The Graveyard Apartment Page 10

  When all is said and done, it’s really just a playground tiff, Misao thought wearily as Eiko continued her indignant tirade. The bigger the fuss the adults made over the “sand-throwing incident,” the more distressing it would be for everyone involved, especially the children. In Misao’s opinion, the best way to deal with this sort of thing was just to shrug it off and let it go.

  Out in the hallway, there was the ga-tonk sound of the elevator stopping on the eighth floor. A moment later, Tsutomu came bouncing through the door of the Kanos’ apartment. In one hand he carried the cap gun that was his current favorite toy.

  “Did you go off and leave our apartment unlocked again?” Eiko asked in an accusatory tone, glaring at her son. Ignoring the question, Tsutomu smiled self-consciously and mumbled, “I just came to visit Tamao and her mom.”

  “What are you talking about? Why don’t you go play outside? Tamao’s mom is busy right now.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Misao said. In fact, it wasn’t all right at all; she was on deadline and urgently needed to get back to work, but she felt obliged to make a show of being hospitable toward her child’s playmates.

  “Auntie?” Kaori said, turning to Misao. “Is it okay if we play with Tamao?”

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” Misao responded.

  Eiko looked at her children and said in a tone that brooked no argument, “Okay, but you kids need to go play outdoors. You can’t be running around underfoot at somebody else’s house.”

  “Mama, can we take Cookie with us?” Tamao asked.

  “Sure, but don’t let her off the leash,” Misao said. “And while you’re playing outside, be sure to tie Cookie up somewhere safe.”

  “Okay, we’ll do that.”

  The three children trooped off to the elevator, with Cookie frisking at their heels. As the doors closed they waved good-bye to their mothers, who had come out into the hallway to see them off.

  “I’m sorry my children are always such a nuisance,” Eiko said. “I mean, here I am, too, intruding on your working time, but the thing is, that incident today is making me kind of crazy. I’m so angry I feel like my blood is literally boiling, and I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if steam started coming out of my ears. I’d like to see that boy’s grandmother and give her a piece of my mind.”

  “Well, what we’ve been teaching Tamao is that if you’re bullied, you need to respond aggressively. My husband is a big proponent of giving as good as you get. I’m not so sure about that, but I guess it’s better than running home in tears every time someone teases you, right?” Misao said with a nervous laugh.

  “Now that you mention it, our girls did hold their own,” Eiko said with a proud smile. “But anyway,” she went on, “because of that incident, lunchtime at our house was a total disaster. Kaori kept squawking nonstop about the mean boy, and Tsutomu was being Mr. Know-It-All, trying to explain what happened even though he really didn’t have a clue.”

  “And I’m guessing you were probably too upset to eat anything yourself?”

  “Yes, but now that the children have gone off on their own, I’m going to sit down and have a nice, leisurely cup of coffee. I suppose you need to work?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I do. I need to get this project out the door by the day after tomorrow, and I haven’t made a lick of progress,” Misao lamented.

  “Oh, too bad. I was hoping you could take a break and join me, but I guess we’ll have to do it another time. I went out and bought some extra-special coffee beans—they run about two thousand yen for one bag! It’s a blend of Blue Mountain and another type … I forget the name. Anyway, those beans make the most delicious coffee, and I really want you to try a cup. I’ll come up and get you one of these days, when you aren’t so busy.”

  “Thank you! I’d love that.”

  When Eiko pushed the elevator’s call button, Misao noticed that the light above “B1” was illuminated. Surely the kids hadn’t gone down to the basement?

  Eiko said, “Good luck with your deadline,” then added, “When the magazine with your illustration comes out, I’m going to buy a copy!”

