The Graveyard Apartment Page 8

  After settling Tamao on the sofa with a snack and a pile of picture books, Misao returned to the elevator and went down to the basement alone. The children had apparently forgotten to hit the off switch when they left, because the entire space was ablaze with light.

  The first thing Misao saw, standing out in the open, was a lone tricycle—Tsutomu’s, no doubt—that appeared to have been cast aside. In front of the storage compartment marked “402” there was a stack of newspapers tied up with string, probably put there by Eiko.

  Tamao’s cardigan—yellow cotton, with a rabbit embroidered on one tiny pocket—lay in a heap next to the bundle of newspapers. As Misao bent down to pick it up, she heard a faint rustling sound from somewhere nearby.

  Startled, she straightened up and looked around. All she saw were the innumerable exposed pipes that crisscrossed the ceiling; the neat rows of large, square, white-painted storage compartments; and the mountainous pile of cardboard cartons left behind by the departed occupants of unit 201.

  “Hello? Is someone there?” After blurting out those words, Misao felt a cold shiver of fear for the first time. I should have kept quiet, she thought. Hastily, she grabbed Tamao’s cardigan, balled it up, and wedged it tightly under one arm. She felt a sudden, unnaturally frigid gust of wind nipping around her ankles. It wasn’t the kind of draft you might expect to feel in a basement—that is, a breeze that originated outdoors, where the landscape was still bathed in warm late-afternoon sunlight, then floated through the treetops with their branches heavy with buds, and somehow found its way into the building. This current of air was considerably colder, and it carried a faintly unpleasant odor, too.

  Something rustled again, not far away, and Misao felt chilled to the very core of her being. “Must be a mouse,” she said, deliberately speaking in a strong, clear voice. She began walking down the row of storage lockers, making her footsteps as noisy as possible and peering inside each locker as she passed. Even if the noises had been made by a mouse, that creature was hardly likely to respond with “Yes! I’m a mouse!” But still …

  Once again, Misao spoke aloud. “That really isn’t acceptable,” she said. “I mean, a new building like this shouldn’t have a rodent problem already.”

  There didn’t appear to be anything amiss in or around any of the storage compartments, and there was no sign of a mouse, or a cat, or even a spider. Misao had the distinct sensation that the breeze had grown stronger, and she stopped in her tracks. It wasn’t so much that the wind had picked up speed in a natural way; rather, it felt as if the ambient air itself was somehow being engulfed or devoured by the chilly draft.

  Misao heard a familiar ga-tonk sound. Someone on a floor above must have called the elevator back up from the basement.

  She looked carefully around her once more, then continued toward the exit. I’m just being silly, she thought. Nothing has happened, so why am I panicking? I mean, come on, even little kids feel safe playing down here.

  When she got to the elevator, the indicator light above the doors showed that it was stopped on the fourth floor. Mitsue Tabata must be on her way home. But after a few minutes, during which the elevator remained on the fourth floor, Misao realized that Mitsue was probably still chatting with Eiko in the hallway while one of them held the elevator doors open.

  After a moment, from very far away, there came the sound of liquid—water, perhaps?—falling steadily onto the ground. It was like the inexorable dripping you might hear in some dank underground cavern filled with limestone stalagmites and stalactites.

  Misao turned to look behind her, then peered up at the ceiling with its convoluted network of pipes. Perhaps one of them had sprung a leak, or maybe someone had stashed a container of liquid in a storage compartment and it had spilled.

  The chilly draft was climbing now, insinuating its way from Misao’s ankles up to the small of her back, and she got the uncanny feeling that it had deliberately chosen to wrap itself around her. For a brief instant, she found herself regretting the fact that she was an adult. If I were a child, she thought, it would be perfectly all right for me to let out a long, loud scream right now.

  At long last, the elevator began to move: 3 … 2 … 1 …

  Misao opened her mouth with the intention of singing something, to pass the time and dispel her nervousness. However, her mind had suddenly gone blank, just as it had earlier that day in the Ginza, so she settled for humming a wordless tune.

