It was a story I heard from Shisho.
The woman looked to be in her mid-fifties. She wore a khaki jacket and a skirt, with no particular accessories—her attire could only be described as plain. "I’m sorry... I don't even know if I should be talking about this. But I want someone to listen." Whether out of habit or nervousness, she pressed down her short-cropped hair with her right hand and began to speak with difficulty.
It was the winter of my first year in college. This happened at the Ogawa Investigation Agency, where I worked part-time. Me and Kanako-san—who was my mentor in the occult arts—were sitting side by side, listening to the client's story. Usually, the clients who came to our office fell into one of two categories: either they had called us simply because our agency appeared near the front of the telephone book, or they had some bizarre request that other detective agencies had refused to handle. This time, it seemed to be the latter.
"Um... actually, it's about my grandmother." Sitting across from us with the client's table between us, the woman didn't even seem to notice the tea that had been served. Looking downward, she began to speak timidly.
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The woman's name was Yoriko Kawazoe. Long ago, just before she was of age to enter elementary school, Yoriko had been taken in as an adopted daughter by the Kawazoe family. After her biological mother passed away, her remaining father abandoned the raising of the small girl and sent her out for adoption by relying on a distant connection from an old school friend. She had almost no memories of her real father or mother. There were only vague recollections, as if she had always been crying. The adoptive father and mother of the Kawazoe family had no children of their own, and they cherished her as if she were truly theirs. It wasn't a wealthy family by any means, but they sent her to school and lessons just like any other child. For the first time, she was allowed to lead a normal human life.
Those adoptive parents had passed away one after another over the past year. At first, Yoriko was enveloped in deep grief, but as she eventually calmed down and reflected on the days she was raised by them, a feeling of indescribable gratitude filled her heart. Lately, she found herself reminiscing about the past more often—especially about the life she had before being taken in as an adopted daughter. Her husband teased her, calling it a sign of getting older, but she could no longer suppress the growing yearning for the past. One day, acting on an impulse, she began to research her biological father. But as expected, he had already passed away. It couldn't be helped; if he were still alive, he would have been close to ninety. Thinking back on her own life of over fifty years, she felt keenly, for the first time, how much time had flown by. And shining brighter in her memory than that father whose face she could barely recall was her grandmother. Whether it was her paternal grandmother or her maternal grandmother, she couldn't even remember clearly. Yet she fondly remembered her gentle face, the smell of her clothes when she was held on her lap, and the sensation of having her head patted by wrinkled hands.
Neglected by her parents, young Yoriko had often walked over to her grandmother's house to play. What path she had taken to get there, she had forgotten by now. All she remembered was placing both her hands on the small engawa veranda of her grandmother's house and calling out her name. And then, after waiting a little while, the wooden sliding door would open slowly, and that gentle moment when her grandmother would peek out with a big smile. Her grandmother lived alone in that small house. Perhaps she was lonely too, for she always seemed so happy when Yoriko visited. Though her memories of her grandmother were only fragments, they would unprompted well up in the sudden, unguarded moments of everyday life. For instance, when she couldn't fall asleep at night and suddenly opened her eyes under the futon. For instance, in the middle of a crowd, the exact moment a traffic light changed from red to green. At times like that, she knew she felt deeply happy. And no matter how nostalgic she felt, remembering that she could never meet her again would make her feel a little sad.
One day, she realized that among these memories of her grandmother was mixed one terrifying recollection. A memory she had long forgotten. It was different from other memories that she had gradually forgotten amidst the completely changed life after being adopted. It was a creepy event that she had willingly locked away inside the hard shell of her own mind... Ever since she remembered it, Yoriko had been tormented every day. Even when she was fondly reminiscing about her grandmother, the scene would somehow shift to that terrifying event. At those times, she would feel an indescribable, unpleasant sensation, as if a small needle had been dropped into her heart.
It was the day of her grandmother's wake. Led by her father and mother, she walked down the path she always used to walk alone. Herself, looking up at their faces. Dark expressions. A very unpleasant feeling. She felt like she had said something. Whether there was a reply, she had forgotten that too. And then, herself sitting in her grandmother's room. A narrow room crowded with many people. Adults wearing black clothes. Even though it was definitely her grandmother's room, the familiar low chabudai table and the clothes rack were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was an altar she had never seen before, glossy lanterns, large flowers, and a coffin. Her mother said: "Grandma has died."
