Inhabitation Page 5

  The conclusion of that section included a precaution about keeping lizards indoors: an infrared lamp should be used when no sunlight reaches the room.

  So, what should be done with a lizard that’s nailed to a pillar in a room? Tetsuyuki thought to himself. At that point, he realized that he was seriously intending to keep the creature as a pet. He flipped through the book, stopping to stare fixedly at the photographs of several of the reptiles. His eyes fell on a line: “Young lizards have three gold-colored lines on their backs.” He closed the book and concluded that he should just kill the thing after all. One blow on its head with a hammer, and it would be finished. Wouldn’t that be simplest?

  But having gotten off the train and hurrying down the midnight street, the thought came to him: though he had not done it intentionally, it was he who had put the poor thing in such a plight. It had amazingly survived these several days pierced by a thick nail, without eating or drinking. It must possess a very tenacious vitality. Tetsuyuki came to a sudden standstill: the thought of entering his apartment felt frightening. Not just the lizard, but even the nail seemed like a mysterious living entity.

  4

  That day was hectic. A group of 160 foreign tourists arrived from the airport in sightseeing buses, and the full-time bellboys were marshaled to the task of escorting the mostly middle-aged and older group to their rooms. Tetsuyuki and two other student part-timers were assigned to unload the luggage from the three enormous buses.

  Room assignments and preparations had been made in advance, but upon seeing 160 foreign tourists along with other guests standing at the counter waiting to be escorted, Isogai Kōichi, the bellboy captain, impatiently glanced at Tetsuyuki as he loaded the heavy luggage onto a cart.

  “It’s amazing that each one of them could carry two or three heavy trunks like this,” one of the student workers remarked, out of breath. And indeed, each of the large trunks was so heavy as to make one wonder what could possibly be in them. Tetsuyuki answered, “Americans must have more muscles than we do.”

  He was simply unable to lift them with one hand, and as he was using both hands to heft one, Isogai came by, remarking sharply: “You’ll get nowhere at that leisurely pace. The first thing guests want to do as soon as they get to their rooms is to relax, and you’re keeping them waiting for the change of clothing in their trunks. At the rate you guys are going, it’ll be hours.”

  At that, one of the part-timers, Tanaka, who had the habit of always arguing with the full-time bellboys at every opportunity, retorted with a flushed face: “Including everything besides the trunks there are over three hundred pieces of luggage, and only three of us to get them off the buses, check the names on each one, assemble them in the lobby, and then carry them to the rooms. And you’re telling us to do all of that in thirty minutes? That’s impossible.”

  Fixing his upturned eyes in an angry glare and taking a few steps toward Tanaka, Isogai said: “If you work efficiently, you can move at twice the speed. You guys just look as if you’re trying to have fun or something.”

  “Then you try lifting them with one hand, and I’ll show you that I can work efficiently with both. Come on! Let’s see you lift them with one hand.”

  Tetsuyuki tried patting Tanaka on the shoulder to calm him down but he, prone to irascibility, shook off the appeasing hand and grabbed Isogai by the lapels. “There are only three of us part-timers, and you saddle us with backbreaking work like this. How about getting one or two of your henchmen to come help?”

  “The front desk is shorthanded and in turmoil. The first order of business is to take care of the guests.” Isogai tried to remove Tanaka’s hands from his lapels.

  “In that case, all the bellboys should work at getting the guests settled in, and then all work at carrying luggage, shouldn’t they? Wouldn’t that be more efficient?”

  Isogai answered in a quavering voice. “The guests will make fun of us if they see hotel employees scuffling with each other at the entrance. Let go of me!” After Tanaka released his grasp, Isogai explained: “Since the flight arrived late, the chartered tour buses were also an hour late getting to the hotel. The drivers are eager to get back to the garage as soon as possible, and are pressing us to unload the luggage.”