  On the elevator panel, “B1” finally lit up and the door slowly slid open. There was something inside the elevator, but for an instant Misao couldn’t tell who or what it was, and she let out a small involuntary shriek.

  “Oh, Mrs. Kano!” Mitsue Tabata sounded cheery and relaxed. “I didn’t know you were down here.”

  Misao forced her face into a reasonable facsimile of a smile, then said, “Sorry, I was just surprised. I didn’t expect anyone to be on the elevator.”

  “Were you doing something with your storage locker?”

  “What? Oh, no, Tamao just left something down here, that’s all.”

  She held out the yellow cardigan, and Mitsue peered at it, beaming. “What darling embroidery,” she said. “Did you do that yourself?”

  “Oh, gosh, no. Not at all. I bought this at a store…” Trailing off, Misao made an effort to summon up another pleasant smile.

  Mitsue pointed in the direction of the storage lockers. “I just decided to put on my chef’s hat and make some pickled vegetables today, from scratch,” she said. “I came down here to get my pickling stone, to put on top. My husband adores tsukemono, but even so, he’s always teasing me and calling me ‘Auntie Pickle.’ Of course, he has no idea how much work goes into making the pickled veggies he loves so much.”

  Misao conjured up yet another polite smile, then stepped into the elevator. For some reason, the innocuous sound of Mitsue’s slip-on sandals slapping on the bare floor as she walked away into the basement echoed in Misao’s ears for a very long time.

  6

  April 7, 1987

  After Teppei got off the train at Takaino Station, he brushed past a noisy group of people on the platform, evidently on their way home from an evening of celebrating the cherry blossoms. There were five or six men and three women, and they were laughing and squealing and generally raising a ruckus. One of the women, who was obviously several sheets to the wind, appeared to be on the verge of vomiting at any moment. Even so, her pale face wore a broad grin as she stumbled along, drunkenly clutching the arm of one of the young men.

  There was a small but renowned grove of cherry trees near South Takaino Station, and Teppei guessed that the rowdy group had gone there for a picnic dinner (featuring copious quantities of alcohol), and then had walked or taken a taxi to Takaino Station. Teppei had recently been invited to a couple of blossom-viewing parties by his colleagues at the advertising agency, but he had begged off because he was swamped with work. Also, there were plenty of cherry trees in bloom near his apartment building, and if he wanted to see them all he had to do was to step out onto the balcony. The trees dotted around the cemetery were at their glorious peak right now, and the abundant greenery created a lush backdrop for the fluffy pink-petaled domes.

  Teppei’s younger brother, Tatsuji, had dropped by three days earlier with his wife, Naomi, and she’d gone into extravagant rhapsodies over the cherry blossoms. “Oh my god, what an absolutely exquisite view,” she sighed, as if she had momentarily forgotten that the beautifully blooming trees were surrounded by tombstones, burial mounds, and grave markers.

  Ha, Teppei had thought. If that woman had come to visit us during the bleak, gray winter and saw the view then—nothing but legions of dark, dingy gravestones, with the leafless tree branches lancing the air like crooked needles—she would probably have said something like, “Oh my god, what a dreary view. Why, you half expect a vampire to jump out at any moment!”

  As a housewarming gift, Tatsuji and Naomi had brought a set of linens: a white lace tableclot
h, with napkins to match. The cloth was a perfect fit for the dining table, and Misao was delighted.

  Teppei strongly believed that his wife’s intelligence and tact were the main reasons she was able to maintain a reasonably amicable relationship with her sister-in-law. He often thought that to get along with someone like Naomi you had to be either very clever or else a natural-born coward like Tatsuji. Oh well, he thought. She isn’t my problem, so I’m not going to lose sleep over it.

  After passing through the station gate, the majority of people who had gotten off the train with Teppei headed for the north exit and scattered into the night. Even though it was past midnight, the streets around the exit were still garishly aglow with the neon lights of pubs, ramen joints, specialty restaurants, convenience stores, and pachinko parlors. Sidewalk vendors of octopus fritters and oden had set up their carts just beyond the train station and were loudly touting their wares, trying to lure the passing inebriates into stopping for a snack on their wobbly way home.

