'Oh dear, someone's getting on.'
That someone, thought Yoshimi, must have called the elevator from one of the floors below before she pushed the button at her end. Whoever it was had to be on the ground floor, actually. No doubt it was one of those men living alone on the fifth or sixth floor coming home drunk. It was already past one o'clock in the morning. Her horror of being harassed by a drunk made her resent the cramped elevator itself, which offered her no means of escape. As the elevator began its descent, the scorched buttons began to light in succession.
The elevator came to a sudden halt. She looked up at the row of numbers indicating the floor. It had stopped at two.
…Why the second floor?
She braced herself. She'd never get used to riding elevators late at night; it was a nerve-wracking experience. The doors opened, but no one was waiting for the elevator. Yoshimi gasped, made her way slowly forward, then peered outside, scanning both sides twice. The dark deserted passage seemed to stretch on to infinity. Obviously, there was no one there. Who on earth then, had summoned the elevator? The doors started to slide shut automatically. Yoshimi stepped back reflexively. Yet, the second before the door had shut completely, she was quite certain that she sensed a presence steal swiftly into the elevator. Maybe it was just her imagination, but the temperature in the confined space of the elevator seemed to have dropped suddenly. She was not alone in the elevator; there was something else with her. She felt someone's breath on her abdomen, the kind that turns white on a cold winter's day.
The elevator made its ascent, then stopped at the seventh floor.
When she reached the landing of the staircase leading to the rooftop from the seventh floor, Yoshimi turned on the lights of the penthouse. Two fluorescent tubes on the ceiling flickered to life. Encouraged by the light, Yoshimi bounded up the staircase to the rooftop.
She pushed the door wide open and left it there so that the fluorescent lighting would spill out to the roof.
'Ikuko!' she called.
No matter how much she strained her eyes, she couldn't locate the small figure she sought. She looked down from the western edge of the rooftop, but the light of the street-lamps along the road did not show the dark stain that would signal tragedy. She heaved a sigh of relief. Ikuko hadn't fallen to her death. The northern, southern, and eastern sides of the building all had balconies protruding on the seventh floor. Even if Ikuko had fallen, the fall wouldn't be fatal.
Where did she go?
Yoshimi's stomach threatened to rise to her gorge. Who knew? Ikuko could be somewhere in the apartment. Was it too much to hope? Such thoughts passed through her mind as she looked back at the penthouse. The white fluorescent light spilled out onto the rooftop. Immediately above the penthouse sat the creamy-skinned overhead water tank, held aloft by a turret of iron poles. Bathed in light from beneath, the coffin shaped body protruded straight up in the center of the clear night sky, holding water within its walls. This was where the household water was collected and stored before being fed to each of the apartments below.
Two cord-like objects could be seen swaying in the shadows of iron poles that supported the overhead tank. Straining her eyes further, Yoshimi was just able to make out a tiny shadow playing under the tank. It puzzled her that she could only see the shadow, but not the object casting it. The image she began to conjure up in her mind was that of a little girl crouching directly beneath the overhead water tower.
'Ikuko, is that you?'
There was no reply. To search the top of the penthouse, she'd have to scale the perpendicular aluminium ladder set in the concrete wall of the penthouse. It was a vertical climb of more than six feet that would fully engage both her hands and feet. Though such a climb, crawling spider like up the side of a wall, would normally be difficult for someone of Yoshimi's delicate build, she hauled herself up, fuelled by the desperate desire to get a look at what was up there. No more than halfway up, she looked down to gauge how far she had climbed. She spied a dark object lodged in the darkness of the drain that ran the length of the penthouse wall. It was just where it had been the night before, where she had swept it from Ikuko's grasp and caused it to roll away. Yoshimi's mind began to race in confusion. Something didn't fit. She was missing some essential point.
It couldn 't have been Ikuko!
Her right foot almost missed a step as this realization came to her. It could not have been Ikuko who'd come up to the seventh floor in the elevator; her daughter was too short to be able to reach the button for the seventh floor. A shiver ran down Yoshimi's spine. As she looked up she saw the shadow gaining greater substance. There could be no doubt that someone or something was up there. She heard the joints in her legs crack from the strain.