  “Then at the very least you, as bellboy captain, ought to pitch in and help. The staff at the front desk can manage the bellboys seeing guests to their rooms. Try carrying a couple of these trunks to the lobby!” With that, Tanaka unleashed on Isogai the grievances that had been building inside him for some time. “Today’s not the first time you’ve pushed this kind of thing off onto us part-timers. Should I knock two or three front teeth out of your smart mouth?” Tanaka was on the karate team of a private university in Kyoto. With a slight smile, he cracked his knuckles. Isogai looked at Tetsuyuki as if pleading for help, but immediately returned his gaze to Tanaka.

  “Tanaka, you’re fired. Ever since you came here you’ve done nothing but cause trouble with the bellboys. I can’t very well keep someone like you on.”

  A threatening gleam flashed in Tanaka’s eyes, and Tetsuyuki hurriedly interposed himself between the two. His attempt to say something was halted by Tanaka’s spiteful laugh directed at the two other part-timers. “Well then, I quit. Sorry, but you two will have to haul all the luggage.” With that parting shot, he headed toward the lobby, but soon wheeled about and returned. “Let Yamaguchi and Takakura know that I’ll be stopping by in a few days to say hello. I have lots to settle with those two.” Yamaguchi and Takakura were full-time bellboys who were always bullying the part-time student workers about one thing or another.

  One of the bus drivers hollered from his seat. “Hey, what’re you doing? Hurry up and unload the luggage!”

  After Tanaka’s departure, Tetsuyuki had no choice but to board the bus and set about the task of unloading the baggage, more than half of which remained. Isogai disappeared into the lobby, but soon returned and began setting onto a cart the bags the two part-timers had unloaded.

  “Only five more. Thank you for waiting.” No sooner had he said this to the cigarette-smoking driver than Tetsuyuki saw Isogai fall over onto the luggage cart. He rushed down off the bus to Isogai’s side.

  “What’s wrong?” Isogai’s forehead was perspiring, he was clutching his chest with both hands, his breathing was labored, and his lips had a bluish cast. The other part-timer dashed off to the lobby.

  “I’m okay. Is all the luggage off?” he asked in a broken, pained voice. Shimazaki, the head of personnel, came running up, reprimanding Tetsuyuki: “You shouldn’t be making Isogai haul heavy luggage!”

  “Yes, sir . . .” Unsure of what it all meant, Tetsuyuki remained standing there until the driver lost his temper and shouted, “Hey, haven’t you finished yet?” At that, Tetsuyuki again boarded the bus and began hauling the trunks one at a time. The last one was especially heavy and, unable to lift it even with both hands, he dragged it down the aisle and finally finished the task of unloading. Even after the tour buses had pulled away from the hotel entrance, Isogai remained sitting on the luggage cart, pressing his hands against his chest. Shimazaki ordered Tetsuyuki to take him to the employees’ nap room.

  “You mustn’t make him climb stairs. Use the elevator.”

  The nap room, known as the Peacock Room, was off to the side of the hotel’s largest banquet hall on the third floor, at the end of a passageway for employees. In it, triple-decker beds were lined up like shelves in a silkworm nursery to allow as many as thirty employees to nap at any one time. Light snoring could be heard coming from the farthest bed, where someone was apparently asleep. Isogai lay down on a bed and closed his eyes. A bit of redness had returned to his lips, and his breathing no longer seemed so labored.

  “Shouldn’t we call a doctor?” Tetsuyuki asked in a hushed voice. Isogai shook his head. “It’s always like this. It’s passed now. If I just rest for a while I’ll be okay.” At length, after some deliberation, he said hesitantly: “I trust that you won’t
mention to Nakaoka that I had another bout of chest pains today.”

  “Nakaoka?”

  “Nakaoka Mineo, the front-desk manager.”

  “Oh yes . . . that guy.” Tetsuyuki called to mind the somewhat aloof features of the young manager to whom he had only paid brief respects on his first day on the job, and with whom he had never again exchanged words. Feeling uneasy about Isogai’s use of the word “another,” he asked: “Is this a chronic condition?”

  Isogai evaded an answer by changing the topic of conversation. “Is your family in some kind of business?”

