The Graveyard Apartment by Mariko Koike Page A

removing the cigar from between his teeth, said to no one in particular: “Oddly enough, everyone who sings that song seems to end up dead.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t say such wicked things!” one of the hostesses admonished the man in a low voice—moved, perhaps, by consideration for Teppei’s feelings. The stranger’s gaze seemed to be fixed on something in the far distance, but after a long beat he turned to catch Teppei’s eye and muttered, “Seriously, I’ve personally known three people who died not too long after singing that song.”
    Teppei made no response. Every club or bar seemed to have one or two characters like this man, and the best tactic was to ignore them. Just then Tatsuji returned, and the two brothers left the bar together.
    â€œHey,” Teppei said with a laugh as they walked toward the station, “it looks like I’m doomed. That old geezer was saying that everyone who sings the foghorn song ends up dying soon after, as a direct result.”
    â€œReally?” Tatsuji’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s hard to believe. Maybe he was thinking about Keiichiro Akagi, who died young in an accident on a movie set?”
    â€œI don’t know, but when I get home I’m going to ask Misao to scatter some salt on the doorstep, just to be safe,” Teppei quipped.
    â€œHuh,” Tatsuji snorted. “To me, you always seem like the type of man who wouldn’t die even if someone killed you, as the saying goes. I’m sure you’d be immune to a silly curse like that, if such a thing existed.” On the surface Tatsuji’s words sounded like a compliment, but Teppei thought he detected a needling subtext.
    At the station, as they were about to head off to their respective train platforms, Tatsuji said, “One of these days Naomi and I need to stop by and bring you a housewarming gift. It’s been too long since I’ve seen Tamao and, um, Sis.”
    â€œIt has been a while,” Teppei said. “Please feel free to drop by anytime.”
    â€œThanks. We’ll do that soon, for sure. Evenings are probably out, though, since Naomi isn’t big on graveyards after dark.”
    Teppei felt like suggesting that spending a night locked inside a cemetery might improve Naomi’s attitude, but he managed to suppress that impulse.
    Instead, he bid his brother a hasty good-bye, and they went their separate ways.

 
    4
    March 21, 1987
    When Misao got up that morning and gazed out from the balcony, she saw that the usually deserted graveyard was teeming with families. With all the people running around, it almost looked like one of those hedge mazes sometimes seen at botanical gardens or amusement parks. Children were playing among the rows of neatly laid-out gravestones, and seen from the eighth floor, the legions of long, narrow wooden grave markers simply looked like decorative posts.
    It was the day of the vernal equinox, also known as the spring solstice—the official end of winter. The air was pleasantly warm; there was no wind to speak of, and not a cloud in sight. It was perfect weather for a picnic.
    No doubt the weather reporter on the midday news would say something formulaic, along the lines of “Today is the first day of spring. The Tokyo area will be blessed with clear and cloudless skies, and city dwellers will no doubt be setting out in droves to pay their respects at memorial parks within the city limits and in the outlying countryside, as well.”
    The verbiage never changes, Misao thought. The terms that the newscasters used for describing fine weather on holidays seemed to be set in stone. Really, she couldn’t remember a single time when she had heard one of them use any phrasing other than the predictable “blessed with clear and cloudless skies” or “city dwellers setting out in droves.” The TV announcers were inordinately fond of expressions like