It was a wake. Her first one. Her first human death. It was frightening. Not because she didn't understand death, which was hard to grasp. It was the small voices of adults dressed in black, muttering to themselves. Their downcast faces. The suffocating atmosphere of the room. She stuck her fingernail along the grain of the tatami mat and pulled. She kept repeating that action while looking down. Before long, guided by the hands of her father and mother, she crept close to the coffin. She pinched a powder that smelled strange out of a box and dropped it into another box. Smoke rose, and the smell grew stronger. The lid of the coffin was open, and together with her parents, she looked inside. There were many white flowers. Buried among them was a face just as white. It was a face she had never seen before. "Say goodbye to Grandma," her mother said. Say goodbye? Why? She tilted her head. Where was Grandma? Looking to the side, she saw her father with tears faintly welling in his eyes.
For some reason, she grew frightened. With that thought, her knees began to shake. Scared. She was unimaginably scared. Who was this person? This person surrounded by flowers. Who was this person to whom adults took turns dropping powder, bowing their heads, placing flowers, and whispering small words? Scared, she stepped backward. With tears in her eyes, who on earth was everyone bowing to? She tripped over someone's knee as they sat, and fell backward onto her back. In her line of sight looking up, there was a ceiling with long, stained wood grains. It was the ceiling of her grandmother's room. White paper was pasted in the corner. Creepy letters were written on it. Kanji. It felt as if every single one of those intertwined black lines was wriggling and moving. She was terrified. So hopelessly terrified. To the point where she wanted to forget everything.
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The client looked down and gently exhaled. Her mouth moved as if she were shivering. Perhaps to make sure the story was over, Shisho left a long pause before speaking. "You mean it wasn't your grandmother?" "Yes." Her voice was trembling. "The person inside the coffin was not my grandmother."
"No way." I was left speechless. Then whose wake on earth was it? "Are you certain it wasn't your grandmother? I mean, well, it was probably your first time seeing a dead person. Depending on the cause of death, a person can look completely different after passing away than they did in life. There's also mortuary makeup. Could that be why she looked like a completely different person to you?" To Shisho's words, Yoriko shook her head. "No. Although it was an elderly person of a similar age, it was definitely not my grandmother. Even now, the face surrounded by white flowers floats behind my eyelids."
"However, couldn't it be that you simply couldn't accept the death of the grandmother you loved so much, and thus convinced yourself she was someone else? Such delusions are entirely possible for a small child. Especially given that it's a distant memory you had forgotten for so long..." To Shisho's still-cautious questioning, Yoriko shook her head again. "My grandmother had a large wart at the base of her right eyebrow. I remember being bothered by it and asking to touch it many times. Yet on that day, the face of the person inside the coffin didn't have one. Of course, it wasn't just that. She truly was an absolute stranger."
She puffed out her chest as she said this firmly. But the next instant, her eyes darted around helplessly, and a terrified expression spread across her entire face. Then what on earth did that mean? Were we to believe that relatives gathered at her grandmother's house and mourned a complete stranger under the guise of her grandmother's wake? Imagining that situation sent a chill down my spine. No, it wasn't just a mild unease. I clearly found it even ominous.
"..." Shisho tilted her head, lost in thought about something. "So, what is the nature of your request?" I asked in her place. "Yes," Yoriko raised her head. "I want you to investigate what happened back then. After that event, I have no memory of ever meeting my grandmother again. What on earth happened to her? And secondly, who was the dead person inside the coffin on the day of that wake instead of my grandmother?"
Her grandmother's house had been demolished long ago, and that area had turned into a road. And Yoriko had only recently managed to track down a relative who knew about those times. However, that relative, whose hearing was already failing, only repeated that there was nothing strange about Setsuko-san's wake. "I only found out just now that the person I called Grandma was actually my father's grandmother. In other words, my great-grandmother, to be exact. Come to think of it, I didn't even know her name was Setsuko. I always just called her Grandma, nothing else..." She lowered her gaze again and tightened her jaw.
Silence visited the office for a while. In the distance, the sound of a junk collection loudspeaker could be heard. Shisho opened her mouth. "About that paper pasted on the ceiling—what characters were written on it?" "Yes. Well. I'm not entirely sure. After all, I was still too young to even be in elementary school back then. Just..." Shisho urged Yoriko on as she trailed off. "Just what?" "Well. It's just that, I believe it was the character for 'spirit' (rei)." "Spirit?" "Yes. Like 'ghost' (yuurei) or 'soul' (reibon)—that 'spirit'."
She said it somewhat shyly. Yet, an emotion of awe toward something unfathomable was simultaneously clinging to her face. "Spirit?" Shisho frowned. I, too, was struck by a creepy sensation. Spirit. It felt both fitting for the occasion and yet somehow off the mark. What on earth was that character pasted on the ceiling? "That character—could it be that it wasn't just pasted there that day, but always?" Shisho asked a strange question. Always? Was a character like "spirit" always pasted on the ceiling? "No. I wonder. Now that you mention it..." With a surprised expression, Yoriko let her gaze wander as if tracing her memories. Then, her eyes widened in a start, and she said, "Maybe... it was." "What is wrong with me? That's right. I once asked my grandmother about it. What is this paper? What is this paper? This paper is..." Yoriko repeated those words like a monologue. "Kawazoe-san. There is one more thing I want to confirm. Was the room where the wake took place definitely your grandmother's room?" "Yes. I think there's no mistake about that." "You mentioned that your grandmother lived alone in a small house. Was that house a single-story building? Or was it two stories?" "Um, well." Yoriko looked unconfident. She didn't seem to remember clearly.