If it wasn't her daughter, who was it?
She only needed to heave herself up a little further to have her entire face level with the upper edge. Yet her courage failed her. All kinds of images flashed one after another in her mind's eye. Her body stiffened, making it difficult to climb up or down.
At that instant, she heard the voice that she most longed to hear, calling out from directly beneath her.
'Mommy.'
Yoshimi's strength nearly left her. Her exhaustion was so great that it was all she could do to keep her hands and feet from losing their hold on the aluminum ladder. Her jaw pressing against her left armpit, she saw Ikuko standing there in pyjamas.
'Mommy? What are you doing up there?'
There was a hint of reproach in Ikuko's tearful question.
In the morning, she led her daughter by the hand to the elevator at the usual time. Once in the elevator, she noticed that the straining sound of the elevator cable was subtly different from how it had sounded late last night, although she couldn't articulate the exact change. All she could say was that the light of day had brought a totally different nuance to the noise. Yoshimi unconsciously tightened her grip on Ikuko's hand.
Yoshimi had spent a sleepless night during which she had repeatedly asked herself whether Ikuko had lied, or whether her own behaviour had been the impulsive result of an obsessive delusion.
Ikuko had insisted that she'd been in the bathroom when her mother had inexplicably dashed out of doors. 'You can't imagine how hard it was to go up the stairs to the rooftop by myself! What on earth were you doing there?' her daughter had said.
Seeing her mother clinging to the wall of the penthouse, Ikuko's heart had pounded violently as if to prove that she'd just rushed up the stairs. The anger in her voice came from the terror of having been left alone. As an infant, she would always cry hysterically if she ever woke up to find herself alone. She couldn't possibly have been feigning all this. It must have happened just as Ikuko said it had. Yoshimi had rushed out into the passage without thinking that her daughter might have gone to the bathroom without turning the light on. The numbers on the elevator floor indicator had put the notion of the rooftop in her head. In the absence of any other possible interpretation, she had to take her daughter's word for it. While she was ashamed over having behaved like a possessed woman, something still failed to convince her. Why did the elevator stop at the second floor? There had been nobody there. Yoshimi remembered quite distinctly the presence that had sneaked into the elevator. She remembered the moment the warm air had turned chilly inside the elevator.
As soon as the elevator doors slid open on the ground floor, Yoshimi took in the morning sun as it streamed all the way to the centre of the lobby. The powerful rays of the sun seemed to banish the morbid aura of the night before. She spied the super ahead of her, broom in hand.
'Morning, ma'am,' he greeted her with a broad smile.
Yoshimi tried to walk past, avoiding his gaze and with only a token greeting. But changing her mind, she stopped and said, 'Excuse me.'
'Ah, if it's about that bag…' he offered.
'No, it's not that.' There was something else on her mind that Yoshimi didn't know whether to ask him about or not.
He no longer held h
is broom upright, and his hand hung casually by his side as he turned to Ikuko and asked affably, 'You'll be on your way to nursery school, then?'
'It's nothing to do with me, I know, but you mentioned that the family that used to live on the second floor suffered some kind of tragedy. What exactly was it that
Yoshimi let her inquiry trail off unfinished. The super reined in the cheery smile, contriving an expression more suited to recounting the misfortunes of others.
'Ah, that? Well, it all happened two years ago. The little girl was about the same age as little Ikuko is now. She was playing somewhere around here and went missing, you see.'
Yoshimi placed her hands on Ikuko's shoulders and pulled her daughter closer to her.
'When you say that she went missing, do you mean she was kidnapped?'
The super leaned his head to one side. 'I don't think it was done for a ransom. You see, the police turned it into an open criminal investigation.'
As long as there was a possibility that a kidnapping had been committed with a view to financial gain, the police conducted its investigation with utmost secrecy. But as soon as that possibility was ruled out, they usually launched a public investigation and announced it to the media. That way they could obtain more information faster.