  “My dad was, but he died about the same time his company went broke. So now my mom works at an eatery in the Kita Shinchi district . . .”

  Isogai seemed to have regained strength, so Tetsuyuki started to rise from the edge of the bed where he was seated in order to return to work. Isogai reminded him: “Whatever you do, don’t let Nakaoka know about this.” Tetsuyuki again sat down on the bed and asked: “Why mustn’t he know?”

  “He and I are the same age, and were hired here at the same time. But he has a college degree, and I only graduated from high school. At first, both of us were put to work as bellboys, but it wasn’t long before a gap arose in status. Since he can speak English, he was assigned to the front desk and almost immediately made manager. But oddly enough, he has it in for me. At first I thought he was just feeling smug and superior, but that doesn’t seem to be it.”

  “Then what leads you to think he feels that way?”

  “He makes a big deal of my slightest mistakes, as if he were trying to create an even bigger gap between us.”

  The person who had been snoring in the farthest bed, a newly hired cook trainee, suddenly got up and hurried out of the nap room in a panic. The cooks did not have a night shift, so Tetsuyuki concluded that he had probably slipped away from his post and ended up falling asleep. Though it was none of his business to pry into things Isogai didn’t want to talk about, he ended up asking: “You have a bad heart, don’t you?”

  As he lay there, Isogai set a finger aside the well-defined ridge of his nose, his eyes darting about. “It’s been bad ever since I was kid. The doctor says I need an operation.”

  When introducing him to the job, Isogai had guided him all the way to the twenty-fourth floor. Tetsuyuki had thought it strange that they didn’t just take the emergency stairs when the elevator was slow in coming. So that was it: he was avoiding the stairs. And it became clear why Section Chief Shimazaki insisted that he should not be allowed to lift heavy luggage.

  “They told me that since it’s a valve disorder, surgery could fix it . . .”

  “Well then, you should just resign yourself to having surgery.”

  Isogai turned to Tetsuyuki, smiling, and muttered: “That’s easy for you to say, since it’s not your problem.” It seemed to Tetsuyuki that he was seeing Isogai smile for the first time.

  Returning to the lobby, he went to Section Chief Shimazaki in the front office.

  “It seems to have subsided.”

  Shimazaki raised his angular face from the documents he had been inspecting. “Oh? That’s good.” Then he halted Tetsuyuki, who had turned toward the lobby to return to work.

  “There’s something I want to talk to you about.” Having filed away the documents on his desk, Shimazaki headed for the employees’ cafeteria with his restless, somewhat bowlegged gait. Purchasing two cans of cola from the vending machines, he sat down at a table and motioned to Tetsuyuki to take a seat.

  “Let’s see, you’ll graduate next year, won’t you?”

  “Yes, I plan to.”

  “What kind of company are you thinking of applying to for work?”

  “I haven’t thought about that yet. I might fail an employment examination . . .”

  Though there was no one else in the cafeteria, Shimazaki suddenly lowered his voice and leaned over the table.

  “How about full-time work at our hotel?”

  “At this hotel . . . ?”

  “Being a hotelier doesn’t appeal to you?”

  At a loss for an answer, Tetsuyuki sipped the cola that was offered to him.

  “These past two months, I’ve been observing your work habits, and have thought that I’d really like to have you work for us after you graduate. These days, so many student part-timers aren’t serious, but you’re well-mannered and a hard worker. Some of our guests have also had praise for you.”

  “Oh?” Tetsuyuki could not recall having done anything that would merit praise.

  “Next year, we’re planning to hire ten college graduates and twenty high school graduates. How about it? Why not go ahead and make an early decision about employment?”

  “Can that be decided before I even take the employment examination?”

  A somewhat smug smile arose in the candid features of Shimazaki’s face. “If I recommend you, it’ll be settled in one shot.” Then, as was apparently his habit, he lit his cigarette after resting the filter on his tongue and licking it around once.