"The room where you said you always visited from the engawa—the wake was held in that room, right? Besides that room, what other rooms were there?" "Um, well..." With an anxious expression, Yoriko desperately tried to retrace her memories. "The other rooms... I don't remember. Grandma was always in that room. That's the only place I ever went..." She trailed off again. Staring intently at her state, Shisho let out a small, soft breath.
"Kawazoe-san. As for your request—what on earth happened to the grandmother who disappeared after that strange wake—I have no material to offer an answer. However, regarding who the dead person inside the coffin was instead of your grandmother, I believe I can answer that." "Eh?" Yoriko and I let out simultaneous gasps of surprise. And we looked at Shisho's face.
"Before that, I will state my view on the character that was said to be pasted on the ceiling. It was not the character for 'spirit' (rei). It couldn't be helped that a small child couldn't tell the difference, but it is a kanji very similar to 'rei': 'cloud' (kumo)." Cloud? Why could she say that with such certainty? Not understanding the meaning, I felt as if I had been bewitched by a fox.
"There should have been a kamidana household Shinto altar in that room. As you may know, a kamidana is installed in the highest possible place. As close to the ceiling as possible. And not only that, it should be installed on the top floor of the building. If it cannot be installed on the top floor, a board called an 'unban' (cloud board) is displayed at the top of the kamidana to signify that the place is close to the heavens. It is a board bearing a design shaped like clouds. Alternatively, characters called 'umo-moji' (cloud characters) are pasted on the ceiling. By pasting paper inscribed with words like 'heaven' or 'cloud' on the ceiling, it signifies that the room is a place close to the heavens. These are old customs, but you can still rarely see them today. That wake took place nearly fifty years ago. It must have been a time when such customs still lingered strongly."
Shisho stopped speaking and looked toward the client. Yoriko muttered "Cloud," wearing a look as if gazing at something far away.
"And that indicates that your grandmother's room was not on the top floor of that house. There is no doubt that the room young Kawazoe visited from the engawa was on the first floor. However, that house was not a single-story building. Because the 'cloud characters' had to be pasted on the ceiling. In other words, there was a second-story portion. Yet the kamidana was installed in a room on the first floor. The very thing that should have been placed in the highest part of the house. What can be imagined from this is as follows: 'Your grandmother was a lodger in that house.' That is why, even though she wanted to place the kamidana in the highest place, since she was not a member of the family, your grandmother had no choice but to place it in the rented room on the first floor."
Shisho spoke flatly. "There were other residents in that house besides your grandmother. Even if you didn't remember them. You already understand who the dead person inside the coffin was instead of your grandmother, don't you? No, to be precise, I mean the person who was inside the coffin instead of the person you called 'Grandma.' Setsuko-san, you called her? Your father's grandmother, a woman who would be your great-grandmother. That is the person who lay in the coffin, having her death-face viewed by the remaining relatives and close acquaintances."
Yoriko's eyes widened. Her throat trembled as if she were unable to speak. "The woman you simply called Grandma, whose name you didn't even know, was of course not your great-grandmother Setsuko. And there is a high probability she wasn't your grandmother, either. Perhaps she was a complete stranger. Someone who merely rented a single room in the house of your true great-grandmother... As I mentioned beforehand, I don't know where that grandma went. Considering that on the day of Setsuko-san's wake, the rented room was completely cleaned out and receiving many mourners, that grandma may have already moved out of the house by that time. To a hospital, another rental property, or..." With that, Shisho gently pointed a finger toward the heavens.
"It's an old story, and if she was a complete stranger, it would be difficult to investigate where she went. I might not be able to produce a satisfactory investigation result. Even so, will you still commission me?"
To Shisho, who stated this quietly, Yoriko hesitated and touched the handbag placed on her lap. Eventually, that palm gripped firmly and came to a halt on top of the handbag. A slightly high-pitched voice spilled from her lips. "To me, my grandmother is that person. The gentle grandma who always opened the door of the engawa and smiled at me. Even if she didn't even have a name and was a complete stranger."
Cutting herself off there, Yoriko chewed on her words slowly before speaking in a very calm voice. "I think we brought our loneliness together, and yet we shared a fleeting moment of happiness." With that, the client bowed her head and said, "Please."
(End)
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