'So you're saying that they
The super shook his head. 'They never found her. For. nearly a year, the parents never gave up hope that she'd return. In any case, when there was that move to buy up the apartments, it was Mr and Mrs Kawai on the second floor who objected most. They felt that if the apartment block were demolished, their daughter would have no place to return to. But in the end, they probably did give up hope. At any rate, they moved to Yokohama last summer.'
'They were called Kawai, the family?'
'Yes, that's right. Mitchan - that was the little girl's name - she was a lovely little girl. There are some evil people in the world, and that's a fact.'
'Did you say "Mitchan"?'
'Her name was Mitsuko; we called her Mitchan.'
Mi, Mitchan, Mitsuko… the imaginary playmate that Ikuko was talking to in the bath. It all began to take shape, to fit into place, with that name. That column-like figure that Ikuko had fashioned out of a soaked hand towel and set up in the middle of the washbasin, the figure resembling a road side jizo statue that Ikuko had chattered to like a friend, the figure that her daughter had called Mitsuko.
Yoshimi felt the blood drain from her face. Placing her hands on her temples, she sought support against the wall, and slowly let out a deep breath.
'Is anything the matter?'
She tried to deflect the super's concern by glancing at her watch. There was no time to explain. If they didn't hurry they'd miss their bus. She gave a slight bow in the direction of the super and quickly left the lobby.
To learn more, she could take advantage of the odd spare moment at work to go through the newspaper archives on microfiche. Even without an exact date, she was sure to find an article concerning the disappearance of a small girl named Mitsuko Kawai without difficulty if she looked meticulously through the newspapers from two years ago. From what the super had said, it seemed clear that Mitsuko hadn't been found. She had probably either been abducted by some pervert or had fallen into the canal. Either way, the poor girl no doubt lay dead and undiscovered somewhere.
About eight o'clock in the evening that day, Yoshimi had just turned on the hot water for a bath when the telephone rang. She let the water run and hurried into the living room to pick up the phone.
It was from the super's office. 'You'll have to forgive me. I've gone and sprained my left ankle.'
The super's remark made no sense to Yoshimi, who was at a loss to reply with anything but an 'Oh.' She had no idea why he was calling. It was only after giving an account of how he sustained the injury to his foot that he finally got to the point.
There's a delivery for you.'
She finally caught his drift. The super would often accept her home deliveries because she was seldom home during the day. Usually he brought the deliveries up to her. What he was driving at was that his sprained ankle prevented him from doing so. If the package required urgent attention, he wanted to ask if she'd mind coming down to his office to collect it herself. She knew whom the delivery was from, and it was nothing that couldn't wait. Still, she thanked the super for his trouble and, before putting the phone down, told him she was coming right away.
Upon reaching the super's office, she saw that there was a cardboard box on the counter. The super stood with his elbows on the box. As she thought, it was from her friend Hiromi. Hiromi had a daughter who would soon be starting elementary school, and she had kindly taken the trouble to send Ikuko the clothes and shoes that her daughter had outgrown.
She found the box surprisingly heavy and could understand why it had been too much for the super with his sprained ankle.
'Is your ankle all right?' She affected concern by drawing her eyebrows together.
'Nature's way of telling a foolish old man he's not as young as he used to be.' The super laughed as he said this and betrayed signs that he wanted her to ask him how he had sprained his ankle.
However, Yoshimi's interest lay elsewhere. During the day, she had gone to her firm's archives to look through all the newspapers dated between July and October of the year before last. She had not succeeded in finding any article that reported Mitsuko's case. Yoshimi found 'the year before last' not precise enough for her liking. She wanted an exact date.
She didn't really expect the old man to remember, but she tried asking all the same.
'Just a minute/ he replied as he checked inside the counter, bending down awkwardly. He brought out a thick battered notebook and thumped it down on the countertop.
The cover bore the words 'Superintendent's Log' in thick black felt pen. Apparently he was in the habit of recording each day's events in the logbook so he could furnish his employer with some kind of report. The super muttered to himself as he licked his finger and turned the pages.
'Yes, here we are. Look.'
