The Graveyard Apartment Page 12

  “I know, I know,” Misao said. Her words carried a complex undertone: gentle, but also subtly reproving. “I understand what you’re trying to say, I really do. We’ve both come this far believing that this is all there is, and what matters is the here and now. That … thing that happened a long time ago…”

  Teppei nodded quietly, then took a long, deep breath as if in preparation for what he had to say next. “As long as you understand where I’m coming from, that’s all I need,” he said gently. “You know me—I’m a rationalist at heart, and I’m simply not willing to acknowledge the possibility that a supernatural realm might exist. It’s just absurd to imagine that there’s a crowd of dead people and their ilk milling around on some other plane. I mean, let’s face it: life is complicated enough when you only have to deal with the living.”

  Nodding in agreement, Misao rubbed abstractedly at a spot on the dining table. “Quite aside from that, on a human level, I still think it would be rude to just let Mr. Shoji move away without saying a word of thanks,” she persisted. “I mean, we dragged him into our emergency situation the other day, and he did his best to help out.”

  “So you intend to go down there and pay your respects, after all?”

  “Yes, but can we please go together and pay our respects? I really feel as though that’s the least we can do.” Misao turned to face Teppei. Holding his gaze with her own, she said candidly, “Look, someone may or may not have made the elevator move by meditation, or the power of his mind. Or maybe it was pure coincidence, as you say. Whatever happened, it has nothing to do with Reiko, or the afterlife, or anything like that. Isn’t that right?”

  Teppei pondered for a moment, then broke into a grin. “Yes,” he said, reaching out to take Misao’s hand in his. “You’re absolutely right, as usual.”

  Misao chuckled, but her smile was strained, and her laughter sounded oddly brittle.

  9

  April 23, 1987 (evening)

  Teppei and Misao left their daughter on the couch, drowsily watching television, and went down to the fourth floor to call on Mr. Shoji. When they rang the bell, he opened the door and greeted them in a friendly, relaxed way.

  Standing on the doorstep, Misao inclined her head in a slight bow and said formally, “Thanks to you, everything turned out well the other day. Our daughter is doing fine now, and her injury is healing right on schedule. We just wanted to stop by to express our gratitude, and to apologize for any inconvenience or worry we might have caused.”

  From the depths of the apartment, the faint aroma of incense floated down the interior corridor and drifted through the open door. Mr. Shoji blinked once or twice, and his rosy-fleshed mouth twitched behind his whiskers in a spasmodic way, like some restless mollusk. “I’m very glad to hear that the injury wasn’t anything too serious,” he said at last. “And it puts my mind at ease to hear that I was able to render assistance, however small.” Some crumbs from a cookie or cracker had evidently become lodged in the man’s bristly mustache, but he still managed to project an aura of quiet dignity as he bobbed his head up and down in a congenial manner.

  Teppei thought he sensed an undertone of arrogance about the way the man delivered those ostensibly humble words. Standing silently next to Misao on the doorstep, he stared long and hard at Mr. Shoji, whom he was meeting for the first time.

  Misao, meanwhile, was thinking: I can just imagine what my husband is going to say when we get home. Probably something like, “That guy seems to think he’s some kind of miracle-working guru. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him in one of those late-night infomercials on TV, peddling his psychic wares and spewing gibberish about how he saved a child’s life with his magical superpowers.”

  The truth was, Misao’s own thoughts were running along those lines, as well. She was finding it difficult to believe that the man standing in front of them now was the same impressive person who had worked his magic on the stalled elevator the other day. Maybe it was because she had been half insane with worry about Tamao. At any rate, that afternoon in the lobby, this same man had struck Misao as saintlike, or even godly. No, check that; it would probably be more accurate to say that he had seemed like the kind of supernaturally powerful being you read about in mythology and folk tales. But the person who stood in front of them now just appeared to be a drab, unexceptional middle-aged man with crumbs in his mustache.

  Misao felt a wave of disappointment as she realized that her initial impression of Mr. Shoji as a man who possessed some special occult power might have been miles off the mark. Perhaps he was just an ordinary person with extreme delusions of grandeur, happily taking credit for every uncanny coincidence that came along. Or maybe he was a run-of-the-mill swindler, one of those self-styled psychics who is the modern equivalent of a snake-oil salesman, conning people into buying overpriced gold pendants depicting some lower-echelon bodhisattva. Suppose they asked him what really happened that day with the elevator, and he tried to sell them a cheesy talisman in lieu of a straight answer? That would be too much to bear.

  After both sides had run through the customary pleasantries, there didn’t seem to be anything left to say. Misao caught Teppei’s eye, then murmured politely, “Well, I guess we’d better be running along now.”

  As she and Teppei were stepping away from the doorway, Mr. Shoji said hesitantly, “Um … I know it may be out of line for me to ask a question like this, but I was wondering whether you might have found out what caused your daughter’s injury.”

  Apparently sensing that Misao was about to reply, Teppei jumped in ahead of her. “Well, the doctor was saying that it looked to him as though a weasel wind had materialized somehow, out of the blue,” he said.

