Dripping
Heizō woke to the sound of dripping water. He kept his eyes shut but his ears open.
Drip … drip …
With a hushed groan, he sat on the edge of the bed, his consciousness slowly regaining clarity like a reflection in calming water.
Once he was fully awake, he strode to the bathroom and looked at the faucet. It was glossy. Silvery.
And dry.
Heizō trotted to the kitchenette and stared at the faucet. Like the one in the bathroom, it was moistureless.
There wasn’t another faucet in Heizō’s apartment. Which meant —
The ceiling was spotless. No leak. Which made sense. It wasn’t raining, and since Heizō lived on the uppermost floor, it couldn’t be from an apartment above.
Which led to only one conclusion — he had no idea where the dripping was coming from.
Maybe it’ll go away by itself. Sometimes problems could be solved that way.
But when Heizō came back from work, the dripping was still echoing in his apartment. In his ears. And invisible to the eye as before.
With a long sigh, he tossed his salaryman jacket on the bed and called the landlord. The latter picked up immediately.
After the usual pleasantries, Heizō asked, “Excuse me, but did the previous tenant of this apartment complain about a leak?”
“Leak?” the landlord blurted as if it were a foreign word. “Not that I remember. You have one?”
“Yes and no.” How should Heizō explain this? “What I mean is that I can only hear the leak. I can’t find it anywhere.”
“I see,” the landlord said as if this were a common occurrence. “Do you want me to call a plumber?” Or a psychologist? he must’ve wanted to suggest.
“Thank you, but I’ll deal with this myself.” What if the plumber came and found nothing? He might feel as if he’d been pranked.
“Speaking of professionals,” the landlord said. “How’s work?”
“Busy and hard,” Heizō replied. “But I can’t complain. The pay isn’t bad.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Yeah, very good.”
“Very good indeed!”
Heizō’s patience was plummeting. “Sorry, but is there something you want to know?”
“Oh, no, I was just chit-chatting. Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”
“Don’t worry, you didn’t. It’s just …” He wasn’t sure. Or sure whether he was sure.
“I think I’ve talked enough,” the landlord said in a sheepish voice. “I hope everything goes well for you at work. Take care!”
After hanging up, Heizō was left with a bad taste in his mouth. Or rather, in his ear.
That evening, Heizō pondered the possibilities again. Or rather, just one.
What if the dripping sound was coming from a neighboring apartment?
But could drops of liquid be that loud? Maybe Heizō’s ears, for whatever reason, had been extra sensitive lately?
Regardless, he should confirm his hypothesis.
But before that, he should narrow down the possibilities. There was no apartment in front or at the back. There was one underneath, but no one had come in or out of it in months; it probably didn’t have a tenant. Now, Heizō’s apartment was the rightmost on this floor. So that only left …
He slid into his trench coat and out of his apartment.
A moment later, he was standing in front of door 203. Knocking on it. As he’d done many times before.
Tomoaki emerged from behind the door, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. “Hey, long time no see.”
“Yeah, long time … We haven’t spoken since that day.”
“Oh, yeah.” Tomoaki bowed until his bangs covered his eyes. “Sorry again for not attending your birthday party.”
“It’s okay. Birthday parties are for children anyway.” Heizō shifted his weight to his other foot. “Also, you were busy with work.”
“Yeah, fishing may seem like an easy job, but it’s actually very demanding.”
His arms locked into an infinity symbol. “So that day was particularly hard?”
“Yeah, our boat only caught four kg in total. And the fish were so small that one of them couldn’t have filled a sashimi bowl.”
“That sounds hard indeed.” He tilted his head. “Maybe you should’ve called it out a day early.”
“Yeah, the problem is that I don’t know when to quit.”
“Speaking of problems” — he craned his neck toward Tomoaki’s apartment — “Do you have a leak in there?”
Tomoaki turned around. “Not that I’m aware of.” He faced forward again. “Why do you ask?”
Heizō rubbed the back of his neck, averting eye contact. “I’ve been hearing a leak. But I don’t know where it is.”
Tomoaki stared at Heizō as if he were a difficult math problem. Finally, seeming to have found the answer, Tomoaki said, “So you think the leak is in my apartment.”
Heizō nodded a little too much.
“There isn’t one,” Tomoaki said matter-of-factly. “I know because I haven’t heard anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. But don’t take my word. Come in and see for yourself.”
This sounded more like a threat than an invitation.
Heizō looked around Tomoaki’s apartment. It was twice the size of Heizō’s. With twice as much furniture, appliances, and taste. It was cleaner too; it looked like a dollhouse that had just been unboxed. In the entryway, there were hints of feminine presence: high-heeled boots and a ladybug-patterned umbrella.
And, as Tomoaki had assured, there was no hint of a leak. No steady sound. No wet spots.
“You know,” Tomoaki said, stepping next to Heizō, “you’ve always been like this. This is one of the reasons I …” He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”
Heizō raised his eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He gave a half nod and walked out of the door.
Back at his apartment, he sprawled on the bed, breathing into his pillow.
Listening to the dripping.
It’d grown faster. Bigger. It was forming a pond inside Heizō’s mind.
Drip, drip … drip, drip …
He covered his ears. He no longer wanted to search high and low for this leak. No longer wanted to try to fix it once and for all.
Wait, why stop the leak when he could just stop its sound?
He trotted out of his apartment and down the street — the one that led to Kanoko’s apartment. He should’ve called her first. Anyway, she lived just a few minutes away; he could just go back home if she wasn’t in hers or was busy.
She opened the door, dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants. “What’s wrong?”
Panting and perspiring, Heizō asked, “Could you lend me your headphones? Those that look like a hat?”
Kanoko narrowed her eyes. “Why do you need them?”
“I have a leak in my apartment.”
“And you want to stop it with my headphones?”
“Yeah — I mean, I want to stop the sound.”
She blinked at Heizō. Then, as if she’d understood the meaning of a song, said, “I get what you want to do. And let me tell you, it’s not going to work.”
He frowned. “How do you know?”
“You’re always doing things like this.”
“Like what?”
“Come on, you know.”
“I don’t know if I know … which basically means I don’t know.”
“Come on, it’s not the same.”
He felt like a dam had burst inside him. “You know what, forget your damn headphones. I’ll go buy my own.”
As he stepped away from Kanoko, he thought he’d caught her whisper or whimper something. That could’ve been an auditory illusion. After all, the dripping must’ve atrophied Heizō’s hearing.
After coming back to his apartment, Heizō clamped his brand-new noise-cancelling headphones on his head. Immediately, the whole world fell silent. A silence so deep that Heizō could hear his subconscious thoughts. So deep that if it had a material form, it’d be an endless abyss. So deep that he could picture himself falling into it.
But he could still hear the dripping.
He lay on the bed, closing his eyes but unable to shut his ears.
The dripping was now nonstop, echoing in the deepest chamber of his ears. Of his mind. It was probably forming a lake. No, a sea. One that Heizō couldn’t see, but that it’d drown him anyway.
Drip, drip, drip, drip …