  “Oh, no, please don’t. I’d be embarrassed for you to see it,” Misao said automatically, but her eyes were fixed on the indicator panel. “I mean, my illustration won’t be anything major, so…”

  Eiko smiled and waved, then disappeared behind the elevator’s closing doors. Left alone, Misao stood in the hallway for a long moment. She was seized by a desire to call the elevator back to the eighth floor and ride it down to the basement, just to check, but she managed to restrain herself. There was no reason to feel uneasy just because “B1” happened to be alight. It wasn’t necessarily the children who had taken the elevator down there; it could have been one of the caretakers, or a resident. And so what if it was the children? What was the harm in letting them run around in the basement once in a while? When you thought about all the city kids who went out and played on big, busy streets, the basement seemed relatively safe. And besides, they had a clever, sturdy dog along to protect them.

  Misao went back into the apartment and locked the door behind her. While she was clearing the dishes off the dining room table, the glass condiment bottle slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor. Ketchup splashed out of the open bottle and flew in all directions, and a puddle of crimson spread over the carpet, surrounded by what looked like drops of blood. Misao grabbed a tissue and began to rub the stains as hard as she could, but the red splotches remained stubbornly vivid. Exasperated, she fetched some all-purpose liquid cleaner from the kitchen and sprinkled it on the spots from above. Then she began to scrub the carpet with a rag, so vigorously that she feared she might end up scouring it all the way down to the pad. Gradually, the bright red stains faded to a pale rose, but the carpet was standing up in stiff bristles and the affected patch looked as though it might never return to its original pristine state.

  This must be what it’s like to try to get blood out of a rug, Misao thought as she positioned a chair on top of the stain, to hide it from view.

  Half an hour later, Misao was finally settling back down to work when the telephone rang. No sooner had she picked up the receiver than she heard Eiko on the other end. Her neighbor’s voice was very close to a scream.

  “Misao? Something happened to Tamao! You have to go there, right away!”

  “What? Go where?” Misao felt the floor spinning unsteadily beneath her, and her heart was beating in her throat. “What—what happened?” she stammered. “Is Tamao okay?”

  “You need to go to the basement, right now. From what I can gather, Tamao was injured somehow. Tsutomu’s up here with me now, but he won’t stop crying and I haven’t been able to get all the details. Kaori’s still down there, too.”

  “I’m going right now.” Misao slammed down the receiver and flew out the front door. The elevator was on the fourth floor, where it had evidently remained after having brought Tsutomu up from the basement. Misao hit the call button again and again, but the elevator showed no signs of moving, and she concluded that Eiko must be in the process of boarding.

  “Come on, hurry up!” Misao urged. She waited impatiently for what felt like a very long time, but the elevator remained on the fourth floor.

  Then, abruptly, she remembered the emergency staircase. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? The doors to the interior stairwell on each floor only opened from the inside; otherwise, you needed a key. Misao unlocked the door with trembling fingers, then darted into the stairwell.

  She didn’t even want to think about how long it would take to get to the basement from the eighth floor; she just plunged headlong down the stairs. About halfway there, one of her sandals fell off, but she didn’t stop to retrieve it. As she ran, she chanted, “Don’t fall down, don’t fall down,” over and over, like a mantra. If she took a tumble and sprained her ankle, or worse, what would become of Tamao?

  Misao was approaching the first-floor landing when she suddenly remembered that, for r
easons known only to the builders, the emergency stairs didn’t go all the way to the basement. The only way to get there was via the elevator.

  Panting, Misao emerged into the lobby. There wasn’t a soul in sight, and the indicator light above the elevator was still stuck on “4.” Perhaps it was out of order—but why now, of all times?

  Making both hands into fists, Misao pounded loudly on the door to the caretakers’ apartment. After a moment Sueo Tabata opened the door a crack and peeked out. He was holding a skewer of rice dumplings dripping with soy sauce in one hand, and had obviously been about to take a bite.

  “The elevator isn’t working!” Misao shouted, then added, “Call an ambulance, please! I need help!” She was almost out of her mind with worry. Continuing to jabber hysterically, not even knowing what she was saying, she grabbed Sueo’s arm and pulled him out into the lobby.

  “What’s going on?” Sueo’s wife, Mitsue, called as she came running from the interior of the apartment.

  “It’s Tamao,” Misao said frantically. “She’s trapped in the basement, and they’re saying she’s been injured or something!”

