F-0048 Diary from the autumn when one of the notices made sense

October 6 (Saturday)

“To all residents: Persons looking for Misaki-sama may come to the building, but there is no need to deal with them.”

It has been up on the entrance bulletin board since this morning. On the way back from shopping I read it once more, and decided to copy it down here. This one makes sense. Only the phrase, deal with — that doesn’t sound like a notice.

Below it, the management company’s name and a red seal. There is a field for the date, and it is blank. As always. The paper was new. When I put my face close to the glass, I could see pin holes in all four corners, quite a few of them.

Our bulletin board has been a little off for a while now. In among the proper notices about water shutoffs and construction, every so often there is a sheet that doesn’t say who it is telling what. Through the summer one hung there that read, “Operation of the rooftop doorway is as usual.” What “as usual” is, it doesn’t say anywhere. Before that: “Regarding the matter of the other day, we thank you for your understanding and cooperation.” I know no one who knows what the matter of the other day was. Someone on the fourth floor once called the management company about it, and was told, that is not something we posted. The board is behind a sliding glass door, and the key is held by the management company.

There is, I am fairly sure, no household called Misaki in this building. On my way in I went along the mailboxes from one end, and it wasn’t among the families that put their names out. Three boxes have no name.

I’d forgotten to hand in the entry form for the school run. Monday, I’ll send it with my child.

October 12 (Friday)

Last night, a little past nine, the entrance intercom rang. On the monitor was a man holding an umbrella. Not what you would call elderly — an ordinary man, like someone on his way home from work. It wasn’t raining, and still he carried an umbrella, folded.

Which unit is Misaki-sama’s, he said.

That posting came to mind first, and I cut the call without answering. After I cut it, I stood in the entryway a while. I told my child it was a wrong ring.

A moment before the monitor went dark, I saw the man give a small bow. I had already said nothing at all.

I was a little scared. Not that I say so in front of my child.

October 19 (Friday)

Burnable-trash day. At the collection point I ended up with the wife from 302 and the old man from 503, and the posting came up. Ours was not the only household he had come to.

302 ended up responding, she said. Just as she came home, she was approached at the entrance. When she told him, there is no Misaki in this building, he said, I see — then would you know where they have gone? — and kept her talking a good while. When I asked what they talked about, she said, small talk. Whether the man actually knew this Misaki, she missed the chance to ask.

He came to the old man in 503 as well. Not here, he said, and simply cut the call. Nothing since. The realtor’s putting up its odd sheets again, he said, security or some such.

Maybe those notices aren’t addressed to us at all, said the wife from 302. Then who to, said the old man from 503. Nobody answered. The trash-point talk went no further than that, and I left for work.

October 28 (Sunday)

An envelope was sticking out of the slot of mailbox 302. The kind a mail-order catalog comes in, with a window. The name showed. It read, Misaki-sama. The box number was 302, and that was right.

When I looked again in the evening it was gone. The wife from 302 took it out, I imagine.

That night I thought about peeling the name sticker off our own mailbox. I couldn’t work out how I would explain doing that to my family, and I didn’t.

November 10 (Saturday)

The posting on the board had been replaced with a new one.

“The matter of Misaki-sama has been concluded. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Same format, same seal. The date, blank this time too. When the old sheet came down, nobody knows. The key to the glass is supposed to be held only by the management company, and their man comes only at the start of the month.

Since then, that man has not come.

The couple in 302 are moving out before the end of the year. I heard it when we passed on the stairs yesterday. I didn’t ask the reason. It may be a job transfer.

November 18 (Sunday)

It has gotten cold. The school run is coming up, so in the morning I ran along the river with my child. There was no wind.

On the board now is a notice about drain cleaning. A proper one. It has a date, and the contractor’s name. Someone has to be home for it, so I wrote it on the calendar.

The name sticker on our mailbox is starting to lift at one edge. The glue is old, I suppose. On my next day off I mean to buy a new one and stick it back down.