The Graveyard Apartment

by Mariko Koike

  She decided to ring Eiko Inoue instead. When Eiko lifted the receiver, Misao could hear the euphoric voices of Tamao and Kaori in the background, along with that of a slightly older male child: Kaori’s older brother, Tsutomu.

  “The kids are having a great time,” Eiko said. “Until a while ago they were running around outside and riding the trike in the basement, but now they’re playing trains all over our apartment. How’s it going on your end?”

  “I’m afraid I may be a little bit late,” Misao said. “I’m just about to leave the Ginza now.” Then she added, with studied casualness, “So, I guess you were down in the basement, too, with the kids?”

  “No, I stayed up here to do some vacuuming. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, um, no special reason. I just wondered. Well, I’m going to head for home now. I’ll be grateful if you could look after Tamao for a little while longer.”

  After hanging up, Misao was overcome by a feeling of deep uneasiness verging on displeasure. Eiko Inoue was very loose and easygoing, and her laid-back attitude was an undeniable part of her charm, but to let small children play unattended in a basement—and a basement with no egress apart from an elevator, to boot—while the adult in charge was upstairs? Misao found that kind of behavior impossible to understand.

  That dreadful basement, she thought anxiously as she walked rapidly toward the train station. I mean, you never know what could happen. It’s the kind of place where a pervert could sneak in from outside and then lie in wait, hidden in the shadows. And to let little kids run around down there, without supervision! There’s no way to sugarcoat it: Eiko’s approach is simply too careless and relaxed for my taste. And I’m just so creeped out by those absurdly large white storage lockers, lined up so neatly in rows down there. They remind me of something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Oh, wait, now I know: they look like giant coffins!

  Misao gave an involuntary shiver. For some reason it hadn’t struck her until now, but there was something distinctly coffinlike about the storage lockers. Not coffins for human beings; they were much too big for that. No, those lockers looked like containers that had been specially designed to house the remains of some kind of strange, monstrous creatures.

  Not long after they moved in, Teppei had gone down to explore the basement. He returned full of praise for the convenience of the storage lockers, but Misao had flatly refused to make use of them, even then. When Teppei asked for an explanation of her negative feelings about the basement, she had found it difficult to express in words.

  “Well, for example, what if Tamao somehow ended up playing alone in the basement and there was a power outage?” she’d said after a pause. “It would be pitch-black, and the elevators wouldn’t be running, so our daughter would be stuck down there all alone. And who’s to say that a child molester might not wander in the front door and find his way to the basement? It’s just the kind of place where psychopaths like to lurk, waiting to prey on little girls, and there’s no guarantee that someone like that wouldn’t just stroll in from outside, take the elevator down to the basement, and wait for his chance. I know that’s kind of far-fetched, but stranger things have happened,” she concluded lamely.

  “Wow,” Teppei had laughed. “If you’re going to take your fantasies to that level, you may as well start living in fear of all the calamitous things that could happen every day when I go to work. I mean, the possibilities are endless: train wrecks, heart attacks, hit-and-run accidents, earthquakes, high-rise fires … and, of course, you never know when some random lunatic might just run up to me on the street and stab me in the back, for no reason!”

  In the end, Misao allowed Teppei to have the last word, and she agreed (albeit with undisguised reluctance) that they could utilize the storage locker assigned to their unit: 801. Teppei immediately began hauling things down to the basement—mostly old magazines that might theoretically come in handy someday and empty beer bottles, which could just as well have been tossed in the trash. “This is great,” he exulted. “It’s unbelievably convenient!” He and Misao each had a key to the locker, but while Teppei made frequent trips to the basement, Misao never joined him unless it was absolutely necessary, and she never went down alone.

  When people talk about not getting along, they’re usually referring to interpersonal relationships, but as far as Misao was concerned, she and the basement were terminally incompatible. Maybe there’s such a thing as not hitting it off with an inanimate object, she thought, trying to analyze her reaction. If she was honest with herself, there was no “maybe” about it. She simply hated the basement, for reasons she couldn’t explain.

