Never To Be Solved
Stories similar to this that you might like too.
The first time I saw a murder, it was just after sunset. The sun had set and the streetlights were on when we came out of the subway station at Fifty-second Street in Manhattan to find two dead bodies lying there covered with sheets. A couple of policemen stood by as people walked past them without stopping or looking.
It looked like something from an old movie. In those days they didn’t call anything that happened around Times Square “Times Square.” They called it Hell’s Kitchen instead because so many bad things went down there—and still do.
I remember thinking how odd it must have been for the victims’ families to see their loved ones laid out like this: one man was shot through the head; another was stabbed twenty times over his entire body. But then again, maybe not very strange.
After all, what are you going to think if your husband is murdered? You’re probably already imagining him being cut up into little pieces before he gets dumped somewhere far away where no one will ever know who killed him…or even care enough about it to investigate further.
That way lies madness! And since most murders go unsolved nowadays anyway (because police can be bought), why worry yourself any more than necessary?
We left the scene quickly and headed north toward our apartment building on West Forty-fourth Street between Eighth Avenue and Broadway. There weren’t too many other people walking along these streets back then either, but once inside my mother’s place she immediately started making dinner while telling me everything that had gone wrong today.
She’d gotten a phone call earlier saying her sister was sick and couldn’t make it home until tomorrow morning. My aunt lived near Washington D.C., which meant Mom would now need someone else to take us shopping for clothes later tonight.
Then Dad got mad and said he wouldn’t come unless she promised never to leave us alone together anymore. So here we sat eating cold food and waiting for Aunt Barbara to arrive.
My father took off early the next day and spent half the night drinking beer with some friends. He also told everyone he knew about my mom leaving me alone with my older brother Jimmy. Even though he wasn’t supposed to drink during work hours, nobody seemed surprised when he showed up late the following evening.
Not only did he act drunk, but he kept staring straight ahead and muttering under his breath whenever anyone asked him questions. As soon as we heard a car pull up outside, we ran downstairs to greet him. We could hear voices coming closer and eventually Uncle Dave appeared behind him carrying three suitcases full of groceries.
When he saw us standing there holding hands and smiling happily, he laughed loudly and shook his fists at God. His wife always made sure nothing spoiled in her house, especially fresh meat. Now he wondered whether she hadn’t packed a few extra pounds onto her kids’ frames overnight.
Maybe Jimmy should get himself checked for malnutrition. If he turned out okay, well, and good, otherwise we might want to start considering adoption. Otherwise, we might end up spending Christmas Eve watching TV in separate bedrooms rather than sitting side by side in front of the fireplace exchanging presents.
“What kind of mood am I gonna have?” he shouted. “You don’t wanna give birth right here in this goddamn hallway!”
Mom put on her coat and hurried upstairs. Jimmy followed her shortly thereafter. By the time we reached the top floor, both boys were sound asleep. Their faces shone white against the black bedclothes and their mouths hung open slightly, each tooth shining bright red underneath.
This was new behavior for both of them. Beforehand they used to stay awake long enough to eat whatever was served and say thank you afterward. With Mom out doing last-minute errands and Uncle Dave stuck babysitting us, none of us thought much about having a nice family meal together beforehand.
No matter what happened afterward, it would be fine. One thing was certain: Mom would return with bags stuffed full of toys, books, games, movies, music CDs, candy bars, chips, cookies, hot dogs wrapped in cellophane paper, soda pop, wine coolers, chocolate cake, and ice cream.
Everything except the booze, which she usually hid from herself deep within the freezer. At least that’s how it worked every year before. Of course, Santa Claus didn’t really exist, nor did he deliver gifts directly to children living in New York City.
Instead, parents gave their offspring money so they could buy their own presents themselves. Kids didn’t ask for anything specific; they simply wanted stuff and lots of it. Nothing fancy either. Just plain everyday objects like plastic rings and cheap rubber balls and small cars with tiny engines that sounded great running across floors covered with wooden planks.
Stuff to keep them amused while playing outdoors or indoors depending upon weather conditions. And plenty of junk food to fill their stomachs, wash down with sugary drinks and help fuel their growing bones.
The adults hoped this would lead to healthy growth without excess weight gain because such things just didn’t happen naturally among those raised in poverty. They figured it was better to let youngsters gorge on sweets than risk giving them access to drugs instead—and certainly less dangerous than alcohol consumption, which was frowned upon.
