A’s mother was a gentle woman who was always smiling.
A had lived with his parents in Okayama until he was about twenty years old.
He moved out when he got a job in Nagano. Two decades later, his father suffered a stroke. Help arrived too late, and he passed away at the hospital later that same day.
A worried about his mother and suggested that she move in with him. But she didn’t want to burden her only son, so she refused. A was in his forties and still single; his mother was probably worried she’d make it even harder for him to find a wife.
He went back to check on her whenever he could, each time noting how lonely she looked living all by herself in that big house at seventy years old.
Then one day, she called him up and said, “I think I’m going to move.”
The sudden declaration caught him off guard, but he agreed when she explained her plan.
A real estate agent had introduced her to an apartment in , and she’d decided she liked the place.
The large house where she currently lived required a lot of maintenance and only served to remind her of her late husband. She wanted to spend her remaining days somewhere new, and if she lived in an apartment, she could ask her neighbors for help if she ever needed it. Her reasons made a lot of sense.
A checked the internet and found that the multibuilding apartment complex had been built in the eighties, during a suburban development boom, and had originally been quite popular with families. By now, most of the units had been converted into rental properties, and it was primarily inhabited by elderly couples and single people like his mother. What’s more, the rent was quite cheap considering the square footage.
The apartment was located on ground carved out of a mountainside, but it was close to town and the incline his mother would have to traverse if she wanted to go shopping was gentle and wouldn’t tax her elderly legs.
But when the real estate agent gave them a tour, A’s impression was that the place seemed “depressing.”
It had a lovely view of the town below, and the mountain behind the complex added a sense that nature wasn’t far away. But everything about the place felt gloomy, probably because so few people lived there. The huge complex contained many buildings, but the sidewalks and park were deserted. Curtains decorated less than half the windows, and A guessed that fewer than 30 percent of the units were occupied. The flower beds and shared areas didn’t look maintained. In fact, the place seemed almost abandoned, which only made it feel gloomier.
In contrast to A’s uncertainty, his mother took a shine to the apartment immediately. She was pleased with the nice views and the natural setting. She even liked the lack of other tenants. She was a quiet person, and crowds tended to tire her out.
So A held his tongue, figuring it was best for his mother to live in a place she liked.
They toured several units before she decided on a third-floor apartment in Building Five. The ten-story structure offered more options, but a higher floor would have meant more trouble going up and down. The real estate agent strongly recommended Building Five because its floor plans were more catered to single people and couples without children, allowing A’s mother to make friends more easily. A’s mother agreed.
But when she and A went around to meet the neighbors on the day she moved in, only one person on her floor answered—a surly old man who curtly accepted the snacks they’d brought, then promptly shut the door.
A couldn’t shake his uneasiness. Was it really a good idea for his mother to be living in a place like this?
About half a year after his mother moved, a pipe cracked at A’s apartment in Nagano. The leak was directly above his room, damaging the whole thing. Management informed him they would need a couple of days to replace the wallpaper and get everything repaired. Without a place to sleep, he saw an opportunity to take some time off work and to visit his mother at her apartment.
His job had kept him extremely busy since her move, so he hadn’t been to see her in a while. She sounded elated when he called her and made the suggestion.
A hadn’t seen the apartment since his mother moved in, and he found it just as depressing as before.
But when he got to his mother’s room, he saw she’d hung up a calendar and there were more books on her bookshelf—ones she’d clearly bought after the move. It seemed to A like his mother had built a foundation from which to start her new life. He was also relieved to hear she’d gotten to know some of the other residents, despite their small number.
A’s mother was a gentle woman who was always smiling.
She’d been that way for as long as A could remember. Back when he was young, A used to tell her about his days at school. She never said much in return, but she would listen to all his stories with a bright smile on her face. She was the complete opposite of his stern, unapproachable father.
When he got to her apartment, A found her sitting in a chair by the window, curtains pulled back to let in the sunshine. She listened to his news with a content smile.
But she seemed somehow different from the mother he knew. Every so often, as they talked, she’d twist her face into a strange expression.
