Creative Nonfiction
My Tokyo House of Horrors
Living with my landlord’s past and an unexpected hoarder/boarder
“Okay. Here’s a listing that might work!” The agent pushed a sheet of paper across the desk to me.
“The landlord specifically says he wants to rent to foreigners.”
That was refreshing news.
My husband, Dennis, and I had been in Tokyo for nearly a week now, trying to find an apartment. We were growing frustrated in the cramped “business hotel” near Ueno Park as one day led to another, and we still hadn’t lined up a place to stay. Landlords, who sounded encouraging on the phone, balked when the agent told them we were foreigners. Either that or the rent was beyond what my 1983 Fulbright dissertation research stipend would cover.
But this place sounded too good to be true: an entire house, fully furnished, modest rent, and no “key money,” the expensive “gift-to-the landlord” usually required when renting in Japan, sometimes the equivalent of over one month’s rent. It’s the bane of the visiting graduate student’s budget.
“What gives?”
The agent shrugged. “He says he likes Americans.”
Mr. Miyahara confirmed that when we met him later that afternoon.