Besides, the government offered generous financial support for single mothers raising multiple children. It came in handy sometimes.
Jimmy woke up first around nine o’clock that Sunday morning. Since we didn’t have any real breakfast yet, he decided to walk downtown and buy something fast to munch on. While he went looking for an all-night diner or deli shop where he could pick up sandwiches, juice, and doughnuts, I helped myself to the bag of candy bars Mom bought yesterday afternoon.
After opening one package after another and stuffing my mouth full, I realized that if I continued consuming these sweet treats at this rate, not even the most advanced diet program on Earth could save me. I tossed the empty wrappers into the wastebasket and grabbed two more packages from the bottom drawer beneath the kitchen countertop.
Then I washed my hands thoroughly in order to avoid getting caught stealing again later on. Although my appetite had finally been satisfied, my mind still felt hungry. Hungering for knowledge. My uncle walked through our door several minutes earlier wearing sunglasses despite being inside the apartment building.
On his way home, he’d stopped at the supermarket near Grand Central Terminal, then picked up a bottle of vodka along with cigarettes and other supplies needed for survival. I guessed he wouldn’t be able to hold back once dinner rolled around tonight.
He would probably pass out somewhere between eight p.m. and ten p.m., wake up sometime in the middle of the night, take another shot of liquor, smoke some weed, play poker online until dawn broke over Manhattan, and then sleep till noon. In case anybody got worried, he knew exactly how many days remained until Christmas Day.
There were thirty-six left today. A week ago he told us that Auntie Sarah called him yesterday afternoon and invited him round next Saturday. She said she wanted to go shopping for presents with him. What else? That meant Uncle Dave was free too. As usual, neither boy responded when asked whether they planned to join her as well.
Maybe tomorrow evening would bring different answers. Until then, though, Dad kept quiet too. Even Mom seemed unusually subdued during the entire day. Not only due to fatigue but also perhaps because there wasn’t going to be a proper celebration anytime soon.
We weren’t sure whether to believe Uncle Dave, who claimed to know everything about the holiday season, including its history, customs, rituals, superstitions, legends, myths, symbols, etcetera, etcetera. His claims made sense to us. But nobody dared voice doubts aloud.
Who knows what might happen otherwise? So we listened quietly whenever he spoke about Christmas. Nobody interrupted, although Jimmy occasionally nodded off midway through Uncle Dave’s monologues. For example, right now he appeared to be sleeping sitting upright in front of the TV set.
During the previous weeks, he spent hours watching old reruns of Seinfeld episodes, especially those featuring Elaine Benes (the character played by Julia Louis-Dreyfus). Those sitcoms always featured funny scenes involving gift exchanges.
Each time, however, we managed to prevent Jimmy from falling asleep in that chair. Now he was snoring softly beside the sofa. I tried waking him up twice already, telling him to get ready and come downstairs. No response whatsoever.
Good job he can’t see or hear me anyway since his eyes are closed tight against the world. Otherwise, he’d say I’m disturbing him somehow and start yelling loudly. Which is definitely true, but don’t tell anyone.
Ever since he discovered he couldn’t move freely anymore, he started acting strangely. If you’re lucky enough, he’ll leave you alone and pretend nothing ever happened. Most likely your luck will run out eventually, though, leaving you no choice but to deal with him yourself.
At least, that’s what usually happens here in the apartment. With the exception of Mother, who has learned how best to handle his unpredictable mood swings. Or rather, to ignore them altogether.
“I think you should stop drinking,” said Mom. “You’ve drunk so much alcohol lately.”
She stood behind the couch and looked down at the floor. The top part of her face showed signs of weariness, while underneath it her lips twitched slightly every few seconds. Her expression suggested she hadn’t slept properly last night either.
This reminded me: When did she fall pregnant again? It must have been late summer, early autumn. Of course, fathers never let anything like pregnancy affect their love life. And why shouldn’t he keep doing things his own way? Why do women expect men to behave differently than they themselves do?
Anyway… Back to the question of motherhood. How long does she plan on staying with us? Three months max, before moving away to wherever she decides to settle permanently. Wherever her new husband lives, I mean. One thing’s clear: Neither brother nor sister wants her to live under our roof indefinitely.
