenly startled by the distant sound of voices in another part of the woods. Without a backward glance at Noburo she turned and plunged forward into the dense shrubs.
Waves of undulating branches met over her head and she disappeared from view.

Part Two: Noburo:

When Noburo opened his eyes the room was so black, that for a moment he felt like a blind man must feel. He was faced with complete nothingness. There was only a suffocating darkness without shape, form or colour. He lay there for a few seconds, eyes wide, staring into the negative space. Then he got out of bed and stood in front of the window. He was at a loss to know why he'd woken. He glanced at the red digits on his bedside clock. It was 5.55am. He could hear Yoko breathing in the room next door through the paper -thin partition. She lay on a futon on the floor submerged in a narcotic slumber, weighted down by a heavy quilt.

He raised the blinds gently and looked up at the sky studded with myriad stars and wondered. He wondered why Yoko didn't sleep with him any more and he wondered why he didn't dream these days. He used to dream vividly every night and be able to recount them in great detail to Yoko the next morning. Nowadays, his sleep was broken and troubled.

It had been a shock when his boss had called him into the office and had given him the news of his early retirement, murmuring something about ‘restructuring’. Outwardly he had been calm and reasonable, refusing to betray the turbulent emotions that churned his guts. That night in the bar, he shared the bad news with his friends. They were sympathetic but some had already been awarded ‘the seat by the window’ (passed over for promotion, but not formally laid off) after a lifetime’s work. It was an ominous sign of the times.

On the train home Noburo sat staring impassively at the floor. After drinking numerous glasses of Sake he still wasn’t drunk. He still wasn’t sufficiently anesthetized to tell Yoko that after forty years service he was no longer employed by the Fujitsu Insurance Company. He felt abandoned and isolated. It was as though he had suddenly lost his parents and left an orphan. It was almost like bereavement. Fujitsu Insurance had been his life and now it was over. Noburo mourned its passing.

He had been with the company since he left university. As an only child, his parents had been delighted. From the tender age of three Noburo’s professional life had been mapped out. He was to become a salary man like his father before him. His parents made sure he went to the best schools that would ensure his entry into a top university. This was a secure and respected position and was guaranteed for life. Once he had joined the Fujitsu insurance firm it immediately became his life. He was an intelligent and astute man and by securing several new contracts every month he showed how invaluable he could be. In return he was methodically trained in all aspects of the different departments. On his way to ‘enlightenment’ and ultimately, a high salary, he made many friends. Young, enthusiastic men like himself. They trod the same path, working, eating and socialising together. They worked late into the night, and by means of release from the day’s drudgery, caroused in the bars downtown into the early hours.

Noburo’s diligence, determination and popularity with his peers came to the attention of his superiors and he was selected for promotion. He was made divisional general manager. The company swallowed him whole and became his ‘family.’ Like all families, the firm continued to make more and more demands on his time until he was working late every night. When he arrived home the apartment was in darkness except for the little night light in the hall and Yoko was in bed asleep. When he left for work early the next morning she had hardly stirred. Their precious weekends were often sacrificed to the golf course where he conducted important business deals. However, unquestioning loyalty to his employers meant that he remained uncritical of their procedures. On the brief occasions he had time to reflect, usually on the last train home, he wondered if by surrendering his will so completely to the company he had sacrificed some part of his relationship with Yoko.


Sometimes he felt as though he was sleepwalking through life. His recent retirement meant that the luxury of life’s certainties were no longer in place. The comfortable predictability of routine had dissolved into days without purpose. Yawning gaps appeared between his daily rituals. Weeks stretched into infinity of euni. His work had been everything to him. He felt somehow diminished. His status as a man, the provider, the head of the household, was being gradually eroded by the removal of his job.
He stood there shrouded in silence, clenching and unclenching his fists, overwhelmed with feelings of impotence.

Sighing heavily he slid open the window. An icy stream of air slipped into the room. Impervious to the wintry blast he gazed out at the neon vista and the stark silhouettes of the trees caught in the sodium glare of the streetlights. His eyes strayed back to the clock. It was 6.05am. The Tokyo express would be speeding towards the city now, packed with salary men, faces ashen with fatigue, leaning against each other for support. Gearing up for another marathon of a day, which would end in the early hours in a sushi bar with sake -soaked colleagues or succumbing to the charms of a young Geisha.

He shivered and turned away from the window. He got dressed quickly and padded into the kitchen.
He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of milk. He sat hunched at the table absently drinking out of the bottle, the fridge door swinging open. The light from inside the fridge cast an eerie glow over his solitary figure. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness suddenly descended upon him from nowhere and settled heavily on his shoulders.
On the fridge door among an assortment of magnets was a photo of a little boy with dark brown eyes creased up in a child’s innocent laughter. Yoko doted upon her little nephew and had photographs of him all over the house. She had been unable to have children. It had been a bitter blow to them both. To ease the pain Yoko had thrown herself into her job. Books had always been important to her. The shelves on the walls of their house were groaning with books. They were her drug, her escape, her refuge and her consolation. So when she was offered a part time job at the local library she took it without hesitation.

