The Graveyard Apartment Page 9

  “I work in advertising,” Teppei said. “And as for why we moved into the building, it’s because the price was right.”

  “I hear you,” the woman said. “It’s amazingly cheap, that place. What happened in my case is that I got to be, shall we say, friendly with a certain customer at the club, and he bought me a unit there. Well, it would probably be more accurate to say that he bought a unit for himself, as an investment, but anyway, he’s letting me live there rent-free, for now.”

  “How long have you been in the building?”

  “I moved in last year, not too long after construction was finished,” the woman said. She hiccupped delicately, then went on: “So, I guess it’s been six months and a bit? But I’m moving out in May.”

  “Yes, I gathered that.”

  “Wait, how did you know?”

  “My wife heard about it from one of the resident managers.”

  “Oh, that gossipy old hag? She’s such a pain in the neck. Whenever I run into her, on Sundays or whenever, she always corners me and starts bombarding me with personal questions.”

  As Teppei and his companion emerged from the shopping arcade, the Central Plaza Mansion was visible in the distance. Casually yet firmly, Teppei extricated his arm from the woman’s grasp. They turned onto the narrow road that ran past the temple, where the outstretched branches of the blooming cherry trees sprinkled the path with a constant shower of petals. The unlighted alleyway was so dark and so quiet that they could almost hear each gossamer petal hitting the ground.

  “Look, I don’t like to be negative,” the woman said, “but you folks really ought to…” She paused to stifle another hiccup, then continued, “You really ought to move out, too. You have a child, right?”

  “Yes, we do,” Teppei replied, although “have a child” struck him as a radical understatement. Tamao was a miracle: the priceless jewel he and Misao had created in an attempt to forget the past and get their lives back on track.

  “Well, in that case, it’s even more important for you to sell up and get out of that place, the sooner the better. I don’t mean to spook you, but…”

  “Wait, why should we move? Because one of the resident managers is a little bit obnoxious?”

  “Don’t be silly. That has nothing to do with it.” The woman licked her lips, then wrapped both arms around her torso and gave herself a hug. “Look, the thing is, the building we live in simply isn’t a good place. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I happen to have a special sensitivity to the spirit world, and that building just gives me a really creepy feeling.”

  Teppei laughed. “What, did you see a ghost or something? Or maybe some poltergeists dropped by from the graveyard next door? No, wait, maybe it’s more like something from a science-fiction movie. You know, little green aliens from outer space?”

  The woman didn’t laugh, or even smile. Her face wore an expression of extreme solemnity, although the aura of gravitas was undermined by her ongoing case of the hiccups, which she seemed unable to control. “I’m not saying that I’ve actually seen anything,” she said. “It’s just that I never feel comfortable in that building, and I haven’t been able to settle in. What do they call it—bad vibes? Anyway, that’s the way I feel there, all the time. It’s hard to explain, but I can never really relax, and my nerves seem to be constantly on edge. Lately those feelings have been getting stronger, and sometimes late at night when I’m alone in the apartment, watching TV or just lying in bed, I get so frightened that I can hardly stand it. You probably think I’m foolish, or insane, but it’s completely true. I’ve never talked to anyone about this, until now. It would be hard to explain without sounding like a crazy person, and they probably wouldn’t believe me, in any case.”

  She probably had a fight with her patron, and he’s tossing her out on her ear, Teppei thought cynically. Up ahead of them, on the left side of the road, a cluster of wooden grave markers came into sight, gleaming in the moonlight. Once again, Teppei laughed out loud. The things the woman had been saying were utterly outlandish, of course, but it still seemed like rather poor taste to introduce such topics while they were walking alongside a graveyard late at night.

  “I imagine we’ll be staying for a while,” he said. “I mean, sure, if we could save up and move to a better location in the near future, that would be nice. You know, someplace that didn’t have a graveyard or a crematorium next door?”

  “The sooner the better,” the woman said. “Seriously, I mean it. Do you know why I’m so soused right now? It’s not because of what went down at work. No, I do this every night. Do you understand what I’m saying? If I were sober, there’s no way in hell I could drag myself back to this awful place.”