They want her gone ASAP, just like her father. I hope the same doesn’t apply to Daddy. Well, maybe. Hard to imagine him having any interest in keeping a wife in his house forever. Especially after losing all three parents within the such short succession. Except for one brief period when he briefly dated someone named Lisa.
After four years together, which included marriage plans and even an engagement ring bought from Tiffany & Co., the relationship ended abruptly without explanation. Whatever caused this breakup remains unclear; neither side could offer a reasonable answer.
Since then, Father hasn’t bothered himself trying to find somebody new. Instead, he spends most evenings playing video games. Occasionally, he takes a break from gaming to watch movies on Netflix or HBO GO—or read books borrowed from the library.
Some of these books contain detailed accounts of ancient civilizations. Others describe the history of other planets visited by humans. Many others detail human encounters with aliens and extraterrestrials. Sometimes he reads several of these works simultaneously, alternating between each genre depending upon whatever catches his fancy more strongly at that moment.
Every two weeks, he visits the local branch of Barnes & Noble. Usually, he picks up six to seven hardcover volumes to add to his personal collection. Once home, he opens the first book immediately. He seems very interested in learning everything possible about humanity’s past, present, future, and probable interactions with alien races.
Recently, he acquired copies of the novels written by C.J. Cherryh and Stephen Baxter. These authors specialize in space opera science fiction stories dealing with interstellar travel, intergalactic empires, galactic wars, advanced technologies, alien cultures, intelligent nonhuman species, and the development of artificial intelligence.
In addition, he keeps track of developments taking place across multiple galaxies using online news portals specializing in astronomy and astrophysics. Not surprisingly, there isn’t much overlap among topics covered by the various genres Dad enjoys reading.
His tastes appear quite eclectic overall, if not downright bizarre at times. To put it bluntly, I suspect something’s seriously wrong inside his head. Perhaps some sort of mental disorder. That may explain why he drinks too often.
However, according to my brother’s assessment, he only gets intoxicated once per week during holidays or special occasions. On average, he consumes five beers over the course of ten days, followed by another week sobering up. As far as I know, none of my relatives were ever concerned about the state of his mind.
Nor did anybody suggest seeking professional help. Maybe because nobody noticed until recently. Until now, when everyone realizes how different he really is compared to how we remembered him growing up. All right, enough of that topic. Let’s go back to talking about Mom.
She might be pregnant, but she didn’t look it yesterday morning when I saw her getting dressed. Even though she wasn’t wearing panties, which would indicate otherwise. But I’m sure she was lying. At least I sincerely hope so!
The doorbell rang. Mother got off the sofa, went into the hall, opened the front door, greeted Mr. Olesen warmly, gave him a hug, took out her keys from the pocket of her robe, handed them to him, thanked him for coming, closed the door gently behind him, came back toward the kitchen, picked up a pair of earrings sitting on the countertop next to the sink, slipped them onto her ears, brushed her hair, combed through it, ran water over both hands to remove excess moisture, dried herself completely with paper towels.
She then left the bathroom, walked to the living room where her children waited, hugged her youngest daughter tightly, kissed her cheek, sat on the edge of the chair closest to her oldest child, wrapped her arms around her middle son’s neck, held his face close to hers, pressed her mouth against his softly, smiled tenderly into his eyes.
Then she whispered something to him I couldn’t hear, moved away slowly, turned toward her second-youngest child who had remained seated throughout the entire exchange, bent forward, kissed him lightly on the lips, looked deeply into his eyes, told him goodbye, stood up, walked directly to me, embraced me firmly while holding myself steady on tiptoes, planted light kisses on my cheeks and forehead, pulled back slightly, glanced down at my chest, lingered on my breasts for a few seconds, gazed intently into my eyes again, released me, stepped backward, dropped heavily into a seat opposite mine, folded her legs underneath herself, placed both palms flat on the tabletop, leaned back, crossed her ankles comfortably beneath herself, clasped her fingers loosely together in her lap, stared straight ahead, appeared utterly relaxed…and totally indifferent.
The way she behaved made no sense whatsoever.
And yet, here I am thinking about nothing else since last night except what happened yesterday morning. Why? Because the image of those intense stares she directed toward us whenever our eyes met has stuck deep inside my brain.
