The Graveyard Apartment Page 3

  “Why don’t you give it a rest,” the male proprietor chided. “There’s really no need to tell that kind of story to someone who’s new to the area.”

  “You’re right, dear. I’m sorry,” his wife said contritely, and her gentle-featured face flushed an even deeper rose.

  “So, um … is that child all right now?” Misao asked hesitantly.

  “No, he died instantly,” the man said with a morose expression.

  “And ever since then, the hats for that school have been yellow instead of blue,” his wife added. “You know, to make them easier to see.”

  Tamao had been standing in stoic silence during this conversation, obediently raising and lowering her arms while the shopkeepers took her measurements. The older woman looked at Misao and brightly changed the subject. “So what part of our neighborhood are you living in?”

  “We just moved into the Central Plaza Mansion,” Misao replied. “You know, the building on the other side of the cemetery?”

  “Ah,” the woman said, nodding. She caught her husband’s eye and they exchanged a quick glance that struck Misao as suspiciously close to a wink.

  While the man was jotting down the measurements for Tamao’s skirt in a notebook, he said, “That site was a vacant lot for the longest time. Of course, the land belonged to the temple. Now that somebody went and built a fancy apartment complex there, it’s really turned into a showplace.” Misao smiled politely.

  “Well, I think that about does it,” the female proprietor said, wiping her hands on her soiled apron in what appeared to be a habitual gesture. Misao paid in advance for the uniform, and after having been given a pick-up date, she and Tamao left the shop.

  Wandering along the shopping street, they passed a dusty-looking fruit shop that was advertising a special sale on strawberries. The fruit didn’t look especially fresh, and Misao wasn’t tempted to buy any. Holding Tamao’s hand tightly, she turned around and headed for home.

  As they were walking through the quiet streets, Tamao suddenly looked up at her mother and said in an oddly enervated tone, “Mama? Do I really have to go to kindergarten, no matter what?”

  “You don’t want to?”

  Tamao didn’t reply.

  “Did you dislike the uniform?” Misao probed.

  “No, that’s not it…”

  “You’re bound to make new friends in kindergarten, and I promise you’ll have lots of fun—much more fun than if you just stayed home and played by yourself all day.”

  “But I already have friends.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Cookie and Pyoko.”

  Misao smiled. “Really? Pyoko, too?”

  “Uh-huh. I was just playing with him yesterday.”

  “Oh, I get it. You had a dream about Pyoko.”

  “No, it wasn’t a dream. Pyoko came to visit me at night, while I was still awake. He came flying into my room, full of life. And the thing is, he just went on talking and talking. I can understand some bird language now, so I knew what he was saying.”

  “Wow, that’s really something,” Misao said, barely managing to maintain a neutral tone. “So, um, what was Pyoko talking about?”

  “He was telling me about the place where he’s living now. He says it’s a really dark and dangerous place, and I should never go there because once somebody goes in, it’s almost impossible to get out again. But Pyoko is very clever, and he knows how to escape sometimes. That’s how he can visit me. Oh, and Mama? He says that place is full of bad monsters with big, scary faces. And he told me that when those monsters speak, a big wind starts to blow and everyone gets sucked into a giant hole.”

  Misao sighed. It was supposed to be healthy to let a child’s imagination run wild, but Tamao had a tendency to carry make-believe to extremes. Maybe the way they’d been raising her was overly indulgent, and this kind of far-fetched flight of fancy was the result. Or perhaps she and Teppei, as a couple, had unconsciously been transmitting their own somber feelings and residual regrets about the past, and over time that ambient gloominess had percolated down to Tamao, bit by bit, and had influenced her behavior.

  “Pyoko is looking down from heaven and watching over you,” Misao said gently, as if she were reading aloud from a children’s book. “He’ll be checking to see that you go to kindergarten and make lots and lots of wonderful new friends, the way you’re supposed to. Also, he wants to make sure you stay safe and don’t catch a cold or anything like that. That’s why—”

  “Yes, but he really did come to my room,” Tamao interrupted. “He was perched right next to the bed. And he really did talk to me, a whole bunch.”