  The less popular south exit, by contrast, was quiet, and the rows of small shops had all been shuttered for the night. Only a couple of coffee shops remained open, with their electrified Coca-Cola signs casting a dim, rosy radiance over the nearly deserted street.

  Teppei emerged from the south exit into the mild spring night. After pausing briefly to let the sweet, balmy air wash over him, he lit a cigarette and continued on his way. A single taxicab pulled up directly in front of him, and the rear passenger door flew open. A second later a female emerged from the backseat of the cab with such force that it almost appeared as though she’d been hurled from an ejector seat.

  The woman was dressed in a blossom-pink kimono, and no sooner had she tumbled out onto the street than she angrily began to kick the side of the taxi with one dainty foot shod in a white wedge-heeled zori. “Get out of here, you jerk!” she shouted. “I never want to see you again!”

  The taxi driver stuck his head through the open window and shouted, “You evil wench!” Looking as if he might leap out at any moment, he snarled, “You think you can ride for free and run off without paying?”

  Wrenching open a small clutch purse, the woman pulled out some paper currency and tossed it through the window of the cab. “Here you go, you money-grubbing bastard. Are you happy now?”

  “Crazy slut,” the taxi driver growled, baring his teeth. Opening his door, he came flying out onto the pavement, clutching the woman’s money.

  It looked as if things were about to get interesting, so Teppei decided to stop and watch the spectacle unfold. His lit cigarette dangled from his mouth, momentarily forgotten. A small crowd of passersby began to gather, forming a spontaneous ring around the combatants.

  The woman seemed to draw energy from the growing audience, because she gave a disdainful snort of laughter and said haughtily, “Oh, are you really going to hit a woman now? Stupid jerk!”

  The enraged driver glanced around at the onlookers, then let out a loud groan of frustration that sounded more wolflike than human. He was a rather plump man of fifty or so. Apparently he had spilled something oily on his brown slacks at some point, because a yellowish stain on one leg of his trousers was gleaming in the streetlight.

  “If you want to play it that way, be my guest,” the woman taunted. “It would give me great pleasure to call the cops on you.” Glaring at the driver, she reached back to tidy the drooping bun at the nape of her neck, then resolutely patted her bangs into place, as if she were a modern-day gladiator preparing for battle. A ripple of titillated laughter ran through the crowd of onlookers.

  The cabbie clenched both hands into fists and shook them angrily at the woman. “Damn you!” he roared, wadding up the yen notes the woman had given him and tossing them onto the road. “I don’t want your filthy money. Just get the hell out of my sight, you disgusting piece of trash! I should never have stopped for the likes of you.”

  Fuming, the man marched back to his taxi. He started up the engine with a roar and angrily stomped on the gas pedal. After lurching first back, then forward, the cab took off at top speed, tires screeching on the pavement.

  The crowd of rubberneckers dispersed, chuckling among themselves. Grumbling loudly, the woman squatted to pick up the money that was lying on the street. After carefully smoothing out the bills, she stuck them into the lapel of her pink kimono. Teppei, who had been nonchalantly watching the proceedings (while pretending not to), began to walk away. From behind him he heard the woman mutter, to no one in particular, “Bastard!”

  As Teppei was entering the deserted shopping arcade, which was bathed in the wintry light of mercury vapor streetlamps, he became aware of the woman’s footsteps behind him. At first the cadence of her shoes striking the pavement gave an impression of anger and restlessness, but she must have been gradually calming down, because after a few moments it just sounded like someone trotting along with small, measured steps.

  “Hey! You!” the woman called out. There were no other pedestrians in the vicinity, so Teppei slowed his pace and glanced over his shoulder. The woman was galloping toward him with arms akimbo, flapping the wide sleeves of her kimono like a giant bird. When he saw the disjointed way she was running, Teppei realized for the first time how very drunk she was.