My wife’s expression was almost hypnotic like someone caught in a trance. It reminded me of a time long ago when she suffered from severe headaches brought on by stress. Back then, her gaze seemed similar to the way she looks today: unreadable. Only this time, her stare felt even stronger than before—much harsher, more aggressive somehow. More dangerous.
“So you’re telling me,” I asked, “that your mom hasn’t been acting weird lately?”
I received an affirmative response accompanied by one word. Yes. Her reply surprised me greatly. So many thoughts raced through my mind all at once. Did they come true after all? What exactly do these words mean anyway? How can I tell whether anything bad will happen tomorrow based solely on her answer?
If Mom says yes, does that guarantee anything good will also occur? Or maybe things will get worse instead?! Shouldn’t I wait and see for myself first rather than jump to conclusions without any concrete evidence supporting my suspicions? Wait and see? Yeah, right!
This conversation just reminds me of what Dr. D said in class earlier today. He claimed that humans are creatures incapable of predicting events accurately beforehand. They need data collected under controlled conditions prior to making predictions based on incomplete information.
According to him, the ability to predict human behavior depends upon collecting objective facts regarding people’s actions and reactions. This means everything is uncertain until proven otherwise. Well, I guess I’ll have plenty of opportunities to test that theory soon enough!
Father arrived home shortly afterward carrying three plastic bags filled with groceries. One bag contained fruits and vegetables; the other two contained frozen meat products and packaged snacks. While Father unpacked the contents of each grocery bag on the dining room floor, Mother returned upstairs.
Once finished putting the food away, she prepared dinner. By 7 p.m., dinner was ready, and waiting for Dad to join us. We ate quickly as usual due to my brother being late getting home because he stopped along the road to buy some ice cream.
Afterward, we cleared the dishes, washed them in the dishwasher, wiped the counters dry, cleaned up the mess in the hallway, put dirty clothes into the hamper, stacked clean laundry neatly on top of the washing machine, gathered toys scattered across the floor into a pile, swept the floors, dusted furniture, polished windowsills, changed sheets, switched loads in the washing machines, tidied bedrooms, organized bookshelves, removed dust bunnies hiding behind chairs…
All done within thirty minutes flat thanks to my parents’ efficient cleaning skills. Then it was bathtime followed by bedtime rituals (which always took much longer), including prayers, songs, reading stories aloud, brushing teeth, changing diapers, tucking kids in tight, kissing foreheads, blowing kisses, etc., ad nauseam. As exhausted as everyone usually feels afterward, there wasn’t really anything special or out of place during tonight’s routine.
That was how every day went around here back then. Until now, actually. Things were normal between me and Mom throughout most days despite whatever bizarre circumstances occurred outside the house. But ever since Saturday, something had definitely gone haywire.
Maybe the problem lies not so much in her but with me instead. Perhaps it started happening precisely because I’m starting to care too deeply again. In this case, perhaps the solution would be best served if I simply ignored everything altogether and continued living life according to its own rules.
No matter what happens next, however, I won’t forget this experience anytime soon. Not while my heart still beats strong within my chest. Not while I remain capable of breathing air freely through my lungs.
***
The following week passed surprisingly fast considering I’d spent pretty much all weekend glued to the sofa watching television. On Monday evening, I decided to head over to my friend Mitsuo’s apartment complex located near Tokyo Station to visit him.
Although he lived alone, his building was quite large consisting mostly of high-rise condominiums inhabited mainly by young professionals who worked downtown. Despite having only four apartments per level, the entire structure spanned seven levels and boasted several hundred units spread among five separate buildings.
The building itself consisted entirely of residential space featuring multiple elevators, indoor parking lots, a convenience store, restaurants serving both Japanese and Western cuisine, beauty salons offering full-service treatments, and numerous shops selling clothing items ranging from casual wear to formal attire.
It even provided a small fitness center where tenants could work out free of charge using the equipment available inside. The rent charged ranged anywhere between 20 million yen and 30 million yen per year depending on unit size and location. A lot of money indeed, yet none of those amenities came cheap either.
Still, the fact remained: owning property in a such prime real estate close to central business district locations made renting a luxury worth paying for. Renting certainly didn’t offer the same sense of security nor did it allow residents access to the building’s facilities.
For example, no one residing in an office tower could enjoy swimming pool privileges. Similarly, individuals residing in traditional single-family homes couldn’t take advantage of modern conveniences like a concierge or valet services offered by condo complexes.