As long as she was happy that was all that mattered. He only wanted the best for her. That’s why he had worked so hard for so long. He wanted give her a large house with good quality furniture. Unlike his parent’s modest apartment which was so small and cramped. Once, when he was home for a rare weekend, Yoko held a birthday party. Their usually quiet house vibrated with western music and rang with female laughter. Young women chattered like a flock of magpies and some sang along to the music in their thin high voices. He had felt awkward but secretly proud. So proud that he had been able to provide Yoko with a beautiful house and garden to entertain her friends. Bowing and smiling, he had discreetly withdrawn into the study. It seemed such a long time ago.

Now that he had more time at home Yoko was never there. He had to admit that they had been leading separate lives for many years but that could all change. Now he was at home they could spend more time together. If only he could rekindle the flame that once sparked their love. She was so different to the girl he married all those years ago. She had been so shy and demure and anxious to please him. Now he felt he no longer knew her. At first he thought he it was his imagination when she seemed to be trying to avoid him. What with her job and her numerous classes and meetings she was hardly ever in the house. They almost never ate together anymore or enjoyed each other’s company. Sometimes he arrived at the apartment very late. Yoko was already in bed fast asleep, but he never stayed out all night like some of his colleagues. They often spent the night in an alcoholic haze, cocooned in the coffin- sized containers of the Capsule hotels, having missed the last train home.

They were like strangers sharing the apartment. He felt cast adrift, coasting along on his own. It was too hard. He needed her. He was no good on his own and knew he couldn’t function. Yoko had always organized everything. He sat for a moment, his head in his hands. Then an idea suddenly struck him, lighting up the dark, despairing corners of his mind. They would go on a little holiday together. When they had first married Yoko had wanted to take a holiday at Mt. Fuji. He had booked a room at the hotel for them both but he was suddenly called in to work, an emergency had arisen. He could not refuse. The company took priority over his family commitments. They did not go and Yoko never mentioned Mt Fuji again.

The sound of a door quietly closing broke into his thoughts. He could hear Yoko moving around the apartment. He decided to try and prepare her breakfast as a surprise.

Part Three: Yoko

Yoko stepped gingerly out of the shower onto the rubber mat. She was afraid of slipping on the wet tiles and hurting herself, exactly like her friend Mitsouko. While stepping out of the shower Mitsouko had slipped and fallen, cracking her thin skull like an eggshell on the unyielding, wet tiles. Her body lay undiscovered for three days until her husband Yukio arrived home from his business trip and found her lying, cold and stiff on the bathroom floor in a pool of congealed blood. The smell was indescribable, he had confided to Noburo over a few strong cognacs. Mitsouko's sister-in-law came to clean their apartment but the odour of death still hung about the place. No. She wouldn't like to die like that. Not completely alone and without anyone to even say a prayer at the Shinto shrine for her.

On the occasion of her fiftieth birthday she had suddenly become aware of her own mortality. She felt had reached a great age. Half a century. This should have been the milestone of maturity createed by the wealth of her experience. She had always been slim and agile and full of energy. Noburo said that even now she had the face and body of a much younger woman. But with the onset of age she began to feel that her powers of energy and stamina were fading. She was a like a battery that was running down. She was becoming weaker and losing power. Uncontrollable feelings of anxiety and confusion would suddenly overwhelm her. Dr Noguchi told her that she was showing symptoms of the menopause and gave her some pills to mask the symptoms.
They seemed to help for a while but lately she had felt a slow tension building up inside her. Inexplicable fires of anger raged deep inside her and there were days when she felt as though her entire life was coming undone and hanging in threads just like the medieval tapestry that Noburo had given her for her birthday. Other days she felt confused and isolated.

She stepped up to the full length mirror and studied her naked body. She frowned at the slim figure reflected there. Her breasts were small but full and with prominent rosy nipples now fully erect after her shower. She sighed and began gently kneading her breasts, feeling for the dreaded lumps but thankfully found nothing. She considered herself luckier than her best friend Mariko. One rainy night Mariko had been driving home through the slick, wet streets when suddenly a dog ran out in front of her car. As she skidded and braked hard, she struck her chest on the steering wheel. Some months later she began to feel sharp pains in her breast. After some tests the hospital discovered a large lump in her breast which resulted in a partial mastectomy.
This proved to be a disaster for Mariko. She was a proud and attractive woman with a beautiful body. Her husband loved to show her off to his friends. For him, she was the perfect woman. After the operation she became depressed and refused to go out. Her husband was impatient with her. Then one day he took a mistress. Poor Mariko felt utterly worthless. He came home late one night to find Mariko half-lying on their new cream leather sofa. Her wrists slit open like bloody mouths spewing blood all down their new shiny leather sofa. Yes, she should be grateful she was still intact.