  The apartment building, with its glass-walled entry, was now in sight, and Teppei’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to the eighth floor. Evidently Misao was still up, because a line of gilded light was seeping out along the entire length of the balcony. In Teppei’s mind, that warm glow evoked an image of their new apartment, safe and cozy and filled with the wholesome aroma of sunlight.

  A few minutes later, as they stood in front of the elevator, the woman looked up at Teppei with a sour expression on her face. “Oh, one more thing,” she said, “I refuse to go down into that nasty basement, ever. Do you use it at all?”

  “Well, we’ve been using it to store a few things, but…”

  “Wow, really? You must be completely fearless. Color me impressed.”

  The elevator arrived and they both got in. As she was pressing the button marked “5,” the woman said, “There’s something weird about that basement.” A demure hiccup escaped while she was speaking, and she reflexively clapped one hand over her mouth.

  “What do you mean, ‘weird’?” Teppei asked.

  “Like I said, it’s very hard to explain. It’s just—I felt it the first time I went down there. Something isn’t right.”

  “Rats? Mice? Spiders?” Teppei said playfully.

  “No, don’t be silly. It isn’t anything alive.”

  “Oh, then it must be goblins. Or maybe zombies?”

  “I know you’re joking but honestly, you could be right. I really don’t have a clue what’s down there, and I hope I never find out. All I know for sure is that it’s something seriously scary. In this creepy-ass building, that horrible hellhole is the creepiest place of all.”

  The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and the door opened. “This is the point where I would normally invite you in for a nightcap,” the woman said, twisting her head to look back at Teppei as she stepped out into the corridor. “But I guess there’s no point in even trying with someone like you who has a wife right here in the building. Thank you very much for everything tonight. You really saved my life.”

  Teppei raised his hand and gave a small wave. “Good night,” he said politely. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

  He worried for a fleeting moment that the woman might interpret that benign remark as veiled sarcasm, but it seemed unlikely that she would even remember their encounter when she woke up the next morning. The elevator doors closed and the lift continued its ascent.

  She was just a babbling drunk, and all those things she said about the building were nothing more than tasteless jokes, Teppei told himself. There was no way he was going to share the hostess’s kooky theories with his wife; they would only fuel Misao’s already strong dislike of the basement and might cause needless alarm. Yet at the same time, even though Ms. Harashima’s powers of rational thought had clearly been derailed by alcohol to the point where nearly everything she said was an unhinged fantasy, Teppei couldn’t say that he would never consider moving out. But to turn around and sell the apartment right away, when they had barely gotten settled? That would be a complete waste of money, time, and effort.

  The elevator stopped at the eighth floor, and the doors slid open. We’ve settled in a bright, comfortable space, Teppei thought as he stepped out. Things are different now. We’re no longer the same people we used t
o be.

  Suddenly, an old memory popped into his mind. When he was at university, two of his classmates had lucked into an astonishingly low-priced apartment rental. The pair—a close friend of Teppei’s and the woman he was living with—knew going in that the previous occupant had committed suicide in the unit, but they were both magnificently rational by nature. So when they discovered that the cupboards were still full of the deceased tenant’s tableware, they simply went ahead and used those plates and cups and dishes themselves.

  Teppei had visited the couple in that apartment any number of times, and it always struck him as a clean, cheerful, well-lighted place. His friends lived there in perfect harmony, and shortly after graduation they got married.

  That’s just the way it is, Teppei thought, as the memories filled him with feelings of nostalgic tenderness. We used to get together and play mahjong in that so-called problem apartment, where the previous tenant had hung himself because of unrequited love. No one ever thought about the fact that someone had committed suicide there. We were all too busy having fun, and figuring out how to pay our bills, and obsessing over our own love affairs. We didn’t have time to worry about some sad stranger who was dead and gone.