  As the woman drew closer to where Teppei stood waiting for her to catch up, she began to pant in a loud, theatrical manner. “Oh my god, I’m dying,” she wheezed. “I don’t exercise enough, so I get out of breath right away. Anyway, hi there! Don’t you live in the Central Plaza Mansion?”

  “Yes, I do, but…” Teppei looked intently at the woman. The truculent expression she had worn during her confrontation with the cab driver had vanished, and in repose her rather sallow face appeared almost eerily sleek and expressionless, as though she had spent a great deal of money on expensive wrinkle creams and anti-aging procedures.

  The artificial smoothness of the woman’s skin made her age hard to judge, but Teppei thought she might have been about as old as Misao. No, on second glance, she was probably a few years older—maybe even pushing forty.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” The woman smiled, crinkling her eyes the way a cat does when it yawns. “I noticed you in the crowd, and I knew right away that I’d seen you around the building.”

  “You live there, too?”

  “Yes,” the woman said, bobbing her head up and down like a child as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m Ms. Harashima, from apartment 502. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Perhaps she intended to give an elegant formal bow, but because she was so intoxicated her head seemed to loll aimlessly around on its stem like that of a broken doll.

  Teppei wondered whether he needed to reciprocate by introducing himself. After a moment’s thought, he decided to remain silent. He remembered Misao’s mentioning that the hostess who lived on the fifth floor would be moving out in May, so really, what was the point of pursuing her acquaintance?

  “I’m sorry to impose on you,” the woman said, “but would it be all right if we went the rest of the way together? I’m afraid to walk around this area by myself at night. To be honest, I’m not really a big fan of graveyards.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Teppei said with a smile. He couldn’t believe that a woman who had been prepared to engage in a knock-down, drag-out fight with a taxi driver in the middle of the street would be intimidated by a mere cemetery.

  “Oh, thank you so much.” The woman sighed. “I always take a cab right up to the entrance to the building, but tonight that stupid shithead…” She spat out the words with undisguised rancor, then gave an embarrassed laugh and said in a considerably milder tone, “I mean, I just happened to get into a bit of a tiff with that unspeakable ass of a taxi driver.”

  “Yes, what was going on back there, anyway?”

  “Oh, it was just one of those things. I guess the driver was trying to flirt, or be funny, or something, but anyway he asked how much I would charge to add him to my ‘list of customers,’ as he put it. That really teed me
off, so I gave him a piece of my mind. I don’t remember what I said, but right after that he pulled up in front of the station and told me to get out.”

  “You showed a lot of spunk, standing up for yourself. It was really kind of awesome.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I let my anger get the better of me, but I guess I came out ahead in the end. I mean, I got a free cab ride out of it, at least as far as the station. Luckily, I was able to find a handsome bodyguard to escort me the rest of the way.” As the woman staggered along she hooked one arm through Teppei’s, and his nostrils were assailed by an almost unbearably intense aroma of hard liquor mixed with perfume.

  “Actually, I’ve had a pretty disastrous night, all around,” the woman went on. “For starters, I got into an argument with someone at the club. Not with a client, with my boss. She isn’t even the owner, she’s just what they call a ‘hired mama,’ but she acts like she’s the queen of the world. She really is the worst. She’s arrogant and overbearing, and—this is something you see a lot in my line of work—she doesn’t care about anything except money. She never goes anywhere without her pocket calculator, and she’s constantly docking my pay for the most trivial things. And she isn’t just greedy. On top of everything else she’s a total tightwad, too…”

  The woman blathered on, badmouthing the “hired mama,” and as her agitation increased she clung ever more tightly to Teppei’s arm.

  “So anyway,” she concluded, “that’s why I ended up coming home so early tonight. I usually don’t get back until two or three in the morning. Oh, sorry, I’ve been making this all about me. What kind of work do you do? And what in the world made you decide to move into an apartment building that’s more or less in the middle of a graveyard?”