As she nodded along to A’s words, her smile would occasionally morph into a wide, toothy grin. Though she was still smiling, it almost seemed forced. Something about it reminded him of that same depressing sensation he’d felt the first time he toured the apartment. A asked his mother about it, but she seemed unaware that it was happening.
She would also spend long hours sitting in her chair and looking out the window, simply staring at the mountain view. Though his introverted mother preferred reading to going out, A thought it odd that she would sit there, without the TV on or any music playing, doing nothing but gazing out the window. As much as he hated to consider it, he suspected she might be developing dementia.
He had to ask.
“Why do you look out the window so much? Are there rare birds around here or something?”
Her eyes still glued to the view outside, his mother replied:
“I’m waiting.”
A asked what she was waiting for, but she simply continued to smile without saying anything.
That evening, his mother said from the kitchen, “I’m going to make meat-and-potato stew. I have some persimmons for dessert in the fridge, too. You love stew and persimmons, right?”
A certainly adored meat-and-potato stew, but he’d never much cared for persimmons. Plus, it was spring. Persimmons weren’t in season. He felt sad, thinking his mother’s memory must be beginning to slip.
Despite his concerns, A’s mother finished cooking and filled the table with food.
There was meat-and-potato stew, miso soup, sautéed baby broccoli, glass noodle salad, and freshly cooked rice. All were dishes A loved, and that only made him sadder.
But as soon as he took a bite, his mind blanked. None of the food had any flavor.
A change in the flavor of someone’s cooking is a well-documented sign of dementia. But this seemed a little different. The meat-and-potato stew looked completely normal, but it had no taste whatsoever. He felt like he was chewing sand. If his mother had mistaken sugar for salt, the food might taste bad or strange. But it didn’t taste bad; it was completely flavorless.
His mother kept eating the food on her plate, oblivious to her son’s shock and dismay. But rather than enjoying her meal, she looked like she was tackling a chore.
A made a decision right then and there. He couldn’t let his dear mother live like this. He would have her move in with him instead.
He set down his chopsticks as he considered how to broach the topic. That was when he heard a loud sound outside.
It was a peculiar noise, like a thud and a crash at about the same time.
Surprised, A ran to the window. His mother, however, moved with unusual speed and beat him there.
Down below, he saw the body of a person twitching in a pool of blood, their arms and legs bent at odd angles.
A’s mother was a gentle woman who was always smiling.
A would never forget that moment.
His mother was staring down at the scene below, smiling contentedly.
After that, A sent her to live with some relatives until he could arrange for her to settle in with him. As he watched the moving truck take her things from the apartment and set off toward his house, a middle-aged woman called out to him from the park attached to the complex.
She introduced herself as someone from another building who knew his mother. The other day, she had noticed A going in and out of his mother’s room. So when she saw him outside, she’d decided to approach him.
She’d met A’s mother shortly after she moved in while walking in the park. There weren’t very many people living in the apartment complex, so opportunities to meet others were limited. The woman said she always kept an eye out for A’s mother but hadn’t seen her recently. It seemed she hardly went outside anymore.
A informed her that his mother was moving and thanked her for looking out for her.
The woman replied, “I’ll miss her, but I think it’s for the best. I feel better knowing that she’ll be living with her son. She shouldn’t stay in a place like that…”
Apparently, it wasn’t the first time someone had committed suicide there. It turned out that a number of people jumped off the roof of Building Five every year. Among certain circles, it was quite notorious.
The jumpers weren’t people living in the apartment complex, either. Most of them came from far away just to end their lives. For some reason, it only happened at Building Five, so the other residents tended to keep their distance.
A was shocked to find out his mother had been living in such a place.
Just then, something occurred to A, and he asked if there had been any other suicides since his mother had moved in.
Apparently, two people had already jumped to their deaths. In other words, his mother had witnessed three suicides since moving in.
When he heard that, A was convinced.
His mother had been waiting. Sitting there by the window, she had been waiting for someone to jump.
She lives with him in Nagano now, always staring out the window with a blank expression on her face, as if waiting for something to happen.