  * * *

  Misao got off the train at Takaino Station. After stopping at a nearby supermarket to pick up a few ingredients for the quick, easy dinner she had planned, she walked back to the Central Plaza Mansion. Standing in the hallway in front of the Inoues’ unit, 402, she was pleased to hear the sound of children at play inside the apartment. Even as she was breathing a sigh of relief, Misao realized the absurdity of her fantasies, and she very nearly laughed out loud.

  There must be something wrong with me, she thought. I mean, seeing those standard-issue storage units as coffins for monsters?! It was just an ordinary basement, filled with ordinary storage lockers. Children had the ability to enjoy playing in all kinds of places—in a storehouse, inside a car, even in some fetid drainage ditch with mosquito larvae floating around—so it was only natural that they would be drawn to the wide-open spaces of the basement.

  Misao rang the bell, and a minute later Eiko opened the door. The entire apartment was filled with the aroma of ripe bananas. The three children came running, and a huge smile spread across Tamao’s face, which was flushed pink from all the activity and excitement. “Mama!” she cried. “You’re back!”

  “Yes, and I’m really glad to be home,” Misao said, still hesitating on the doorstep. “Have you been behaving yourself?”

  “Yes, I’ve been very good. And Kaori’s mom made us banana juice!”

  “Oh, what a treat!”

  “Also, you know what? Kaori was saying that…”

  As Tamao prattled on, Eiko—who was standing just behind her—beckoned to Misao. “Won’t you come in for a few minutes?” she asked. “One of the resident managers stopped by a while ago, and we’re having ourselves a tea party.”

  When Misao peeked inside, she saw the female half of the building’s team of caretakers. Mitsue Tabata was sitting at the dining table, her lips working furiously in an apparent effort to finish chewing the food in her mouth as quickly as possible before she had to speak.

  The Tabatas didn’t have any children, and Mitsue paid frequent visits to the Inoues’ apartment on a variety of pretexts, perhaps because she had too much time on her hands. Or maybe she had simply taken a shine to Eiko’s contagiously ebullient personality.

  When Misao walked into the apartment, Mitsue Tabata stood up, hastily wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Well, well, isn’t this nice,” she said, inclining her head in the requisite bow. The resident manager was probably in her late fifties, but she looked at least ten years older. Her face struck Misao as rather extraordinary: large and squarish, with oversized eyes and a nose and mouth to match. Misao sensed something a trifle malicious about the expression in those big eyes, but it was easy to imagine that when she was younger, people might have flattered this person by telling her that she bore a slight resemblance to the famous French actress Simone Signoret. Well, maybe, Misao thought uncharitably. But only if that gorgeous actress was playing the role of a woman who was transformed into a wicked witch, in some long-forgotten horror movie.

  “So you were out working, Mrs. Kano? That’s really admirable,” Mitsue Tabata said in an affable tone.

  Misao nodded. Tamao was clinging to her, and Misao reached down and gave her daughter’s hand a gentle pat.

  “So how did your big meeting go?” Eiko asked, as she poured out a cup of coffee for Misao and refilled the other two cup
s, as well.

  “It went fine,” Misao said, sliding into a chair. “It looks as if assignments should be coming in on a fairly regular basis, starting next month.”

  “That’s great, isn’t it?” Eiko enthused. “It almost makes me feel like doing something, too, although when push comes to shove I’m just a lot of talk and no action. For my type of personality, it’s a better fit to run around the house all day yelling at the children, or sit and daydream over glamorous photos in magazines. I guess that’s just the way I am.”

  Eiko sat down at the table, next to Misao, and her face assumed the gleefully conspiratorial expression that precedes a machine-gun blast of gossip. “Hey, did you hear the news? Mrs. Tabata was telling me before you came, but anyway, it looks like this building’s going to be turning into a ghost town over the next couple of months.”

  “A ghost town?” Misao paused with her cup in midair.

