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was obscured by a welter of exposed pipes, but there wasn’t a single speck of dust on the gray cement floor. The cavernous basement was empty except for a couple of rows of cheap-looking storage compartments that had been painted white. Stenciled on each of the lockers was the number of the corresponding apartment.
    The scene reminded Misao of a photograph she had seen in some old magazine a long time ago, of the communal shower room in a ruined building. The photo had been taken in the basement of a Western-style structure that had once served as a dormitory for single women. The paint was peeling off the walls, and the door to the shower room hung limply from a single broken hinge. The nozzles dangling in a row from the ceiling were oddly curved, like the beaks of a flock of eagles. All the scummy layers of soap and grime that landed on the tile when those legions of long-ago women washed themselves off had accumulated to the point where it looked as though someone had spread a layer of snow-white loam over the floor of the showers.
    â€œI do believe you’ll find the extra storage space surprisingly useful,” Eiko said, impishly adopting the elevated manner of a real estate agent trying to convince a potential buyer. “As for the lockers themselves, I admit that they aren’t quite as stylish as one might wish, but they serve the purpose well enough. Hey, look at this!” Eiko exclaimed, abruptly reverting to her normal tone of voice. “You know I mentioned there’s a company that has its offices on the second floor? Well, they distribute health food, and they’ve apparently overflowed their storage unit and are storing their unsold inventory right out in the open here. Doesn’t that strike you as kind of shameless?”
    Eiko gestured at the cardboard boxes lined up along one wall. Each bore a printed label that read “Health Japan, LLC.”
    â€œWhat kind of health food is it?” Misao asked.
    â€œApparently they’re some kind of high-calorie protein bars that were originally developed for the space program,” Eiko explained. “A salesman for that company actually came to our door and tried to persuade me to buy some. I was like, Seriously? So I said to the guy, ‘You should know this is an exercise in futility, trying to peddle high-calorie bars to a woman who’s on a perpetual diet.’ Honestly, I don’t know a single person who would dream of even looking at a weight-gain bar. Do such people even exist nowadays?” Eiko burst into incredulous laughter.
    Kaori was standing nearby, scratching idly at the rusty fender of a derelict bicycle that someone had propped against one of the unused lockers. Turning to glare at her daughter, Eiko snapped, “Kaori, stop it! You know better than that!” As her exasperated voice bounced off the walls, the amplified echo made it sound almost like a roar.
    Eiko went over to the storage locker that bore the number of her apartment, 402, and stuck her key in the padlock. The sliding door opened easily. Inside, a bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling, and on the floor was a motley tangle of worn-out chairs, reusable plastic beer crates, and an old tricycle.
    â€œI’ve heard that if you go to Europe you’ll find facilities like this in nearly every apartment building. I guess this basement is proof that they’re catching on here, as well,” Eiko said as she slid the door closed again.
    Misao felt a sudden, frigid draft swirling around her ankles, and she shuddered involuntarily. How can it be windy? she thought, looking around. She had a sudden feeling that the concrete walls were closing in on her.
    â€œMama?” Tamao came up and stuck her hand into her mother’s. “Can we go home now?”
    â€œYes, let’s do that,” Misao said quickly. “Let’s go home.” Once again, she felt the icy breeze caressing her feet and legs. Misao called out to Eiko,