  “Oh, is that so?” said Mr. Shoji, opening his deep-set black eyes wide in surprise. “That seems rather remarkable. I mean, I’m familiar with the phenomenon of weasel winds, of course, but you wouldn’t expect a sudden gust to kick up in a windowless basement, of all places.”

  “No, apparently it really isn’t that unusual,” Teppei said, but his certainty sounded suspiciously like bravado. “If the basement in this building was never properly sealed, there could be drafts when air comes in from outside, and at one of those entry points I guess the breeze must have developed into a vortex. That sort of thing can occur indoors, especially now in early spring, when the wind is blowing nearly every day. It really isn’t strange at all. At any rate, on the day in question, an extra-strong gust of wind must have come up, and one thing just led to another.”

  “You’d hate to think this building was so poorly constructed that something like that could occur indoors, though,” Mr. Shoji persisted. “Not to mention the fact that the basement is underground, and has no windows.”

  “Well, I looked around later that day and didn’t find a single thing that could have caused such an injury, so we may never know what really went on down there, or outside, or wherever. At this point I think we just need to write it off as ‘wrong place, wrong time,’ and let it go,” Teppei said with an air of finality.

  “That place is dangerous.” Mr. Shoji uttered those words in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, and Teppei shot him a sharp look. “The basement is dangerous,” the older man repeated, “and that’s why it would really be better if you didn’t allow your child to play in that space, ever again.”

  “What do you mean, ‘dangerous’?” Teppei asked in a tone that straddled the line between curiosity and scorn.

  “No, I mean … I just wanted to let you know. Simply put, that basement is a place where—how shall I say this?—where evil entities congregate.”

  “‘Evil entities’?” Teppei echoed with a bitter, incredulous laugh. “You mean like monsters? Are there ghosts and goblins down there, too?”

  “No, no, nothing as simple as that,” Mr. Shoji said brusquely. “Even I was surprised, and I’m not a stranger to the dark side myself, by any means. I’ve encountered malevolent vibrations all over the world, but this is the first time I’ve ev
er felt such a strong concentration of evil energy in one place.”

  Sneaking a glance at Misao, Teppei laughed weakly. “I do believe we’re in the presence of someone with really extraordinary powers of imagination,” he said in a sardonic tone. “Maybe this is one of the side effects of living in a place that looks out on a graveyard and a temple and a crematorium: you start to have trouble telling the difference between fantasy and reality.”

  Mr. Shoji didn’t reply. He just shrugged his shoulders and stared intently at Teppei, who got the disconcerting sense that the man was silently exhorting him to do whatever he could to protect his adorable little daughter, at all costs.

  “I’ll be moving out the day after tomorrow,” Mr. Shoji said, “but if I had my druthers I wouldn’t spend another night in this place. It wasn’t too bad when I first moved in; the level of paranormal activity in the basement hadn’t yet become a major cause for concern, and the building itself was comfortable and quiet. However, things have really gotten out of hand since then. I’m just completely worn-out by the constant onslaught of negative energy.”

  This certainly isn’t your usual doorstep conversation, Misao thought. She’d been thrown for a loop by Mr. Shoji’s remarks, but she made an effort to summon up a gracious smile. The older man glanced at her, and his weary expression seemed to soften somewhat.

  “Surely you must understand, Mrs. Kano. When the elevator suddenly stopped working that day, at the precise time your daughter was injured, it wasn’t a coincidence, at all. It was … well, I really don’t know how to even begin to explain this to people who don’t work in this field, but at the risk of oversimplifying, I’ll just say that it was a deliberately aggressive act by a certain type of … um, noncorporeal entities.”

  Teppei burst out laughing, in a way that barely avoided being rude. “I must say, your explanation doesn’t really work for me,” he scoffed. “Are you some kind of expert on ‘paranormal activity,’ to use your term?”

  “No,” Mr. Shoji replied in a calm, measured tone. “I’m just a humble teacher and practitioner of meditation. I spent the better part of my twenties in India, you see. I studied yoga there for many years, and I was able to master certain meditation techniques and other skills. When I returned to Japan I opened a yoga studio here in Tokyo, and I still teach classes there every day.”

  “So you’re saying that you were somehow able to get the elevator to move just by meditating over it?”

  “No, but I am able to use a meditative state to channel chi—you know, positive energy—through my hands. It’s what we call a parapsychological effect. Actually, the technical term in this case would be psychotronics, though it’s probably easier to think of it as a kind of channeling or redirecting of energy.”

  As he said this, Mr. Shoji held up both hands, palms facing out. In contrast with his weathered, whiskery face, his hands were surprisingly soft and smooth. Then he continued, “Through the energy I generate with my hands, I’m able to absorb chi from the cosmos, or the universe, if you prefer. By the same token, I can channel or redirect that cosmic energy outward. The only catch is, when I use my skills to deal with the spirit world I very quickly become exhausted. It depends on the situation, but there have been times when I became ill as a result of one of those sessions. To be perfectly frank, I, too…” He paused, and lowered his eyes in evident embarrassment. “That day, after I had gotten the elevator moving again, I was so drained that I fell into a complete funk, almost like a trance state. I’m nearly back to normal now, though.”