  “Well, more or less. I mean, for starters, the people in 201 moved out the other day, right? And apparently our neighbor in 401 is going to be leaving in April. This is the real shocker, though: in May, three tenants are moving out. Hang on a tick. Which apartments were they again, Mrs. T.?”

  “That would be Ms. Harashima in 502, and the Yoshinos in 602, and the Yadas in 701,” Mitsue Tabata replied, and her facial expression—avid, yet slightly sheepish—seemed to say, Look, I can’t help it if I hear all the juicy gossip about the residents of this building, and get a kick out of sharing it. “Ms. Harashima is a hostess at a bar in Shinjuku,” she went on, obviously enjoying the attention, “and Mr. and Mrs. Yoshino are both high school teachers. The Yadas are two sisters who live together. They both work as aerobics instructors, and—”

  “That’s right, those three apartments,” Eiko interrupted decisively, as if to wrest the conversational baton from Mitsue’s grasp. “So if you add the office in 201, which has already been vacated, and 401, which will be empty in April, the bottom line is that by May, five apartments will be vacant, in addition to the ones that were unoccupied when we moved in. Yikes.”

  “I forgot to mention that the man in 401 is called Mr. Shoji,” Mitsue said. “He does something with yoga and Indian philosophy—what do they call it, meditation? Apparently he’s an expert on that sort of thing, and he owns an institute where they offer yoga classes and so on.”

  When Mitsue stopped talking, Eiko immediately hopped back onto her own train of thought. “So anyway, do you see what that means, bottom line?” she asked dramatically, looking at Misao. “By the end of May the only occupied apartments will be ours and yours—and, of course, the ground-floor unit where the Tabatas live.”

  “But why would everyone leave en masse like that?” Misao asked.

  Eiko lowered her voice, even though Tamao and the other children were now playing in another room and there was no danger of being overheard.

  “From what I’ve heard, every single one of them had a problem with the setting,” she said. “I mean, look, this building is more or less surrounded by a graveyard and a crematorium and a temple where funerals are held, right? It’s, like, wall-to-wall reminders of death. Why would anyone choose to live in a place like this, long-term, if they had other options?”

  “But then why even move here in the first place, if they were just going to turn around and leave after a few months?”

  “That’s a good question,” Mitsue said. “It isn’t so surprising with the people who are just renting from month to month, but even the residents who bought their units only a short while ago seem to be wanting to get out as quickly as possible. I guess they’re thinking it would be easier to find buyers while the building is still nice and new.”

  “I see,” Misao said, trying to digest the news. She was happy to hear that the Inoues, at least, were planning to stick around, but that didn’t keep her from feeling uneasy at the thought of living in a building that wouldn’t even be half full. For one thing, without the safety of numbers the remaining residents could be more vulnerable to burglary, and accidents, and so on.

  “Good lord, what have we gotten ourselves into?” she said out loud. “At this rate, when we do decide to sell, we won’t just be unable to make a profit, we could even end up losing money. Buying a unit in this building is starting to look like a huge mistake.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, before too long a new batch of people will start to move in, and the building will come to life again,” Mitsue said reassuringly, as she took a sip of coffee and blinked her exceptionally large eyes. “After all is said and done, this location really is incredibly convenient. Right now this building is kind of a well-kept secret, that’s all. As for the surroundings, they’re really quite lovely if you can just overlook the graveyard. You may not have heard about this, but somebody was telling me the other day that at one point there was actually a plan to build an underground shopping area between Takaino Station and South Takaino Station—you know, the little station that serves the private railway line?”

  Eiko opened her eyes in surprise. “Really? That’s news to me. So, what’s the scoop?”

  “Well, these days the area around the north exit of Takaino Station is a thriving shopping area, but apparently there was a time, many years ago, when the south side of the district was where the action was, and it was even livelier than the north side is now. Add to that the fact that it isn’t a very long walk from the main Japan Rail station to South Takaino Station, and some municipal developers evidently decided it would make sense to create an underground road lined with shops to connect the two stations. From what I heard, they figured an underground shopping mall would attract customers from farther downtown, as well, although that could have been wishful thinking.”