  “I know, but that was just a dream.”

  “No, I keep telling you, it wasn’t a dream,” Tamao said impatiently. “It was real. Pyoko perched on the headboard of my bed for a while, and then he flew around the room, and a few times he landed on Pooh-Bear’s head.” Pooh-Bear was Tamao’s favorite stuffed animal: a fuzzy white teddy bear.

  “I see. Of course, that’s probably what happened,” Misao said, trying to keep the distress out of her voice.

  “I wonder if he’ll come again tonight,” Tamao mused.

  “Hmm, I wonder,” Misao said uncomfortably.

  Tamao continued prattling on about the dead bird, but while Misao made a show of listening intently, her thoughts were elsewhere. Was it maybe a bit too soon to be sending Tamao off to kindergarten? It was troubling to hear her daughter talking about something she had dreamed, or imagined when she was half asleep, as though it were empirical reality. Rather than abruptly plunging Tamao into a group situation, maybe it would be more appropriate to find some playmates of the same age or thereabouts, and let them run around outdoors and come home covered in mud. Baby steps, Misao thought.

  No question about it, having Pyoko die mere hours after their move to a new house had been traumatic for Tamao. Misao suddenly remembered that the birdcage (encased in a plastic bag) was still out on the balcony, where she had hastily stashed it the first day. She really ought to put the cage somewhere out of sight, sooner rather than later. And to minimize the chances of Tamao’s having any more of those disquieting dreams, she should probably put an end to her current custom of giving Tamao bedtime snacks of cookies or chocolate. No sweets after dinner, and an absolute minimum of liquids: that should be the policy from now on. Those indulgences were probably the reason behind Tamao’s monthly lapses into bedwetting, which soaked through the sheets and the quilted pad underneath, as well.

  As Misao and Tamao approached the narrow street leading to the Central Plaza Mansion, which wound past Manseiji and skirted the adjacent graveyard, they saw a petite, winsome-faced young woman standing by the side of the road. Her hair was stylishly cut in shingled layers, and she wore black leggings and a long black cardigan with shoulder pads. A small girl was squatting nearby, drawing pictures on the asphalt with colored chalk.

  Maybe they live in our building, Misao thought. She gave a slight nod and was about to pass by when the woman addressed her.

  “Excuse me, but are you the folks who just moved in, by any chance?”

  “That’s right,” Misao replied.

  “Ah, just as I thought,” the woman said, with a smile that struck Misao as open and friendly, with a touch of mischief. They traded the customary bows.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” the woman said. “I’m Eiko Inoue. We live in apartment 402.”

  At a glance, Eiko Inoue struck Misao as the kind of woman who had been raised by conscientious parents, had married in the usual way, and then had popped out a couple of kids, as expected. Wherever she went, a woman like that would find it easy to make friends, and she would never stop to wonder whether her own essential loneliness might be the driving force behind her compulsive sociability. She just looks like that type, somehow, Misao mused. She made an effort to smile back as amicably as she could.

  “I’m Misao Kano. I’m sorry I haven’t been down to say hello before this, but I’ve been busy regi
stering my daughter for kindergarten and so on.”

  “Oh, really?” Eiko Inoue’s eyes grew wide. “Will your daughter be enrolling at St. Mary’s?”

  When Misao nodded, the woman’s attitude became even friendlier. “Kaori!” she called out to her own daughter. “Aren’t you going to say hello to our new neighbor? This nice little girl is going to be in your class at kindergarten.”

  “Hello,” Kaori said reticently, squinting at Tamao. Kaori’s eyes wore an open, unguarded expression, just like her mother’s.

  “What’s your name, dear?” Eiko asked, turning to Tamao.

  Tamao introduced herself, but her shy smile was directed toward Kaori. Her face was alight with curiosity, and she seemed to have forgotten all about the dead bird.

  “What a little doll,” Eiko said. “Does she have any brothers or sisters at home?”

