N.P. : a novel by Yoshimoto Banana 1964-;Sherif Ann & Ann Sherif

Author:Yoshimoto, Banana, 1964-;Sherif, Ann & Ann Sherif [Sherif, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Japanese, Authors
Publisher: New York : Washington Square Press
Published: 1995-06-14T22:00:00+00:00

I looked up at the darkened building. There was a dry cleaner on the first floor, and you entered the apartments from the side of the building. The rest was a lumpy, gray,

BANANA YOSHIMOTO

three-story apartment building with no elevator. Shoji's apartment was on the third floor. The view of the street that you could see from his window was always narrow and peaceful, whether morning, noon, or night. It was so calm that I felt as if I were looking out of a window in Shoji's body. I slept well in those days—content in a way I will likely never be again.

Sui said, "When I was over here a while ago, I walked around and discovered that you can climb up all the way to the roof. I was crying the whole time, you know."

"That's neat," I said, "just like in a mystery novel."

"Just wanted to see if I had enough guts. It seems like it would be as scary as hell if you found yourself up there alone."

Then we walked into the pitch black, silent entrance hall. The sound of our footsteps echoed in the engulfing darkness. I recognized the stain on the wall of the staircase landing when I caught sight of it in the moonlight. I had a vivid memory of that spot only, as one often does with childhood memories.

When I was a teenager, I dreamed of living here. I didn't fantasize about getting married, or even moving in. Rather, I just wanted to stay in his apartment and never go home. As I climbed up the stairs and saw the dark doorways, a vivid image flashed into my mind and I couldn't chase it away. A

N.P.

bird's-eye view of Shoji's apartment. The dish cabinet inside the front door on the left. The avocado green refrigerator. Scraps of writing and photos tacked up on the wall. The bed by the window. The glass jar filled with coins. The big parakeet that he kept secretly.

I felt strongly that everything would still be there, same as it ever was—like when the spirits of dead people return home during the late summer Bon Buddhist festivals. Like the garden in my paternal grandparents' house where I visited only during summer vacations. I have a vivid memory of the plants and flowers there, but I will never see those people again, nor will I visit that house again.

"I feel like I'm drunk even though I haven't had any alcohol. Doesn't my voice sound strange to you?" My voice trembled in the dark stillness.

"You're drunk on your memories," Sui said nonchalantly.

We reached the landing at the top of the stairs. I had been up on the roof only once before, that time, to fly a kite. The door to the roof had a lock on it. Shoji had a copy of the key made for himself, so that we could go up there and fly some kites we had made ourselves.

"There's a lock on the door."

Sui grasped the rusty doorknob and rattled it wildly, like a gorilla in a cage.

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