F-0006 A letter-like note after being entrusted with the blue circular

To Maki,

My dear,

The weather has turned cold, but have you caught a cold or anything out there? Here, when the sun comes out during the day only, it is still a little warm, and the nandina in the garden has started to turn red. Your father’s knee is as bad as ever, and every time he goes down the stairs he makes an exaggerated noise.

I meant to mention it on the phone, but there’s a strange noise that gets in after dark, so I’ve decided to write a letter for the first time in a while. It’s nothing major, but I feel as though writing it down will help me settle myself too.

This month, we were temporarily entrusted with the circular for Block 6, Third Street. It’s an old circular board covered in blue faux leather. On the corner, there’s still a sticker that looks like it belonged to the previous neighborhood association, and the current sticker has been pasted over it. I think the same sort of thing was going around when you were in elementary school too.

The neighborhood association bulletin had notes about recyclable waste, the day the streetlights are to be replaced, and a request to collect photos for the seniors’ gathering. Just the usual paper. Still, in the small margin at the bottom, it looked as though it said “condolences,” and at first I thought they had misprinted it. There was one local resident’s name there, but with a single character different. So perhaps it was about someone else. Even the number for the age—whether it was seven or one—was hard to make out in the faint purplish print.

When I showed it to your father, he said there was no such section. When I pointed to it with my finger, he said it was simply the continuation of the recyclables notice. To be fair, when I looked again, that is indeed how it could be read. But when I looked away to pick up my teacup and then came back, I still felt I could see a tiny square box down below. The edge of the paper wasn’t damp, and there was no sign it had been patched in later.

When I asked the lady next door, she started to say, “Oh, that…” and then suddenly said she hadn’t seen it. If she truly hadn’t seen it, then so be it, but then she went on to ask, in the evening, whether she ought to buy a condolence envelope in advance, so when I asked whose it was, she looked troubled. I haven’t heard that anyone died. At least, the person named in the circular seemed to be standing by the gate yesterday as well. Still, they had a hat pulled low, and I didn’t call out to them.

After that, when I took it back to the block leader’s house, I was told at the entrance that “it’s going around one more time.” I didn’t ask why. The block leader also seemed a little tired, and said the phone rings in the middle of the night. Apparently, all that’s left for whoever stays on to watch is the sound of someone turning pages of paper. Could it be a prank? Perhaps there are calls like that these days too.

On the second round, the paper came back with two names on it. The added one appeared to be written under a former surname. The person herself laughed and said it was nostalgic when she saw it, but later her daughter said that her mother had kept her current surname ever since she got married. Standing there, I felt as though both were somehow correct, and I couldn’t answer properly. Strange, isn’t it? If you live in one place long enough, maybe the old name and the current name can overlap in your memory.

Your father says it’s better not to say anything unnecessary anymore. Maybe he’s right. But yesterday, the notice for recyclable waste had become one line shorter. The last time I looked, it had said “by 8:30 a.m.,” but now it only says “by morning.” If I misread it, then that’s fine, but when I close the blue cover of the circular board, there’s a smell from the lower part of the paper as though something still hasn’t dried. It’s less like ink and more like the smell of old school handouts.

If any strange notice reaches you from our house, please write back right away. Your father’s name was not in the condolences section. My name probably wasn’t there either. But when I looked again this morning, I had the feeling there was a character that looked very much like my name, and when I went to get my glasses and came back, that part had become as though blacked out. Perhaps someone erased it with a pen. The shape was neatly formed like a small mourning armband, and I hate myself for even thinking such a thing.

I’ll send this letter tomorrow morning. Just to be safe, I’m enclosing a copy of the neighborhood association bulletin. You don’t need to look at the lower part. If nothing shows up, then I’ll feel relieved.

Sincerely,

Mother

P.S. Last night, just past one o’clock, there was a call at our house too. Only the once — it went to the answering machine before I could reach the receiver, and again there was only the sound of paper. I haven’t told your father. Listening to that sound, I found myself thinking that someone was searching for names one by one, and [following section missing]