  “I also saw to it that Isogai was hired here.” Shimazaki explained that he and Isogai were from the same town. “His father was a doctor, an otorhinologist, whose practice was in the Marutamachi area of Kyoto. Our house was in the lane behind that. I knew Isogai when he was just a kid.” Then lowering his voice, Shimazaki added, “Nobody’s had it rougher than that guy.”

  “The Isogai Otorhinolaryngology Clinic was flourishing, and everyone assumed that the oldest son, Isogai Kōichi, would one day take his father’s place. However, an unexpected disaster struck the family: leaving for a trip to the northwestern coast with a fellow doctor, his father for some reason fell from the station platform into the path of a special express train that was passing through at full speed.

  “But that wasn’t all,” Shimazaki continued in a small voice. Less than a year after his father’s accidental death, his mother also died after being hit by a train. Returning from taking care of some matter with relatives in Katsura, she was waiting at an unmanned railway crossing on the Hankyū Line for an Umeda-bound train from Kawaramachi to pass by. She must have been in a hurry, because after the train had passed she ducked under the crossing gate, which was still down, and started to cross the tracks, unaware of the train rushing in the opposite direction.

  “It’s as if they were under some kind of curse, isn’t it?” With that, Shimazaki broke off speaking and took out another cigarette, again licking the filter. “At that time, Isogai was still in his first year of high school, and his sister was in sixth grade at elementary school. He went to live with an uncle, while she was taken in by a different relative. For a long time they continued to live separately, but in February of this year they finally rented an apartment in Toyonaka and are again together. If that accident had not happened, by now Isogai would be a doctor, filling his father’s shoes.”

  Glancing at his watch, Shimazaki stood up and, urging Tetsuyuki to give his offer serious thought, hurried back to his office. The smell of food hung heavily in the air of the employees’ cafeteria. Three vending machines stood side by side, and on each table there was a plastic cylinder packed tightly with light brown chopsticks. On a large sign was written: PLEASE RETURN UTENSILS TO THE PROPER PLACE AFTER WASHING THEM THOROUGHLY. Tetsuyuki stared vacantly at the sign, his chin propped on one hand.

  He was, to be sure, diligent in his work, but Tetsuyuki was not particularly fond of Isogai and the constantly probing look in his eyes that was a part of his standoffish expression. As he recalled Section Chief Shimazaki’s narrative, he reflected, Strange things do happen in this world. He also thought of Isogai’s need of an operation for his chronic heart condition. But concluding that none of that had anything to do with himself, he left the cafeteria and headed for the lobby.

  The foreign guests’ luggage had been placed in a corner of the lobby, to the side of the main entrance. The bellboys had apparently already taken most of the roughly fifty remaining pieces to the rooms of their respective owners. The
re were five trunks tagged with the name “E. H. Thomas.” Having loaded them onto a cart, Tetsuyuki inquired at the front desk about their owner’s room number.

  “Number 2588, on the twelfth floor.” As Tetsuyuki began to walk toward the elevators with the luggage, Nakaoka, his back turned as he checked the cards, called out to him in a sharp tone: “Iryō! You’re supposed to say ‘Yes, sir, I understand.’”

  “I’m sorry, that was careless of me.”

  Then, finally facing Tetsuyuki, Nakaoka summoned him with an exasperated gesture.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “You were goldbricking for a whole hour. Were you in the nap room? Or in the cafeteria?”

  “I wasn’t goldbricking. Section Chief Shimazaki had something he wanted to discuss with me, and the two of us went to the cafeteria.”

  “What did you discuss?” The shirt on Nakaoka, who was tall and thin, had at least an inch-wide opening between the collar and his slender neck. Tetsuyuki had once heard him complain to coworkers that, if he bought shirts adequately long in the sleeves, they would fit poorly around his neck. Feeling no obligation to respond, Tetsuyuki remained silent. Nakaoka’s long, slender neck oddly appeared to magnify his twitching Adam’s apple. Arranging his disheveled bangs, he asked with a sly smirk: “Isogai had another one of his attacks, didn’t he? And Shimazaki told you to keep it from me, huh?”