Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [14]
The day passed by in a blur. When Wataru got home, Kuniko was in the living room, having draped laundry for ironing over every available surface. Her hands moved mechanically as she smoothed out dress shirts and pants, her eyes glued to the television the entire time. She didn’t have to look, she never made a crease. Akira always said she was the only person he knew who could make ironing a performance art.
Wataru’s usual homecoming routine was to call out a perfunctory “Hi, Mom, I’m home,” and go straight to his room. But this time he stopped, and spoke to his mom. “Have you heard anything lately about that haunted building next to the Mihashi Shrine?”
“Sorry?” she said, not turning around. It was unlikely she had even heard what he said.
“That half-built building, the one being put up by Daimatsu Properties, or someone. Have you heard that Mr. Daimatsu has a daughter in junior high?”
Kuniko slapped the creases out of a dress-shirt collar while shaking her head. “No, I hadn’t heard that.” For the briefest of moments she wrenched her gaze away from the television and looked down at her hands. Her fingertips ran along the collar, found a stray thread, picked it up, and threw it to the floor. She looked back to the television.
“Maybe your friend, the one whose husband is the real estate agent, would know something?”
Kuniko didn’t answer. She was watching an afternoon soap opera. On the screen, the heroine opened an unlocked apartment door and stepped inside a darkened room. A body was lying on the floor. She screamed and a commercial came on. At last, Kuniko looked up at Wataru. “What? Did you say something?”
Wataru almost went to ask again, but then felt suddenly like he didn’t want to. “It’s nothing,” he muttered.
“Strange child. There’s some cheesecake in the refrigerator. You have cram school today, right? You’re not going by bicycle. They’re doing repairs on Clover Bridge. Did you wash your hands? We’re out of mouthwash, but there’s a new bottle under the sink.”
It was times like this when Wataru fancied that, as long as he said his hellos and goodbyes, he could eat breakfast, go to school, and come back home a slobbering, hairy werewolf, and his mother wouldn’t notice a thing. He stood up to snatch his cheesecake and go to his room, when the phone rang.
“Could you get that?” Kuniko said. She couldn’t get up quickly from where she was sitting in front of the ironing board. He had heard her telling someone on the phone the other day that she had gained five pounds already this year, and it was hard for her to move around like she used to.
Wataru walked toward the phone hanging on the living room wall and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Mitani residence.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
Still nothing but silence. He said hello again, and not hearing a response, he hung up the receiver.
“Wrong number?” Kuniko asked.
“Guess so.”
“We get those a lot lately. I answer the phone, and there’s nothing on the other end. So I hang up.”
Because he was by the phone anyway, Wataru thought about giving Katchan a call. He wanted to apologize for being such a grump today, and for running home without asking if he wanted to walk back together.
The phone rang again, and Wataru quickly picked it up.
“Hello?”
Again, nothing but silence on the other end. Wataru’s mood was blacker than it had been in a long time, and a sudden anger took control of him. Holding the receiver in front of his mouth he shouted into it, “If you’re not going to talk, than don’t call, idiot!”
He slammed the receiver back down on the hook, and saw Kuniko staring at him, eyes wide. She looked more bemused than worried.
Wataru couldn’t pay attention in cram school that day, either. Though he was normally an ideal student, he was scolded by the teacher no fewer than three times in a two-hour period. The third time, the teacher asked him whether he was feeling all right.
Wataru couldn’t say for sure. He found his mind wandering to the events of the night before. There was Mr. Daimatsu, gently patting the arm of the wheelchair, and Kaori