  The Tabatas scurried to the elevator, both shouting incoherently. They took turns punching the button, but the indicator light remained stuck on the fourth floor. “What kind of building is this?” Mitsue wailed. “Why do the stairs end on the first floor instead of going all the way to the basement?”

  “Go call the ambulance!” Sueo barked. Mitsue ran back into their apartment in a dither. At that moment there was the sound of footsteps, and Eiko and Tsutomu came tumbling out of the door to the emergency stairs. When Eiko caught sight of Misao she yelled through lips that were visibly quivering: “We couldn’t get the elevator to move—it’s still stuck up on the fourth floor! It stopped working right after Tsutomu rode up to tell me about Tamao!”

  Seeing someone who seemed to be even more wildly distressed than she was helped Misao return to her own senses, to some degree. Taking Tsutomu’s hand, she said in the calmest tone she could muster, “Please try to think, okay? Where did Tamao get hurt?”

  “On her leg,” Tsutomu replied. He was clearly frightened, and there were tears in the corners of his eyes. “Something cut her leg.”

  “What do you mean ‘something’?” Eiko bellowed.

  “I don’t know what it was,” Tsutomu said defensively. His face flushed scarlet as he glared at his mother. “There wasn’t anything sharp around, but Tamao got a cut on her leg.”

  “And then what happened? Was Tamao crying?” Misao asked. If he says she wasn’t crying, I don’t know what I’ll do, she thought. Crying would at least mean that she was conscious, and not too badly injured.

  Tsutomu nodded.

  “So she was crying?” Misao pressed, desperate for details.

  Tsutomu nodded again, then burst into noisy tears. He clearly felt he was being unjustly rebuked by the grown-ups despite the fact that he was only the messenger and hadn’t even witnessed the accident.

  Sueo Tabata was hammering on the elevator button with one fist. The mechanism made a clacking noise at every blow, but there was no other response. “This is hopeless,” Sueo said hoarsely. “We need to call the repair place right away, and ask them to send somebody.”

  “What? We don’t have time for that!” Eiko exploded. “There’s an injured child lying in the basement, and we need to get to her as quickly as possible. My Kaori is stranded down there, too.”

  Please, please, please, Misao prayed silently, placing one hand on her heaving chest. Just keep Tamao alive until we get there.

  “This is a mess. This is a such a horrible mess,” Eiko muttered over and over as she wandered helplessly around the lobby, wringing her hands.

  “Well, anyhow, okay,” Sueo said vaguely, then went into his apartment to phone the elevator service center.

  A few minutes later a middle-aged man with a goodly amount of facial hair entered the lobby through the big glass door. Noticing the general uproar, he asked, “Is something the matter?” in a quiet, reserved manner.

  Mitsue rushed up to him and said in a shrill voice, “Oh, Mr. Shoji! Apparently there’s a child down in the basement who’s been injured somehow, and we can’t get the elevator to move at all.”

  The new arrival—Mr. Shoji—was carrying a large manila envelope. He set it down on the floor and approached the elevator. After pressing the up and down buttons, to no avail, he placed one ear against the metal door and closed his eyes.

  “Can you tell what’s wrong?” Misao asked the new arrival. She knew he wasn’t an elevator technician, but while she was skeptical about a layperson’s ability to get the machinery running again, something about the man’s body language kindled a small flame of hope in her turbulent mind. He was startlingly serene, and his quietly confident aura seemed to make the people around him feel calmer, as well.

  “This may sound odd,” Mr. Shoji said quietly, “but I’m getting the sense that it isn’t a mechanical malfunction, at all.”

  “Well, then, what is it?” Eiko demanded, shouting again. “What caused the breakdown? Oh, never mind that—just hurry up and do something!”

  “Please don’t make such a fuss,” Mr. Shoji said. “It should start running again any minute now. I just need you to pipe down while I see what I can do.”