  Yes, he told himself, that’s how it is. Fear begets fear, and regret breeds more regret. Once you invite those emotions in, they will flourish in your damaged heart, like a kind of sickness, and you’ll start to feel perpetually dissatisfied with your situation, while your life force ebbs away and your mind becomes permanently warped. No regrets, no fear, no guilt, hard work, and a relentlessly positive attitude: That’s the recipe for a happy life.

  Arriving at his own front door, Teppei rang the bell. He could hear the musical chime resounding inside, and a moment later the interphone clicked on and Misao’s voice said, “Yes?”

  “It’s me.”

  There was the sound of a dead bolt clicking open and a security chain being removed, and then Misao’s face appeared in the open doorway. She looked as though she might have been asleep. “Welcome home,” she said.

  Smiling, Teppei stepped over the threshold into the apartment. It smelled like sunshine, and ease. As they built their life there together, day by day, that comfortable, homey aroma was permeating the walls and the ceiling.

  “It’s really warm out tonight, isn’t it?” Misao remarked, looking at Teppei across the dining table, which was strewn with papers and art supplies for her illustration work. “I’ll bet we could even open the windows, and it still wouldn’t be cold at all.” She walked over to the glass door that led to the balcony, and grasped the handle.

  Silently, Teppei crept up behind Misao and put his arms around her waist. Misao squealed in surprise, then began to laugh. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” she asked.

  Teppei nibbled gently at the nape of her neck. “I am Count Dracula, and I have come to make you mine,” he intoned in a guttural, melodramatic tone.

  Still giggling, Misao extricated one arm from Teppei’s embrace. “Hang on a sec,” she said. “Just let me open the door first.” After fiddling with the handle for a few seconds, she clicked her tongue in irritation. “It won’t budge,” she said. “I wonder what’s wrong.”

  With both arms still wrapped around his wife from behind, Teppei let out a mock-vampiric snarl—“Garrrh”—then continued in his normal voice, “Maybe it just froze in the mesmerizing presence of Count Dracula.”

  “Please stop fooling around,” Misao said, suddenly serious. “I’m not kidding. The door really won’t open.”

  Abruptly, Teppei released Misao and stepped forward. Grabbing the handle with both hands, he pulled as hard as he could. The glass door made a creaking sound and began to move jerkily along the rail. “It’s probably just shoddy construction.” Teppei sighed. “I’ll put some wax on the rails tomorrow.”

  Exchanging a glance, Teppei and Misao shrugged their shoulders. Then, as though nothing unusual had happened, they stepped out onto the balcony and took a deep breath of the fresh, blossom-scented night air.

  7

  April 20, 1987

  It was early afternoon: time for the junior kindergarten class to go home. As Tamao ran out through the gate, Misao, who was waiting outside, noticed right away that the top of her daughter’s head was covered with sand. Tamao’s soft, wavy hair was liberally sprinkled with grains of sand all the way down to the curly ends, as well.

  Tamao didn’t offer a word of explanation, but she seemed to be laughing louder than usual and skipping around with excessive energy. From time to time, when she thought her mother wasn’t looking, she would surreptitiously try to brush some of the sand out of her hair.

  Welcome to the group dynamic, Misao thought with a silent, rueful chuckle. It looks as if the hazing has already begun.

  No doubt about it: Tamao had been on the receiving end of some mean-spirited teasing. Misao was impressed to see that there were no traces of tears on Tamao’s face. My strong, brave daughter, she thought proudly.

  Misao made no attempt to extract an explanation from Tamao on the way home. She had decided right away that it would be best to simply wait until Tamao was ready to share what had happened, of her own volition.

  After they got home, Tamao began to gobble her lunch—spaghetti doused with ketchup, and a salad of lettuce and tomatoes—with evident relish, but halfway through she suddenly put down her fork and burst out crying in a way that suggested she had been struggling to hold back the tears for a long time. A livid mixture of ketchup mixed with saliva dribbled from her little mouth.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie? Come on, tell Mama all about it,” Misao coaxed.

  “Somebody threw sand on me.” Tamao sobbed through great gusts of tears. “I was playing in the sandbox, and one of the big boys came along and threw sand on me. And on Kaori, too.”