  “No, she’s an only child,” Misao replied. “Maybe that’s why we’ve been, um, having some problems.”

  “One child is the way to go,” Eiko laughed. “At least for the parents! When you have two or three kids running around the house all day, before you know it they’ve turned you into a worn-out old lady.”

  Misao chuckled at this, and Eiko went on, “Seriously, though, I’m very happy to meet you.” Her body language seemed to suggest that she would have liked to go over and give Misao a hug, on the spot. “We moved here at the end of last year, so it’s been a little over four months, and I still haven’t gotten to know anyone. My older child, Tsutomu, is in the senior kindergarten class, and he’s made quite a few friends there. I haven’t really socialized with any of the mothers, though, so I’m really pleased to run into you like this!”

  Misao didn’t entirely understand why Eiko was so overjoyed about their encounter, but she didn’t find her new acquaintance’s ebullience off-putting at all. She figured it was only natural that someone who moved to a new place would feel an initial sense of isolation and loneliness, and would long for a kindred spirit to talk to.

  After the two little girls had wandered off to play, Eiko continued to dominate the conversation, which suited Misao fine. “We used to live in Omori,” Eiko said. “I made quite a few friends there, mostly through the kids, and some of my friends from college used to drop by often, as well. But now, ever since we moved here? Nothing. Zippo. Zilch. I’m not sure, but I think it might be because this area seems okay during the day, and then when night falls, it starts to feel kind of creepy. My husband isn’t normally frightened of anything, but even he was saying that as soon as he steps into this alley in front of the temple, he gets a bad feeling. I mean, you’d think someone could install one measly streetlamp, at least, to light the way. Anyway, I’m almost certain that’s why nobody feels comfortable coming to visit me here after dark. Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking this way to someone who’s only just moved in…”

  Eiko’s comments were clearly candid rather than spiteful, so Misao just laughed and said, “That’s okay—no need to apologize. We were aware of all those things from the beginning, before we decided to move here.”

  Eiko looked relieved. “Well, on the bright side,” she said, flashing Misao a grateful smile, “living next to a graveyard does have some advantages. It’s quiet, and there’s oodles of greenery around us. If it weren’t for the cemetery, this area would probably be completely built up by now, with wall-to-wall high rises and unaffordable prices. Oh, by the way, have you been finding everything you need? Since I’ve already been here awhile I know this area pretty well now, and I’d be glad to share my discoveries, such as they are.”

  “Thank you. That would be great!” Misao said.

  Eiko then proceeded to divulge the inside scoop about the neighborhood. One bakery had special sales on bread every Monday; another bakery specialized in reduced-calorie cakes; a certain dentist was supposed to have an excellent reputation; and so on. At one point in the litany of recommendations Eiko stopped for a moment to scold her daughter, who had been about to touch her mouth with hands that were covered in chalk dust.

  Misao thanked Eiko for the useful information, then added, “I hope you’ll drop by our place for a nice, leisurely cup of tea sometime soon,” and Eiko issued a reciprocal invitation. Misao thought she and Eiko were probably around the same age, and having an amicable acquaintance in the building could only be a good thing—not least because of the obvious benefits for the children.

  As the women approached the building’s front entrance, herding their small daughters ahead of them, Eiko turned to Misao and said in a mock whisper, “You know, people are saying that the units in this building haven’t been selling too well. When we moved in there were only seven occupied units, including the resident managers’ quarters, but your family finally brings the number up to eight. Though now that I think about it, one of the apartments is only being used as a company office, so we’re really still stuck at seven. It gives the building kind of a desolate feeling, having so many empty apartments, and I’m hoping lots of people will start moving in from now on.”

  Thanks to the loquacious real estate agent who had handled their purchase, Misao already knew that only about half of the fourteen units were occupied, and she didn’t find the low sales figures surprising. Living in an apartment building that looked out on a graveyard was never going to be everyone’s cup of tea. Some people simply wouldn’t be able to convince themselves that the quiet, the space, the greenery, and the appealing price point were adequate compensation for living next door to a crumbling old cemetery.

