Read Online Nan-Core by Mahokaru Numata - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mahokaru Numata
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impossible.
I dragged myself away from the window. I had to make a conscious effort just to move. I sat at my desk but my head was still heavy so I rested it in my hands. I tried to force my thoughts away from Chie.
Without any particular reason I narrowed my eyes a little and looked at the sheets of paper scattered across the surfaceof the desk: copies of my family register, current and old. Supplementary family registers. Residency certificates.
I had made a trip to the library before opening the cafe that morning, remembering it housed a ward office branch that was open for basic service on weekends. I realized they would probably have information on my parents’ old address in Tokyo. I wasn’t sure what I would do even if I had been able to pin down the twenty-year-old address. Would I go to Tokyo looking for their old neighbors, hold up a photo of Mom, and ask if it was the same person? I think a part of me was considering trying that much at least. I didn’t care what, I just wanted to know something of my family’s past.
Either way, the address had proved elusive. What little information there was told me I was born in Tokyo’s Kita Ward, but even then the name of the hospital was missing.
I had already known that our address in Komagawa was listed as our current permanent residence. The transfer had been processed during the move. When I checked in the official copy of the register, the relocation to Komagawa in Nara Prefecture was recorded as being from Maebashi in Gunma Prefecture. Maebashi was Mom’s old house where my grandparents had lived, so there wasn’t anything particularly strange in that.
I was surprised, however, to find the Maebashi address also listed as the old address on the residency certificate and slips. They’d been living in Tokyo, so why was the Tokyo address not listed?
At first a number of theories crowded my head. I was suddenly sure of a cover-up, of their doctoring the forms to keep the Tokyo address a secret. Then I remembered the fire.After that they had left the apartment in Tokyo and moved in temporarily with Mom’s parents, so it was possible they listed their residency there at the time. At least the parts fit, if that was the case.
I was still intent on finding out the Tokyo address, our home before Maebashi. Later in the morning I did some more research online and found out that the Maebashi City Hall had a “Notice of Removal” form that was issued when the family register was moved to Komagawa. If I checked it out, there was a chance I could work out the old address. I was excited, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was a Saturday I would probably have gone straight to Maebashi.
As things were, there was nothing I could do.
If it wasn’t for her condition, I could have gone to the nursing home and dropped it into conversation with Gran. Her dementia, however, had gotten so bad she no longer remembered that her daughter, my mother, was dead. The worst thing for me was the fact that my own memory was proving useless. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember a thing from before my hospitalization. Not the house I lived in, not its surroundings, not a single thing. The first memories of my childhood were all from inside the hospital. They were scattered but vivid: the other kids in the ward, the kind nurses, the toy robot Dad brought for me.
No records, no memories, just a handful of bizarre notebooks …
With my chin still resting in one hand I picked up the family register. I looked back at the ruthless and businesslike line that had been struck diagonally through the name Misako, my mother’s name. It was painful to see such a starkreminder of the fact of her death, and yet I couldn’t help thinking of what Yohei had said. She had watched me sleeping with a pillow clutched to her chest. I couldn’t find it in my heart to grieve for her death anymore, not properly.
Whenever I brought her familiar image that I’d absorbed throughout the
I dragged myself away from the window. I had to make a conscious effort just to move. I sat at my desk but my head was still heavy so I rested it in my hands. I tried to force my thoughts away from Chie.
Without any particular reason I narrowed my eyes a little and looked at the sheets of paper scattered across the surfaceof the desk: copies of my family register, current and old. Supplementary family registers. Residency certificates.
I had made a trip to the library before opening the cafe that morning, remembering it housed a ward office branch that was open for basic service on weekends. I realized they would probably have information on my parents’ old address in Tokyo. I wasn’t sure what I would do even if I had been able to pin down the twenty-year-old address. Would I go to Tokyo looking for their old neighbors, hold up a photo of Mom, and ask if it was the same person? I think a part of me was considering trying that much at least. I didn’t care what, I just wanted to know something of my family’s past.
Either way, the address had proved elusive. What little information there was told me I was born in Tokyo’s Kita Ward, but even then the name of the hospital was missing.
I had already known that our address in Komagawa was listed as our current permanent residence. The transfer had been processed during the move. When I checked in the official copy of the register, the relocation to Komagawa in Nara Prefecture was recorded as being from Maebashi in Gunma Prefecture. Maebashi was Mom’s old house where my grandparents had lived, so there wasn’t anything particularly strange in that.
I was surprised, however, to find the Maebashi address also listed as the old address on the residency certificate and slips. They’d been living in Tokyo, so why was the Tokyo address not listed?
At first a number of theories crowded my head. I was suddenly sure of a cover-up, of their doctoring the forms to keep the Tokyo address a secret. Then I remembered the fire.After that they had left the apartment in Tokyo and moved in temporarily with Mom’s parents, so it was possible they listed their residency there at the time. At least the parts fit, if that was the case.
I was still intent on finding out the Tokyo address, our home before Maebashi. Later in the morning I did some more research online and found out that the Maebashi City Hall had a “Notice of Removal” form that was issued when the family register was moved to Komagawa. If I checked it out, there was a chance I could work out the old address. I was excited, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was a Saturday I would probably have gone straight to Maebashi.
As things were, there was nothing I could do.
If it wasn’t for her condition, I could have gone to the nursing home and dropped it into conversation with Gran. Her dementia, however, had gotten so bad she no longer remembered that her daughter, my mother, was dead. The worst thing for me was the fact that my own memory was proving useless. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember a thing from before my hospitalization. Not the house I lived in, not its surroundings, not a single thing. The first memories of my childhood were all from inside the hospital. They were scattered but vivid: the other kids in the ward, the kind nurses, the toy robot Dad brought for me.
No records, no memories, just a handful of bizarre notebooks …
With my chin still resting in one hand I picked up the family register. I looked back at the ruthless and businesslike line that had been struck diagonally through the name Misako, my mother’s name. It was painful to see such a starkreminder of the fact of her death, and yet I couldn’t help thinking of what Yohei had said. She had watched me sleeping with a pillow clutched to her chest. I couldn’t find it in my heart to grieve for her death anymore, not properly.
Whenever I brought her familiar image that I’d absorbed throughout the
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