  “Was the boy one of the kids from the senior kindergarten class?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But why did he only throw sand on you and Kaori?”

  “I don’t know. He just kept saying ‘Graveyard apartment kids, graveyard apartment kids,’ and throwing tons of sand all over us.”

  “Graveyard apartment?”

  “Uh-huh. Mama, what does ‘graveyard apartment’ mean?”

  It’s clearly a reference to the fact that someone put an apartment building smack-dab in the middle of a graveyard, Misao thought, with a sudden rush of anger. The parents of the older boy must have come up with that derogatory phrase; she was certain of that. She could imagine them gossiping around the neighborhood: “Have you seen that new building, right next to the graveyard? I wouldn’t be caught dead living in a place like that. Ha, ha.”

  “It’s just because we live in a building that’s near a cemetery. That’s why someone decided to give it that silly kind of nickname,” Misao said in a carefully flat, unemotional tone. There are some really poor excuses for parents out there, she thought. The day will come when they’ll be needing a graveyard themselves, and it’s simply unconscionable that they would teach their small children to believe a cemetery is something to be discriminated against, or feared.

  “Our house—this building—is next to a graveyard, right? Most likely, the boy who was teasing you and Kaori is afraid of graves. I think what he really wanted to say was that you girls are very brave to be able to live in a place that seems so scary to him, but he couldn’t put that into words and so he just ended up throwing sand at you instead. It isn’t worth crying about, though. If it happens again, you should just tell him, ‘We aren’t afraid of graveyards, at all!’”

  “But he threw sand on us!” Tamao said, wiping her tears away with one hand. “And then Kaori threw a rock at him, and all three of us got scolded by the teacher.”

  Misao let out an involuntary chortle, then said soberly, “Listen to me, Tamao. You need to be tough enough to deal with that kind of thing. Okay?”

  “I hate it,” Tamao said, blowing her nose into the tissue her mother had offered her.

&n
bsp; “Hate what?”

  “Living near a graveyard.”

  “Oh, because you were teased about it?”

  “Unh-unh. I was already thinking that I hate this place, from before.”

  “You’re saying you don’t like our new home?”

  Tamao stopped to think for a moment, then raised her big, round eyes to her mother and asked, “Do you like it here, Mama?”

  “Hmm,” Misao said, picking up a fork and beginning to poke at a piece of tomato Tamao had left on her salad plate. “You know what? I really do like it here. It’s quiet, and all the greenery is very pretty. And when the cherry blossoms are in bloom, we don’t have to make a special flower-viewing trip. Don’t you think it’s kind of special that we can just look out our own windows and see lots of cherry blossoms, without having to ride on a train? Cookie enjoys living here, for sure, and it’s a great place for taking walks.”

  “That’s very true,” Tamao acknowledged in a startlingly grown-up manner, nodding her head sagely. “To tell you the truth, I like it here, too. It’s much more fun than the place we used to live.” She smiled faintly and got up from the dining table. Cookie came flying in from the other room and began eagerly licking the remnants of ketchup and tears from Tamao’s fingers.

  It was about an hour later when Eiko Inoue turned up with Kaori at her side. The moment Misao opened the door, Eiko stormed in. “Did you hear?” she demanded. “Did Tamao tell you about the sand-throwing incident?” Her face was contorted into an expression of outraged dismay.

  “Yes, I did.” Misao nodded casually, as if it were no big thing. “I’m really proud of Kaori and Tamao. It sounds like they stood up to a big bully and gave as good as they got.”

  “Yes, I got that impression, too, but…” Eiko flared her tiny nostrils. “I mean, it’s just so mean—calling our children ‘graveyard apartment kids’! Have you ever heard anything more insulting? I asked Tsutomu about it, and he told me that the boy who was throwing sand spends a lot of time with his grandmother, and she’s the one who takes him back and forth to school. Apparently the family has been living in this area for generations. Anyway, it’s clear to me that the grandmother is the one who’s been running around saying nasty things about our building.”