She stood there shivering and dripping water onto the tiles. She put her head on one side to shake the water from her ears, and long her black hair swung away from her face. She could hear Noburo moving around the house. She took a thick, towel and briskly rubbed herself dry, then she folded the towel carefully over the rail. She went towards the bedroom to get dressed but paused as though she had forgotten something. She went back to the bathroom. She checked that she had switched off the shower and refolded the towel with great care over the rail. She gave the towel a last caress, smoothing it with her hands. She held her hands out in front and stared at them curiously as if they didn't belong to her. They trembled slightly. She went to the washbasin and began to wash her hands vigorously under the tap. The water was very hot and was scalding her hands a dark, angry red but she didn't seem to notice. She dried her hands roughly then folded the towel over the rail once more patting it gently. Then she walked into her bedroom and began to get dressed. She could hear Noburo making tea in the kitchen. He moved about the house quietly trying not to disturb her.

Noburo had laid the breakfast table with great care. Gleaming porcelain bowls and sparkling silverware bought on a trip to London nestled on a snowy white damask tablecloth bought while on holiday in Italy. In pride of place stood the large white teapot with the bamboo handle, a present from his parents. Near Yoko's plate he had placed a jar of English marmalade and her elegant Worcester porcelain teacup . She loved all things English, and even kept some loose-leafed Twinnings breakfast tea in a tin with a picture of Buckingham palace on it.


Yoko took her place at the table like a guest at a wedding feast. Noburo poured tea into her little cup. I'thought we could take a holiday together. We could take a trip up Mt Fuji and then there’s the Aikogahara forest. It’s a very ancient wood. There are many beautiful, rare trees. I’ve always wanted to take a look around there.’

Yoko looked up, ‘The Aokigahara Forest? Isn’t that the place where people go to die?’

‘Yes, I’ve heard the stories, but it is an interesting place. I must say I’m very curious. I should like to see if it’s all true!

‘How morbid’, she shuddered

'You're being very negative Yoko', Noburo murmured. 'Mt Fuji is a fabulous place and is a truly wonderful sight in the Spring, especially with all the trees in blossom. Besides, Hashimoto has half shares in a very elegant hotel in the area. Most of the rooms have panoramic views of Fuji san and it's full of Gajin all the year round.'

She scratched absently at the raw, scaly patches on her hands.
'But what about my English classes? Mr Andrew is preparing us for the exam. It's in two weeks time.'

'That's no problem. We could leave on Friday afternoon and return next Saturday. You'd be back in plenty
of time for your exam!'

Yoko gazed out at the terrace now bathed in Spring sunshine. The weeping cherry he'd planted to mark her thirtieth birthday was smothered in pale pink flowers.

She sighed heavily. She threw up one last weak excuse. 'It'll be very crowded, it always is at blossom time.'
'C'mon Yoko', pleaded Noburo. We need a little holiday. We need to spend some time together. Since my retirement I hardly ever see you. You're out every day, all day.'

She lowered her head guiltily over her cereal bowl. Then she raised her eyes level with his.

'Noburo, I have great respect and admiration for you. You've worked so hard to give me everything but our lives have become separated somehow. Now I have my own friends, hobbies and interests. I have my own life!'

What a pretty speech. You use the words 'respect' and 'admiration' but not the word 'love'! Noburo's voice shook with emotion.
He stared at the sink and noticed a tile coming loose from the splash back. If he didn't replace it they would all come loose and fall off. He felt that Yoko had lifted up the edge of the secure marriage they had together and was pushing her finger under the emotional adhesive, working it loose little by little.

He prised his eyes from the tiles and let them wander over the bookshelves laden with hundreds of books from floor to ceiling. His vinyl collection of Western classical music boasted titles such as La Boheme, Aida, Tosca, Bizet's Carmen. He loved opera. Yoko didn't. 'The voices are all mixed up and discordant' she complained once.
He rested his eyes kindly on Yoko again. She was still a very attractive woman. He noticed she seemed thinner, her face was becoming gaunt and pale, yet she was busier and more energetic than ever.
Yoko studied the bottom of her empty teacup. The she gave a little sigh. She didn't want to go into any more protracted explanantions so she said
'Well alright. When I come back from my English class I'll pack some things. As you pointed out, there'll be lots of Gagin to practise my English with'
'That's settled then. I'll ring Hashi to reserve us a room.' He smiled widely at her like a trusting child.

In the distance he could hear the high pitched wine of the Tokyo Express whistling along the tracks way below their house and he echoed the sound by humming an aria from his favourite opera as he began to clear away the breakfast dishes.

To be continued........