Of course, you might argue that neither option offers a truly safe environment when compared to the others. And I wouldn’t necessarily disagree. However, certain perks afforded to homeownership never fail to impress anyone regardless of age or gender.
To name a few, owners can make use of their private properties whenever they want. They have exclusive control over interior decorating options. Owners get to decide whether they will sell the property after purchasing it. Furthermore, people tend to feel more comfortable walking down streets lined with houses than rows upon rows of identical-looking condos.
When viewed individually, these factors are mere trivialities. Taken collectively, though, the overall impact is undeniable. This may sound strange coming from someone born and raised in Japan, but growing up surrounded by skyscrapers instilled a deep appreciation for things like natural sunlight shining directly onto your face, fresh breeze flowing past your window, trees swaying gently in gentle breezes, birds chirping in the distance, flowers blooming everywhere, raindrops falling softly against the pavement, butterflies fluttering about, cicadas singing loudly at night, children playing together in nearby parks, and dogs barking happily underfoot—the list goes on forever!
In other words, although I enjoyed spending time indoors admiring the various artworks hanging on walls, listening to music played via speakers placed strategically in key areas throughout the rooms, cooking meals, drinking wine, and conversing with friends seated comfortably in cozy armchairs situated beside fireplaces built into wall niches, or otherwise indulging myself in activities typically reserved exclusively for adults, I also craved simple outdoor experiences away from civilization.
Even today, I prefer taking long walks outdoors along city sidewalks rather than riding bikes or rollerblading around town. Sure enough, some folks think my preference sounds crazy given that we live smack dab in the middle of bustling metropolis Tokyo known for being home to millions upon millions of urbanites crammed tightly together amidst towering structures designed specifically to maximize human activity and minimize physical contact with nature.
Yet somehow I managed to survive just fine without experiencing any major trauma due to lack thereof. Besides, I don’t mind going barefoot occasionally, especially in public places like parks and beaches. If anything, I find the sensation pleasant and relaxing.
What amazes me, however, isn’t that I’ve been able to adapt well to life in densely populated cities. Rather, the thing that surprises me is how easily I adapted to life in rural towns comprised primarily of rice paddies and mountains covered almost entirely by thick forests.
Living in such environments allowed me to fully appreciate Mother Nature’s presence in our everyday lives. That said, as amazing as this experience has turned out to be so far, there were times when I wondered if perhaps living within such secluded communities wasn’t actually too good to last.
After all, humans aren’t meant to remain isolated forever; eventually, society would force us back to interacting with each other again.
My concerns proved valid sooner than expected. By May 25th, three weeks had already elapsed since arriving in Kyoto. At first glance, everything seemed perfect despite having virtually nothing to do aside from working part-time jobs during daytime hours and studying English vocabulary late at night before bed.
Despite not possessing many social interaction skills, to begin with, I found myself quickly developing friendships based solely on common interests including food, culture, language learning, traveling abroad (both locales and beyond), literature, anime/manga, etc.—basically anything interesting related to pop culture.
One particular friend of mine who lived alone shared his love of eating curry while watching old movies he downloaded off YouTube. He was also fond of discussing world history topics which led him to develop strong opinions regarding many different nations’ respective cultures and political systems.
Another person whom I befriended through mutual acquaintances spoke Japanese fluently. In addition to speaking fluent English, she possessed excellent communication skills thanks to her background as a high school student attending international schools located overseas prior to graduating college here in Japan.
She always looked forward to visiting foreign countries once every two years simply because she loved exploring new cuisines. Her favorite cuisine included Italian pasta dishes cooked al dente using olive oil instead of butter.
The third person I made friends with often brought homemade pizza to work where everyone ate it eagerly following a lunch break. On days when we worked until 6pm or later, dinner consisted mostly of sandwiches containing ingredients freshly baked earlier in the day.
As fun as these conversations tended to turn out to be, most of them took place either inside restaurants near my apartment building or else right outside its front door. Whenever one of us felt particularly hungry, we’d head downstairs toward the restaurant area immediately adjacent to the station platform and order something delicious to eat.
We did enjoy talking amongst ourselves sitting around tables set up outdoors beneath cherry blossoms decorated beautifully alongside lanterns strung overhead. During warm spring nights, it was even possible to see bats flying between buildings.
The End