He turned the notebook upside down and slid it across to her. The page was dated March 17th two years ago. It was now September, so, to be precise, they were not talking about something that happened two years ago, but rather, two and a half years ago. Even the time of day was recorded in the notebook. The authorities had concluded that there was no further justification for handling the disappearance of Mitsuko Kawai of apartment 205 as a case of financially motivated abduction and consequently turned the investigation into an open inquiry, at 11.30 p.m. Yoshimi committed the exact date and time to memory. As she was about to return the notebook to the super, an image of that flesh coloured overhead water tank flashed through her mind, though she didn't know why. No doubt the image had come through an association with some word or words. What had set it off were the following words, written higher up under the same date heading of March 17th.
Cleaning operations performed on intake tank and overhead tank. Water inspection conducted.
There it was - the overhead tank.
This was the same overhead tank that floated like a giant coffin in the starry night sky. The cleaning operations in question had been performed on the same day Mitsuko Kawai had gone missing. Two cleaners hired by the building management had come and worked inside the water tank.
Yoshimi let out an inaudible scream.
The water tank…' Yoshimi paused to take a breath. 'Is the lid of the tank usually kept locked?'
The super tilted his head to one side, puzzled as to why Yoshimi had turned the conversation to the water tank. But when he saw the entry in his own log about the cleaning operations, a look of satisfaction registered on his face.
'Ah, this? Yes, under normal circumstances, it's kept carefully locked.'
'When is the tank opened? Only when it's cleaned?'
'Of course, of course.'
Yoshimi put her hands around the cardboard box. 'Has the tank been cleaned since?'
'Ehh, we don't have a maintenance association here, so it's
'Has it been cleaned?' she repeated, unable to bottle her impatience.
'Well, it's about time they got down it again. It's been two years.'
'I see.'
Lifting the box, Yoshimi staggered backwards and reeled out of the office. So unsteady was her gait that it was a wonder she made it back to her apartment without stumbling.
Being careful not to touch the water in the bathtub, she pulled out the plug and watched the water level drop gradually. She no longer felt like taking a bath. Ikuko had plaintively asked again and again why they couldn't take a bath that day. Her persistence had seemed unending; only a minute ago had she finally fallen asleep. To all appearances, the water looked perfectly clean. Yet Yoshimi couldn't but picture the particles floating in it.
She opened the kitchen cupboard, took out the bottle of sake she kept there for cooking, and poured herself a glass. Although alcohol did not really agree with her, she felt that she was not likely to get any sleep without it that night.
She made an effort to think about something else. The novel by that writer of violent fiction, the novel she was proofreading at work, would do as well as anything else to occupy her thoughts. What she needed to do was to recall some of those appalling scenes and thereby sever the chain of associations. Yet this just wasn't possible; the swelling images always converged on one point. The red bag with the Kitty motif that was found on the rooftop, the missing child Mitsuko, the fleeting shadow under the tank, the mysterious stop made by the elevator at the second floor. The evening before, a thin stream of water had linked the bathroom in their apartment with the overhead water tank on the roof. Immersed in the bathwater, Ikuko had been talking openly to Mitsuko as if she were actually there. All this led to a sole conclusion. Yoshimi forced herself to block out this train of thought with a scene from the novel she'd been proofing. In that fictitious world thick with the stench of gore, a punk had been abducted and confined by a rival gang, who were subjecting him to a series of brutal beatings, when purely by coincidence… Yes, that was it: she should think of it as a coincidence. The overhead water tank just happened to be cleaned the very day little Mitsuko disappeared. How absurd to think it could have been anything other than coincidence. Yes, now that she thought about it, every part of it could be explained rationally. In the case of the Kitty bag, neighbourhood children had put it on the rooftop in some kind of ritual, out of some childlike fancy, perhaps to signal a UFO. No doubt the children had seen the bag in the garbage dump, retrieved it, then quickly returned it to the rooftop. The elevator had stopped at the second floor quite simply because someone living on that floor had pressed the button with the intent of going down. When the elevator started dithering at the fourth floor, however, he or she had clearly lost patience and decided to walk down the stairway. That was why there hadn't been anyone waiting when the door opened.