Masako Togawa - The Master Key

To such old maids, their little secrets are all they have to live for, all that gives them pride, all that remains of their possessions and estate. I think that the desire to pry into such secrets is reflected in the meaningless experiment with the water glasses.

From the small window of the reception office, I gaze out through the massive glass doors of the hall which shut me off from the world outside. I can see everything that is going on out there. I can see the mob outside, thronging the square and not the slightest bit put off by the choking dust that fills the air. They jostle one another as they try to peep into the foundations. Looking at them from my side of the glass, I wonder what on earth it is they are expecting. They are waiting just like a child waits who has wound the spring of his toy as far as he can, and holds it tight before letting it go. Or are they perhaps waiting to see the hole left behind when the building is moved? Perhaps they think it’s like excavating an ancient tomb—perhaps they wonder what will be brought to light? ‘This old red-brick building has stood here for fifty years, since it was designed by a young foreigner with the aim of helping Japanese women emancipate themselves; once aforetimes, passersby would gaze at it with envious curiosity, this house reserved exclusively for single young ladies! Now the long years have wreaked an equal havoc on both the building and its inhabitants. What secrets, carefully hidden for so long, will now be revealed in the clear light of day when the building is moved? Beneath the ground lie immured what ghosts of yesteryear…?’

Are they lured by such trite images? Is that why they are waiting? That young housewife there, for instance, the one with a baby on her back and a shopping basket in her hand—what is it that has driven all thoughts of shopping for lunch out of her head to make her stand there with the rest? Is it after all just a short break in her busy life—just a few lost moments one noontime, I wonder? Or does she dream of witnessing—just one chance in a hundred—the collapse of our building?

Whilst I have been conducting this meaningless conversation with myself (a habit I’ve acquired naturally when sitting alone in the office; usually when I’m in a good mood it just happens spontaneously), time has passed and it’s now five to twelve. A vigorous-looking young man has stuck his head out of the window of the television broadcasting van; he’s waving his hands about. Oh, I see, the knock-kneed man in charge of the operation is going over to talk to him… he’s wearing a safety helmet. They’re having words—now the foreman is running towards the porch! He’s opened the glass doors—making his way to my window. What can he want?

‘Can I borrow the phone, please? The removal’s been delayed thirty minutes—all because those television boys want to record the historic moment. Can you beat that? They went over my head to do it, too! Just because they’re behind with their preparations, we have to wait. All they can think of is themselves—what about my workmen who’ve been standing by their jacks all this time?’

He’s really upset! He’s going to break the dial on the phone the way he’s wrenching it! There goes the noon siren, and the jacks were supposed to be operated at exactly twelve. All the residents will be staring intently at their glasses of water! What tomfoolery! I don’t know why, but this delay disturbs me too. The crowd outside are making disappointed gestures. Footsteps on the stairs—someone’s coming down—it’s Yoneko Kimura from the fourth floor. She’s not going outside—she’s going down to the basement. Funny look on her face! And here comes another. Michiyo Yamamura from the fifth floor. Her slippers slap the wooden floorboards as she makes her way over to me. She’s in a panic, all right!

‘The water spilled! I was just walking along the corridor on the fifth floor and Miss Ueda’s door was open! I saw the glass on her table move! The water spilled! It spilled! And Miss Ueda too—on the table… she…’

But here’s another interruption! Yoneko Kimura, back from her trip to the basement.

‘Excuse me—it’s vital. Could you please unlock the door to the old bathroom downstairs?’

And now the foreman’s shouting at the top of his voice—trying to get something through to whoever’s on the other end of the phone.

‘What? Dig it up with pickaxes? Unnecessary, I tell you, just leave it to us. That bathroom’s not concrete, you know.’

Let’s see what’s going on! Everything seems to have gone crazy since they postponed the removal. Out I go into the hall—now I’m losing my head too, I forgot my crutch!

Compared with Katsuko Tojo, who was older, the other desk clerk, Kaneko Tamara, was rather a gossip, but the residents of the K apartments found her amiable and easy to get on with. When on duty in the office, she would pass the time poring over newspapers or magazines, or else knitting with oversized needles, and seemed one of those worldly custodians who hardly ever glared at those coming and going in an ill-humoured manner. The truth of the matter was that she indulged in a secret pleasure whilst serving her turn of duty. She had perfected the art of catnapping at the desk in a manner not easily detectable from outside the reception window. For this old woman with no particular hobbies and without the pleasures and cares of daily family life to keep her occupied, catnapping at the desk was just a game to be played with other people. It also brought back to her some of the thrill of snatching forty winks during a strict teacher’s lesson when she was a schoolgirl. Certainly, the effect of this daytime napping was a disrupted cycle and sleepless nights, but on the other hand she was also thereby able to avoid some of the boredom of office routine.

On that day, too, she had been sitting at the desk since three o’clock perusing a pamphlet called ‘You and Your Palm’, which someone had left on the desk. What with the heat from the charcoal stove at her feet and the pocket warmer in her bosom, she began to feel more and more sluggish as she tried to compare her line of destiny with those shown in the book, and dozed off again. At which point, someone came to the reception window. Kaneko Tamura went through her well-tried routine of pretending to have been wide awake, creaking her chair and turning the pages of the pamphlet with apparent interest.

But for once she could not drive from her head the passage she had been studying before dozing off—the page on the line of destiny. One of the many examples shown stayed in her mind—the broad line of destiny running straight to the base of the middle finger such as has been found on the hands of famous men. It floated before her eyes, preventing her from sleeping. She dozed only fitfully; the force and potency of the line of destiny loomed over her consciousness, giving her bad dreams.

Toyoko Munekata, a classmate of hers at secondary school, lived on the second floor of the apartment building. Now, she seemed to appear before Kaneko in her dream, berating her: ‘How much longer are you going to carry on this sort of work? A lowly receptionist—a disgrace to our school, I tell you!’

It was not as if she felt resentful towards Toyoko Munekata’s status in any way, nor did she receive such treatment from her. But in her heart of hearts there lurked a feeling that she had fallen behind her in life, and this gave rise to a slight feeling of resentment. Since their schooldays together, there had existed between them an uneasy relationship, with Toyoko demonstrating the part scorn, part pity, that one has towards a stray dog. However, six years before, Toyoko Munekata had suddenly moved into the apartments and from then on had become increasingly immobile.