Into the Rising Sun 13

  
  ‘With the statistical rise in numbers of hikikimori, shut-ins or recluses 
    who have given up on the outside world and live largely online as 
    avatars, shinguru parasite singles who continue to live with their 
    parents well into their 30s, and otaku, proud members of the growing 
    ‘geek’ culture, fewer and fewer young Japanese seem to be having 
    actual sex- living out their fantasy sexual lives vicariously. Virtual 
    girlfriends, lifelike, custom-designed dolls, pillows designed to ‘hug’ 
    lonely singles, all play a part in a broader spectrum of loneliness and 
    desire. Afraid of rejection, uninterested in the complications of 
    involvement, many Japanese are happy to pay intimidating sums of 
    money simply to be flirted with, assured that they are interesting and 
    amusing, and made to feel special- often at ‘hostess bars’ where no 
    actual sex ever occurs. So in many ways, this... is about fantasy- as 
    much as anything else.’
                                                                                      Anthony Bourdain

And in Japan, the collision of fantasy and solitude and technology is continuing to respond to those in need. The Japanese sex doll industry has just reached the ‘next level’ in the creation of the perfect artificial $2,000 ‘Dutch Wife.’ The firm Orient Industry has announced their new range of non-inflatable dolls, made from high quality silicon, and so lifelike that here is very little to distinguish them from a real girlfriend. Dutch wives come with ‘realistic feeling skin’ and authentic looking eyes, customizable bust size, facial appearance and hair colour, movable joints, (which can be placed in a variety of anatomical positions), and a selection of clothing, so the new owner doesn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of visiting a lingerie store. Advertisements boast that anyone who buys one will never want a real girlfriend again. Early sales indicate the dolls are a big success. One observer was troubled by the fact that ‘their faces look like children,’ but I was more troubled that, instead of ‘their faces,’ he should have been concerned about ‘the faces.’  
Not only is the sex that used to exist between work and death increasingly done alone, so is the actual dying. Woody Allen may have been channeling the Japanese with his observation that ‘the difference between sex and death is that with death you can do it alone and no one is going to make fun of you.’
Elderly Japanese die kodokushi lonely deaths in their homes, especially men with few social ties. Undiscovered for months, or even years, they are often found mummified. Companies which specialize in cleaning out the apartments of people who have succumbed to such a fate are paid to deal with the grisly ‘kodokushi stains’ left behind by the rotting body.
Not all the somnolent salarymen in our compartment would live long enough to leave a stain on their tatami mats. Some would be killed by their ennui. While the homocide rate is virtually nonexistent, Japan has more than twice the suicides of any other developed country. Over seventy per cent of suicides are male, and the leading cause of death in men between the ages of 20 and 44. 
What used to be the samurai’s noble act final statement of courage and resolution, is now respected as a ‘morning tub’ to wipe off defilements, an honorable self-destruction. The Japanese love the theme, playing it up as Americans play up crime, with the same vicarious enjoyment. It meets some need that cannot be filled by any other act. The difference between samurai and salaryman suicide however, is that, in modem times, suicide is a choice to die, and in feudal circumstances, the samurai would have been killed anyway. 
The National Police Agency categorizes suicide motives under one or more of 50 reasons. Since the bursting of the 1990s economic bubble murdered the ‘jobs-for life’ culture, the unemployment rate rose to 5.7 per cent, and precisely accounted for 57 percent of all suicides. The overwork that accompanied the increasing pressure on retaining jobs accounted for 47 per cent of the suicides in 2008.  Elderly salarymen that were forced to retire, who felt isolated and lonely and without purpose or identity, chose to escape the void in increasing numbers. Harassment from Japanese banks and consumer loan companies killed off one in four, a result of the debt-ridden guilt and despair that drove them to inseki-jisatsu ‘responsibility-driven suicide. Japanese lenders began taking out suicide coverage life insurance policies on borrowers, who were not required to be notified.
The commuter tracks we were travelling on became a common suicide venue, so much so that rail companies began to fine surviving family members for the inconvenience. Large mirrors were installed on railway platforms. The sight of one about to jump was apparent somehow sobering. For me the question still went begging. Japanese are so afraid of showing inconsideration to others and yet train suicides were guaranteed to inconvenience more others than just about anything else I could think of.
The second most popular place in the world for suicide, after San Francisco's Golden Gate, lay directly ahead of us in the night. At the foot of Mount Fuji is the fourteen square miles of Aokigahara, the Suicide Forest, or the Black Sea of Trees. The forest contains a number of rocky, icy caverns and due to the wind-blocking density of the trees and an absence of nearly all wildlife, is known for being deathly quiet. The forest floor is volcanic rock, difficult to penetrate with picks or shovels or other hand tools. In the distant past, during times of drought and famine, it was know for the custom of Ubasute, carrying an infirm or elderly relative to the mountain, and leaving them there to die, by dehydration or starvation or exposure, or any combination. The practice formed the basis of many legends and poems. In one Buddhist allegory, a man carries his mother up a mountain on his back. During the journey, she stretches out her arms, catching the twigs and scattering them in their wake, so that her son will be able to find the way home.

                                ‘In the depths of the mountains,
                                      Who was it for the aged mother snapped
                                      One twig after another?
                                      Heedless of herself
                                      She did so
                                      For the sake of her son.’

The forest is reputedly haunted by the yūrei angry spirits of those left to die. Nowadays, Aokigahara is haunted by abandoned tents and lost personal items, and bodies dangling from the trees. In 2004, 108 people killed themselves in the forest. In 2010, of the 247 people that attempted suicide in the forest, 54 were successful. Suicides increase during March, the end of the fiscal year in Japan. 
There are signs in the forest, in Japanese and English. Your life is a precious gift from your parents... Please think about your parents, siblings and children... Don't keep it to yourself... Talk about your problems. Beyond them are the a variety of unofficial trails, where police and local volunteers conduct their annual ‘body hunt.’ 
Robyn and I continued into the night towards Mount Fuji, in the same direction of the card I got for my fiftieth birthday. Relax, It’s not the end of the world. But you can see it from there. 
And in the minds of the half asleep salarymen dangling from the ceiling, you could hear the sound of breaking twigs.

                                                                                     
                                   ‘Working, working.
                                             Yet no joy in life,
                                             Still staring emptily
                                             At empty hands.’
                                                         Ishikawa Takuboku (1886-1912)