Before heading back to Tokyo from Yokosuka there was one more place I wanted to see. During my last year and a half in the Navy I had rented a small apartment in Hemi, a little town within walking distance of Yokosuka. I had sort of "inherited" the rights to the apartment from my buddy, Jake Keller, when he departed Japan. The building itself was hardly more than a rusty frame covered in thin boards, sheet metal and glass. However, it was my little haven from the berthing compartment on the ship that I shared with 70 other guys. A place where I could escape the constant albatross of military regulation aboard the ship; wearing a uniform, saluting officers, eating meals during specified hours, lights out at 10 PM, etc. The apartment was where I could hang out, cook meals, drink beer, and socialize with friends. I had to find this place because I knew it would return some fond memories. But did it even still exist? Had the town changed enough that I would still recognize the little side street it was on? Was my memory up to the task after 24 years? I needed to find out...
I walked back to Yokosuka Station, crossed the tracks and headed in what I thought was the right direction. About five minutes later I came to a main intersection. I looked across the street and saw a sign for Hemi Station. I was going in the right direction. When I got up to the train overpass and looked down the alley to my left, there was Hemi Station with it's rows of bicycles parked out front and a tunnel-like entrance leading from the street level up to the platform. How many times I had taken the short ride from Shiori Station in the middle of Yokosuka (the closest of the three train stations in Yokosuka to the navy base) over to Hemi hauling a case of Budweiser or a sack of clean laundry. The station looked unchanged except, sad to say, the beer vending machines were no longer there. I started feeling pretty sentimental. Now I really wanted to find the apartment.
Hemi is in a narrow valley between two hills. The main street occupies the bottom of the valley with shops and homes lining either side. Narrow streets not much wider than a sidewalk lead off of the main street to smaller parallel streets lined with homes. Staircases and narrow spur streets run up the hills leading to more homes. I would estimate that the whole town occupies a space not more than an 1/8 mile in width. As I continued past the station and up the hill on the main street through town I could see that some of the homes were newer and, if it was possible, the street seemed a little wider than before.
I couldn't remember how far the apartment was from the train station although I did recall that we used to ride my little folding bicycle down to the beer machines late at night, and that the round trip was not more than 10 minutes or so. We kept a jar of change on hand for the beer machines and usually flipped a coin to see who would make the run. You could buy cans of beer that ranged in volume from 200 ml up to two liters, and bottles of Suntory Whiskey too.
Walking up the hill I took one of the little alley-like streets that paralleled the east side of the main street. I hoped that I would spot some familiar landmark that would lead me to the apartment. After a few blocks the side street lead back out to the main road. I walked further up the hill and found another side street. I followed that almost to it's end when I came across a smaller street coming down off of the hill and into the side street. I looked up the little spur road and suddenly sensed that this was the place. A road construction truck was parked on the smaller road that I wanted to walk up and a surveyors tripod was set up, but other than that I could not see any sign of actual work having started.
The construction traffic control guy had just lit a cigarette and sat down for a break. The space that I wanted to pass through between him and the truck was not more than four feet wide. As I moved towards him, the traffic guy stood up with his red baton in hand, blocking my passage, and said something to me that I couldn't understand but took to meant "what is your business here?" Just beyond him I could see an old yellow sign that read "Mitsuboshi Apartments". That had to be the place. I looked at him and
said "Mitsuboshi Apartments" as I gestured up the hill. His face relaxed as he said "Hai, Mitsuboshi Apartments" and motioned towards the sign indicating that I was free to proceed. I walked another 40 feet to the sign, looked to my right, and suddenly there was my old apartment building.
I had forgotten the name and when I saw the apartment sign it looked familiar but now there was no doubt. In front of the building was a dirt lot, empty except for the weeds growing in it. The building itself looked like it had not seen any maintenance in years. The back wall was a faded gray metal siding with patches of rust scattered across it. The windows on two of the four lower units were covered by storm shutters even though it was now a beautiful spring day. Was it even occupied I wondered?
When I lived there all of the apartments were occupied by Americans; the only gaijins in the neighborhood that I could tell. I paid $210 a month in rent to Mr. Morita at his office in town. All utilities were included. Morita-san made it clear to my friend and neighbor, Curtis Troutt, that he we needed to use kerosene heaters in the wintertime. Curtis had been using an electric heater for his first month and apparently had run up quite a bill on Mr. Morita's dime. Eventually Curtis would move next door and become my roomate.
I walked around to the front of the building with it's narrow walkway that faced into a concrete hillside. The gutters were full of leaves and a pile of old fire extinguishers sat on the ground. The front of the building looked even more worn and rusty than the backside. I was pretty sure now that it had to be uninhabited. The electric meters were on the wall next to the center of the building so I took a look and saw that none of them were turning; the building was empty.
I walked over to the front door over apartment 1C. It was my old place. No one was around. No one was watching. I put my hand on the door knob and turned it. The door opened....ok, enough with the mystery writer stuff. I should say though, that at this point I was definitely reliving old memories and, yes, the door really did open. Inside the place was an orderly sort of a wreck. It just looked run down and dilapidated. A sign was posted on the bathroom door in Kanji. I took a photo and Fumiko translated it for me later that night. It said that the water was being shut off on January 17, 2007 so please do not use the toilet after that date. So, the place had been empty for over a year and it looked like it. The sliding door between the front and back rooms had broken panes of glass in it. A drop cloth covered the floor in the backroom where I used to sleep. the windows were covered in dirt. I forgot to check the kitchen ceiling to see if there was any pasta was still stuck to it from when we used to test for doneness; damn, I probably would've cried had I found a piece.
I started to think back on all of the good times Curtis and I had there. The building was uninsulated and in the winter it would get so cold in there that you could see your breath. The first night back from being away on a cruise we would flip a coin to see who was going to get up in the morning, light the kerosene heater and fill the bath tub with water. There was no hot water feed for the bath tub, it had to be filled with cold water and then an electric recirculating heater would warm the water. It usually took 45 minutes before it was hot enough. To bath you would crouch next to the tub and dip water out with a bucket, wetting yourself, soaping down and then rinsing. Afterwards you could get in the tub and soak up the warmth. There was no time wasted getting clean when the air temp was 40F.
We had to report to work at 7:30 each morning on the Blue Ridge. That meant getting up before 6:00 to light the heater and start the bath, quickly getting back into bed until it was ready. Then we would walk to the train station, ride into Yokosuka and catch a cab from there over into the base and over to the ship. It sounds like a lot of extra work when the guys on the ship just had to roll out of their bunks, get dressed and walk up a couple floors to be report for muster. I wouldn't have traded those mornings for anything though. Wow, ok, that was nice little trip down memory lane for me. I'll bet it bored the heck out of you - hah! To make up for it I will throw in a little bonus post tonight, even though it's already, ohh 2AM!
Some of the fruit of is imported but I think most of it is grown locally in greenhouses. The high-end cantaloupes that I saw ranged from $30-65 each. In appearance, they were perfect in every way. The stem and vine of each cantaloupe was carefully wrapped in paper. Fumiko says that each melon has a date written on the label indicating the optimum day on which it should be eaten.