  Everyone who was gathered around exchanged meaningful glances. What’s with this guy, anyway? their eyes seemed to be saying. Is he off his rocker, or what? But he somehow seems to know what he’s doing, so maybe …

  Mr. Shoji stood stiffly at attention in front of the elevator. Lightly placing both hands on the door, he closed his eyes again and began to repeat some incomprehensible syllables under his breath. The chant wasn’t a Buddhist sutra, and it wasn’t in a foreign language that any of the listeners recognized, either. No one in the group had ever heard such sounds before.

  Mr. Shoji was in mid-chant when Eiko broke the silence, shrieking, “What do you think you’re playing at? There’s no time to be wasting on this kind of New Age nonsense!”

  “Shush!” Mr. Shoji hissed, without raising his voice. Eiko closed her mouth, and a moment later something astonishing happened. From far away they heard the familiar ga-tonk, and then the elevator began to descend from the fourth floor: 4 … 3 … 2 …

  Eiko, Tsutomu, and the Tabatas began to whoop and holler, while Misao breathed an audible sigh of relief. In the far distance an ambulance’s siren could be heard—faintly at first, then gradually louder.

  Mr. Shoji, his face suddenly haggard with exhaustion, picked up the envelope he had left on the floor and walked toward the stairwell. He was the only one who didn’t pile in when the elevator came to a stop on the first floor.

  The moment the elevator doors opened on the basement level, Misao charged out. The sound of a child crying—no, the sound of two different children crying—was echoing off the walls. Cookie’s rapidly wagging tail was visible in the shadow of the storage closet farthest from the elevator.

  Kaori must have heard the approaching footsteps because she came hurtling out of the darkness, calling, “Mama! Mama!” Eiko swept Kaori into her arms and held her tightly.

  Cookie peeked out from the shadows with eyes that were oddly still and expressionless, but seemed to have a glint of madness, too. The dog shot a glance in Misao’s direction, then went back to staring at whatever had been mesmerizing her before the crowd arrived.

  “Tamao! Are you okay?” Misao found Tamao sitting up in the shadows next to the storage locker. Her face was shockingly pale, and from time to time a weak, whimpering sob escaped from her mouth. It was the same way she cried whenever Teppei got angry and scolded her, but in this case she was in genuine physical pain. One of her legs was covered with blood from the knee down.

  Eiko and Mitsue both let out small screams. Misao was shaking all over as she squatted down and hugged Tamao, then looked more closely at the wound. Tamao’s right knee was split open, and blood was spurting out in a steady stream. It l
ooked as if she had fallen down in a puddle of blood.

  “The ambulance is here!” Sueo Tabata announced from the other side of the room. “Come on, she’s right over there.”

  Three emergency medical technicians wearing white uniforms and surgical masks loped across the basement, carrying a stretcher. One of them did a quick examination of Tamao’s wound, then turned to Misao and said, “This injury isn’t as serious as it looks, so there’s no need to worry. Your daughter should be fine.”

  “But there’s so much blood,” Misao said.

  “As I said, there’s nothing to worry about,” the EMT reiterated, through his white mask. “How on earth did she get this cut on her knee, though?”

  Misao shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said.

  The ambulance attendants scooped up Tamao’s little body—which, to Misao’s dismay, looked like one of those broken dolls you sometimes see discarded in a public trash can—and deposited her gently on the stretcher. Misao suddenly felt weak and woozy, and Eiko had the presence of mind to reach out and prop her up. “I’ll go with you to the hospital,” Eiko said.

  “Thanks, but there’s no need,” Misao replied. “We’ll be fine by ourselves.”

  Misao was following close behind the stretcher that bore her injured daughter when something made her pause and look over her shoulder. She could see the back of Cookie’s head, and she noticed that the dog’s attention was focused on a spot on the back wall, near where Tamao had collapsed.

  It struck Misao as peculiar that a sociable dog like Cookie would be oblivious to all the noise and activity in the basement, but apparently there was something even more interesting beyond that wall. Maybe a mouse, or a cat? Misao shrugged, then turned and ran to the elevator.

  8

  April 23, 1987

  Teppei was absentmindedly watching Misao administer (or rather, attempt to administer) Tamao’s after-dinner dose of medicine, but he was thinking about his daughter’s injury.