The Before Short Story Series. Part 1: читать книгу онлайн полностью и бесплатно

‘Keirou, don’t distract her please! it wouldn’t hurt you to eat as well, too.’

‘I think, Daddy, that air conditioning needs to be turned off. They are very inefficient energetically. It’s so hot today! Mummy turned the air conditioning on at home. And she also put some tights on me: here, have a look,’ Ayaka lifted her dress in the same way again—to show her father her white tights covering half of her belly, which had already got bigger since she started eating.

Keirou burst into laughter.

‘Ayaka!’ Hiromi called her daughter as though threatening further action. ‘Pull the dress back at once and eat on! Why are you encouraging her, Keirou?’

’I am sorry, Hiro-chan. Sorry,’ he smiled while struggling to hold his smile and throwing a glance or two at his wife. ‘Aya-chan, Mummy was right to turn the air conditioning on. Otherwise it would be too hot inside—you see, it is about two o’clock, and it’s like 30° out there right now. And it probably will get hotter yet! Meanwhile, it is cool and nice in here, isn’t it? And the tights—you were sitting on the floor, so that’s why Mummy did that.’

‘Yes, Daddy, I do agree. It is right. It is warm in the tighties.’

‘The lunch is great today, Hiromi. Thank you!’

‘I am glad you like it.’

‘I like it too, Mummy!’ Ayaka supported her father.

‘Keirou, do you remember that we need to go to Tōkyō next week with Ayaka?’

‘Tōkyō? Why would it be?’ Keirou asked, surprised.

Hiromi looked at her husband with some disapproval, ‘Next week, Keirou, our daughter is turning six. That means we need to go to the Destiny House.’

‘I sure do remember that Ayaka’s birthday is next week, right. But I did forget everything about destiny.’

‘Well now you do remember—so please, we need to think everything out.’

‘Daddy, dad-dy! Look, I’m already done with it!’ Ayaka ran up to her father showing him a finished module of a Martian atomic power plant. A lamp on the module was blinking green, indicating that the module was ready to be connected to the main energy network of the base.

‘Aya-chan, and when did you open this constructor kit? when did you start assembling it?’ Keirou was asking.

‘Sorry Daddy, I had absolutely no time for that!’ Ayaka protested, shaking her head from side to side. ‘Mummy gave me a big reading task last night, it took all my time. I only managed to start it today before lunch.’

‘Oh, I see, Aya-chan. Great job! Let’s see what you got there.’

Keirou picked up the constructor kit box from the floor: ‘For children aged 10 to 14’.

Mt Fuji

‘Have you fastened your seat belt well back there, Aya-chan? Let me check,’ Keirou turned back to the passenger seat with his daughter settled comfortably in a child safety seat. He still had that certain mistrust of the autopilot—as well as of all those novel automatic stuff like artificial intelligences, automata, and robots, which had replaced humans in so many spheres of life—Keirou preferred to drive his car by himself. And it was quite a feat to find a manually-controlled electric car. The production of such cars was limited and in the first place they were designed for special emergency services, military, and some other detachments. However, as Keirou was related—even though only quite distantly—to the Emergency Service, being a member of the foresting service of the Fuji–Hakone–Izu National Park, he had had such a vehicle assigned to him by means of a special request.

‘Ayaka, has Mummy told you that next week you are going to Tōkyō?’

‘Yes, Daddy. Mummy said that we are going to the Destiny House. I have no idea what it is, though. By the way, what will we be doing there?’

‘I will tell you a story, Ayaka, on our way to the park.’

‘Tell it now. Please!’

‘Well, fine. Listen, Ayaka. Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a free ranger in Japan called Mr Fuji. He had no family: he lived alone. He served no-one, obeyed no-one. He had no children, no wife, not even a dog. As the free ranger didn’t need to care about his relatives, he resolved to dedicate all the time he had, his whole life to pursue wisdom from the most experienced, most knowledgeable people around. Mr Fuji decided that he would travel much further than just across Japan: he had the whole world open for himself, as the free spirit and pure heart know no borders and no limits. He decided to meet peasants, military men, sages, merchants, craftsmen, doctors—as many people of different life and craft as he possibly could, to learn from them their way of life, what matters to them, what they believe in, what sciences they learn, how they bring their children up,’ Keirou glanced in the rear-view mirror at Ayaka, who was attentively listening and looking at him from time to time. ‘Mr Fuji travelled so much, visited so many countries that people started composing legends about him. And the tale of his travels spread even quicker than he would go himself. When the wanderer reached a new place, one where he had never been before, the people he would meet there would already know everything about his pursuit, the reasons of his coming, and all that he wanted from them. Some were unwilling to share knowledge with him: they thought it might come to hurt them. Indeed, Mr Fuji had already learned so much, been to so many different continents, met so many learned people… they were afraid he would come to use his newly-gained knowledge to get hold of their houses and riches, to conquer their lands, to drive them away. Once, in a southern land, the free wanderer got caught by barbarians who demanded him to lay all his secrets bare. Mr Fuji was genuinely surprised, “What kind of mysteries do you want to learn about?” he said. “I have no mysteries. I am ready to tell you all I have learnt.” “Then do tell!” demanded the captors. And so he started his story: “During my wandering I visited many wonderful and miraculous places, and met many wise, open, and honest people. They told me so much about their achievements, about their skills and experience, that in the very beginning of my travel I realized that I had to continue not with the goal to learn all those wise peoples knew—for I would be unable to learn even an insignificant share of what they knew—but because when I would some day come back to my native land, the story of my life would serve as a proof that the life that we have been granted is an invaluable vessel. In the beginning it is empty, and what you fill it with and how—what the contents of your life will be, what would be your true goals and aspirations, and whether you would be worthy of your ancestors—all this depends on you, and on you alone. The secret for me to share with the world is simple: we ourselves are responsible for our destinies, we ourselves choose a path to follow. The wisdom of gathered knowledge is a priceless energy, which everyone can obtain and use for others’ sake.” The barbarians did not believe Mr Fuji, they thought he was deceiving them, as the secret he had just told was absolutely worthless, had no profit, and there was no-one it could be sold to. They left the free wanderer alone without food or water in a deep well and told him, “When you can fill this hole with your stories in such a way that your so-called priceless energy of life would lift you up to the ground, only then would you become free. Or else you can tell us the truth and uncover the secrets you are currently keeping—then we will set you free.” But the wanderer had nothing else to say, and so gradually, day after day, his saw his life fade. When Mr Fuji became one of the earth spirits, he roamed far and wide in search of a place to dwell. And so he came back to Japan, and found such a place for himself: such became Mt Fuji, a vessel of eternal wisdom, to be filled by his successors.’

Having made a pause, Keirou continued, ‘This story was told to me by my father—your grandfather. Did you get it, Ayaka, what it was that Mr Fuji did?’

‘I got it, Daddy! he settled in our volcano. Now I know why you are working in the park—you are guarding Mr Fuji, so that his wisdom wouldn’t get lost.’

‘Very well, daughter. It is important to remember that we choose our life course for outselves—what and when we should do, where and with whom we should live, how we can benefit our society, our country the most. Remember, Ayaka, that your life too is a vessel. Just as Mr Fuji’s, it can be filled with knowledge for everyone’s sake. Or else we can live our life in vain, scattering only rubbish on our way.’

‘Yes, Daddy. But there was one thing I didn’t get: why was it that the barbarians didn’t believe Mr Fuji’s words? why, Daddy?’