  Uh oh, Misao thought. Was that their cue to say, “We’re terribly sorry you had to go through that on our account”? The stress seemed to have caused her saliva to dry up, and instead of apologizing she posed a question: “What I don’t understand is, why do things like that seem to happen in this building?”

  “I really don’t have a clear handle on that myself,” Mr. Shoji responded. “I’m not a fortune-teller or a spiritualistic medium or anything like that. I’ve just acquired certain abilities over the years, through long training and experience, and I seem to have developed a sensitivity to this type of thing. This building is a perilous place; that’s all there is to it. At this point, it would really be better if you didn’t use the basement at all. Ideally, I would like to give all the remaining residents of this building the same warning, but they would probably think I was delusional, so I’ve decided to keep my opinions to myself.”

  Mr. Shoji smiled and looked first at Misao, then at Teppei. “Could I interest you in a cup of coffee, or perhaps some chai?” he asked. “If you’re so inclined, there’s a great deal more that I could tell you.”

  Before Misao had time to respond, Teppei shook his head emphatically and said, “Thank you, but we left our child alone in the apartment, so we need to be getting back now.”

  “Oh, I see. I’m sorry to hear that.” Mr. Shoji gave Misao a look of deep compassion. “If anything else should come up—well, I’d like to say that I would be pleased to be of assistance again, but I won’t be here for much longer, and it’s unlikely that we’ll meet again after I move away. In any case, I wish you and your family every happiness from now on.”

  Then, to the surprise of the two people standing on the doorstep, the door to unit 401 closed softly in their faces before they had a chance to say good-bye.

  Inside the elevator, Teppei snickered, “Holy cow, what a con man.”

  “Really? That’s what you came away with?”

  “Why, are you saying you disagree? Because the answer to the question ‘Is that man a total quack, or not?’ could end up having a drastic effect on our bank balance going forward. If you agree that he’s a phony, then we can continue as we are right now. But if you think he’s for real, that could lead to financial disaster.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just that if you bought into that charlatan’s spiel, I guarantee it will just be a matter of time before you decide that we ought to sell our apartment here and move to a different building, based on all the alarmist drivel he was spouting. Just to be clear, I want no part of that scenario.”

  “So it doesn’t bother you at all?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know, the things he said about this building.”

  “You mean the fact that the elevator malfunctioned at an inopportune moment, and apparently there was a weasel wind in the basement, one time?”

  “Well, yes, but also there was that strange shadow on the TV screen, and the little bird died right after we moved in.”

  “Come on, get a grip,” Teppei said, pulling a droll face. “I think you’ve been watching too many horror movies again!” He laughed, but there was something awkward and unnatural about his tone, as if he were making a conscious effort to keep things light.

  For a moment, Misao debated whether to tell Teppei about the creepy feeling she got every time she ventured into the basement, or the chilly, unnaturally invasive wind that always seemed to be swirling around. She couldn’t imagine that such a conversation would end up going particularly well, so she decided to keep those matters to herself. She had a premonition that if she even attempted to discuss her misgivings about the building with Teppei, their relationship might be damaged in a way that could never be undone.

  * * *

  The ward office wasn’t too far north of Takaino Station, and it only took Misao fifteen minutes to get there on foot. The official headquarters of “K” Ward fronted the highway, while the library occupied a nondescript three-story building tucked away at the rear. Even so, the incessant noise of fast-moving traffic was clearly audible in every room of the library, so it wasn’t exactly an optimal environment for quiet reading or complex research.

  When Misao explained to the poker-faced, white-haired man at the reception desk that she was hoping to be able to look at some materials pertaining to the district’s history and public administration, he held up three fingers and mumbled almost inaudibly, “Third floor.” There wa
s no one else within earshot, but evidently the man thought it would be inappropriate to use a normal tone of voice in a library, under any circumstances.

  Upstairs, there were a few people scattered around the room devoted to public administration records. An age-yellowed card reading “Archives for ‘K’ Ward” was affixed to a large bookcase in one corner of the room, but the shelves were sparsely filled. There were three pamphlets labeled “Government Public Opinion Survey Regarding ‘K’ Ward,” along with a row of books (all crammed with maps and numerical charts) bearing titles such as Regional Emergency Preparedness Plan for Natural Disasters and The Current State of Environmental Pollution in “K” Ward. Also in the mix was a slim volume of personal essays by some long-dead writer titled Our Town: Now and Then, and a number of thick clothbound books, all tersely labeled “‘K’ Ward History.”

  Misao’s opening move was to select a booklet with the alarmingly long title Background Research and Progress Report on the Proposed Development Plan for an Underground Shopping Arcade at Takaino Station and carry it over to one of the reading desks. The publication date was March 1963, and the pages, like the card on the bookcase, had acquired a jaundiced tinge over the years. On the first page, the following sentence appeared: “This written report, which was prepared by the Center for Regional Development under a mandate from the Tokyo Metropolitan Headquarters, encompasses (a) the results of background research and feasibility studies regarding the redevelopment of the Takaino district; and (b) an account of the subsequent actions that have been implemented.” The pamphlet went on to provide an itemized list of the basic policies covering the redevelopment of the Takaino area.