  “Huh.” Eiko sounded amazed. “What time frame are we talking about?”

  “Well, this is just what my husband heard from the lady proprietor of a bar near the station that’s been there forever, but I gathered it was sometime in the 1960s. Maybe 1964 or thereabouts? I’m not sure. Anyhow, they got as far as starting the underground excavation, and then the project was shut down.”

  “Why? What happened?” Misao asked. Instead of replying, Mitsue burst into mirthless laughter, as if to disguise the fact that she really didn’t know very many details.

  “I’m just guessing now,” Mitsue admitted, “but maybe the loan they got wasn’t enough to cover the expenses? Or else maybe the merchants down at the north end were unhappy about the prospect of competition and made such a big fuss that the project was abandoned?”

  “So they went to all the trouble of digging an underground hole up to some point between the two stations, and then they filled it back in when the project fell through?” Eiko inquired.

  “I’m not too clear about that,” Mitsue replied. “It wouldn’t be safe to leave a big gaping hole like that, so I imagine it would have been filled in.”

  “It’s a shame it didn’t work out,” Misao said. “If they had been able to build that underground shopping mall, the land value around here would have shot up, and maybe the temple would have been forced to move the graveyard to another location.”

  “That’s a good point,” Mitsue nodded. “Yes, if things had gone differently, this entire area could have been unbelievably prosperous right about now.”

  “But instead we get to live near an abandoned underground shopping street,” Eiko remarked to Misao, twisting her features into an exaggeratedly jocular expression. “There’s nobody around except us, and of course there are no underground shops. All that’s left is a phantom road to nowhere … I mean, if that road really does exist, it could be interesting. You know, like those stories you hear about the sewer system in New York City, where people flush baby alligators down the toilet, and then those creatures somehow survive and grow up to be enormous, and they’re all running around under the city streets? I mean, maybe something could be living in that big underground hole! Hey, Tsutomu?” Eiko raised her voice and called out to her son, who was playing nearby. “What was
the name of that TV program we were watching the other night? You know, the one where a giant crocodile was chasing people all over the place, like Godzilla or a dinosaur or something?”

  “The show was called Alligator,” Tsutomu said complacently. “That’s another name for crocodile, of course. You really didn’t know that, Mama?”

  “Of course I did,” Eiko said. Then she added, laughing, “This kid cracks me up. He’s at the stage where his idea of fun is trying to make his mother look like a fool.”

  Eiko’s phrase, “phantom road to nowhere,” stayed with Misao, fermenting deep inside her mind like some kind of fetid psychic sediment. Whether or not the urban legends about reptiles running amok belowground were true, the mere idea that the remnants of a subterranean hole might still be in place near this building seemed utterly absurd. At the same time, there was something surreally amusing about the image of a busy shopping area beneath the temple and the cemetery, where merchants would hang their “AMAZING BARGAINS!” banners from a ceiling that was only separated by a thin layer of wood and plaster from the decaying bones of human beings.

  After making desultory chitchat, Misao said her good-byes and left the Inoues’ apartment with Tamao in tow. Mitsue Tabata was all smiles as she saw them off, but she showed no signs of being ready to leave herself.

  Misao and Tamao were in the elevator, going up, when Tamao suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, no!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I left something behind! I took off my cardigan, and then I forgot to put it back on again.”

  “Where did you leave it? At Kaori’s house?”

  “Uh-uh. In the basement.”

  “No worries,” Misao said. “I’ll go down and get it later.” She suppressed the words she really wanted to say: I wish you wouldn’t play down there too often … or at all. As Teppei had pointed out more than once, constantly nagging Tamao or giving her too many rules to follow was not the way to go. You had to let children get a few scrapes and bruises, and deal with some unpleasant experiences; that was a natural part of growing up. It was their duty as parents to try to avoid burdening their daughter with a long list of taboos derived from their own fears and concerns.