  “I guess any building would feel a bit lonely, graveyard or no graveyard, if it had so few residents,” Misao mused.

  Eiko gave an emphatic nod. “Yes, I think you’re right,” she agreed. “But especially for someone like me who would rather be where the action is, there are times when all the quiet just gets to be too much to bear. I swear, sometimes at night it feels as if we’re living on a stage set. My husband’s always teasing me about being the kind of person who expects life to be an endless party. He says I’d feel more at home crammed into a two-room apartment in some noisy high rise in downtown Tokyo, and I can’t honestly say he’s wrong about that.”

  When Eiko and Misao opened the glass door that led to the building’s lobby, Kaori ran ahead, then turned and beckoned to Tamao to hurry up. The two little girls seemed to have hit it off from the moment they met, Misao thought. That was a huge relief.

  Timidly, Tamao reached out and took Kaori’s proffered hand, then looked up at her mother with an expression of bashfulness tinged with doubt. As the group moved slowly through the lobby, Eiko seemed to be paying close attention to the nascent friendship that appeared to be developing between the two girls.

  Suddenly she wheeled to face Misao, as if something important had just occurred to her. “Oh!” she said. “I assume you know about the storage facilities in the basement?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “It’s really super convenient. You can stash all your extra stuff down there, and then forget about it.”

  “I know.” Misao nodded. The agent had mentioned that each apartment in the building was allotted a designated storage locker in the basement.

  Eiko went on, “We’ve already put quite a few things in our storage unit: some chairs we never use anymore, and Tsutomu’s old tricycle, and so on. Have you gone down to check it out?”

  “No, not yet,” Misao said, shaking her head. There were definitely some things that either didn’t fit or weren’t needed in their new apartment, but she had been too busy to explore the basement.

  “Well, then, why don’t we pop down now. I’ll give you the grand tour,” Eiko suggested, pressing the elevator’s down button as she spoke.

  As they were waiting, Eiko said, “Is it just me, or is the design of this building kind of weird? I mean, they went to the trouble of building a basement, but they didn’t bother to include a staircase? The only way to get there is by taking the elevator. I mean, what if there was a power failure or the
elevator broke down—how would someone who happened to be in the basement get back upstairs? They’d be stranded down there. Really, it makes no sense.”

  While Eiko was grumbling about the building’s illogical construction, the elevator arrived. After they were all inside, she reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a red leather key holder.

  “Oh, you need a key?” Misao asked.

  “Yes, every storage unit has its own padlock and key. It’s easy to get them; you just fill out an application and submit it to the resident manager. Though even if nobody bothered with a lock, I doubt whether any self-respecting burglar would touch most of the junk that’s stored down there,” Eiko said with a laugh.

  The elevator coasted to a stop, and the moment the doors opened Tamao and Kaori charged out into the basement, whooping with excitement.

  “Careful! Don’t fall down!” Eiko called after them. The large open space was shrouded in twilight, with the only illumination coming from a single exit sign above their heads. “Hang on a sec, the light switch is right here,” Eiko said. She touched the wall next to the elevator and the area was immediately flooded with ultra-bright light of the sort used on tennis courts at night.

  The walls were unfinished concrete and the ceiling was obscured by a welter of exposed pipes, but there wasn’t a single speck of dust on the gray cement floor. The cavernous basement was empty except for a couple of rows of cheap-looking storage compartments that had been painted white. Stenciled on each of the lockers was the number of the corresponding apartment.

  The scene reminded Misao of a photograph she had seen in some old magazine a long time ago, of the communal shower room in a ruined building. The photo had been taken in the basement of a Western-style structure that had once served as a dormitory for single women. The paint was peeling off the walls, and the door to the shower room hung limply from a single broken hinge. The nozzles dangling in a row from the ceiling were oddly curved, like the beaks of a flock of eagles. All the scummy layers of soap and grime that landed on the tile when those legions of long-ago women washed themselves off had accumulated to the point where it looked as though someone had spread a layer of snow-white loam over the floor of the showers.