3 bar menu

Jailhouse Song – Part 03

The evening sunlight grew softer.

Victorique and Kazuya walked from Greenwich Village to East Village, retracing their steps from this morning without a moment’s rest.

Victorique wore a pink yukata—one with a different pattern—with a blue obi, holding a freshly baked loaf of bread. Kazuya, dressed in a worn white shirt and light brown pants held up by suspenders, wore a dark brown hat. He carried several old, large suitcases, stumbling left and right under their weight.

“We flooded the house, and now Ruri and her family have to stay in a hotel for a while. But still,” Kazuya said, trying to lighten the mood.

Victorique cast her gaze down. The dizziness and hallucinations had faded, and her steps were steady again. The main street was bustling with cars, carriages, and bicycles. The sidewalks were crowded with people, and the air was filled with chatter, whistles, and loud arguments.

“Considering your agreement with Bon Vivant last night and the letter arriving today, it looks like we can rent a room at the Carousel. And it’s all thanks to you.”

“But didn’t he say that it’s non-residential, so we’ll have to run a business or a shop?”

“Right. We’ll just ask when we get there.”

Kazuya smiled at Victorique, then resumed walking, wobbling with the suitcases.

Victorique tore off a piece of bread and ate it. “Sweet and tasty.”

Kazuya also took a bite. “It’s got cranberries in it.”

“It does.”

In East Village, rows of apartments lined the streets, windows offering glimpses of the diverse lives of immigrants.

“Everyone has their own home,” Kazuya murmured as he glanced at them. Victorique looked up at the windows, seemingly uninterested.

An elderly couple with gray hair shuffled back and forth, while next door, a young blonde couple prepared to go out.

Passing an old apartment building, Kazuya noticed a narrow staircase with four steps connecting the wooden front door to the street. The iron railing gleamed. Beneath the stairs, grass and flowers grew wild.

“It’s like a small bridge,” Kazuya noted.

A blonde girl and a small boy, likely her younger brother, stood fearfully in front of the door. A large, blond man, presumably their father, stood in the street with his arms wide open, calling out, “Hey! There are all sorts of things outside, and the weather’s nice!” The siblings exchanged looks, held hands, and cautiously descended the staircase.

Victorique and Kazuya continued on.

They passed an old house with a balcony where a crude homemade wooden swing swayed gently. A young mother with a baby was sitting on it.

A gasp came from the balcony. The wind snatched the toy the baby was holding, sending it tumbling down right in front of Victorique. She glanced between the toy and the balcony.

A woman behind them picked up the toy, climbed up to the balcony, and handed it to the mother.

The mother thanked her in Polish, and the woman responded in Czech. Though they didn’t understand each other’s words, neither seemed to mind.

“Oh, I should have picked it up,” Victorique realized belatedly. She looked at her empty hands, murmuring “Thank you” in French. She pondered, “Humans are eternal mysteries flowing down the river of nothingness.”

Kazuya, unaware of what just happened, looked around.

They left the bustling center of East Village and entered a quieter, sparsely populated area. White flowers swayed on the roadside trees. There were fewer shop signs.

“This way,” Kazuya said, pulling on Victorique’s hand. After a while, he stopped and turned around with a smile. “Here it is. We couldn’t see it well last night.”

They had arrived at a desolate corner of East Village. The downtown hustle and bustle faded behind them. Across the not-so-wide road, there was a church on the left and a lush green area on the right, enclosed by an old, stylish iron fence like a park. A faded iron plate read “Miracle Garden.”

Kazuya stretched to peek inside but was blocked by the greenery. He gently opened the iron gate, readjusted the suitcases, and stepped inside.

Boys with golden hair and pale skin who had been playing basketball on the street started gossiping.

“Hey, they’re going in.”

“Into the haunted apartment?”

“Never seen them before.”

Kazuya glanced back, puzzled, and bumped into Victorique, who was following closely. Stumbling, he continued on.

The dense greenery of the garden included unfamiliar tropical plants like cycads and cacti. A spiral path wound through it like a maze.

After walking for a while, they saw the Carousel at the back of the property.

The shell-shaped dome building was three or four stories high, covered in small green and blue tiles. While it wasn’t noticeable at night, the daylight revealed patches of the tiles peeling away, giving it an abandoned atmosphere. Its appearance fit its moniker Monster Apartments. At the very top was a strange fountain-like ornament that looked as if water might flow out at any moment.

Next to the building was a familiar blue, white, and red Wolf Car. The door was unlocked, and the leather swing door swayed slightly in the breeze.

Victorique took a step inside. Kazuya followed, dragging the suitcases.

“Wah!”

In the daylight, the building was even more peculiar than it had seemed last night.

Sunlight streamed through the high ceiling, shimmering like ancient water gushing from a fountain. Tropical plants filled the interior. In one corner, thick tobacco leaves grew in abundance beside red flowers resembling bird feathers. Poppy flowers swayed nearby. In the center, a gently sloping spiral staircase led upwards toward the ceiling. It felt like stumbling into an underwater palace hidden within a shell.

White excrement splattered on the floor. Kazuya jumped in surprise. He looked up to see a white swan with light-blue feet and a black swan with a crimson beak crossing paths in flight. A large anteater with a human-like gait walked past Kazuya.

“Wh-What is this?”

A giant tortoise, with a head resembling that of a crocodile, moved incredibly slowly.

The place seemed like a cross between a zoo and a botanical garden. Monster Apartments, indeed.

“Aaah-aaaah! Welcome to the Carousel!”

A shrill man’s voice came from above, getting closer and closer. Kazuya quickly dropped the suitcases and stood protectively in front of Victorique. He looked up at the ceiling, dumbfounded.

A blue-eyed young man with long, soft brown hair, shirtless like Tarzan, was swinging down from vines hanging from the ceiling. Wearing a tight expression on his handsome face, he shouted, “Aaah-aaaah!”

“I’m officially completely lost,” Kazuya said.

“What a coincidence. Me too,” Victorique added. “Another one of the New World’s restless fragments of chaos.”

“Aaah-aaaah! Ouch!”

The man fell awkwardly and landed before them on his backside. Victorique and Kazuya stared at him blankly. Rubbing his butt, the man rose to his feet.

In a gentlemanly manner, he shook hands with Kazuya and, in a surprisingly serious tone that belied his outfit, said, “I’m Sparky, the caretaker. The owner has instructed me to take you to the Pony Room on the top floor.”

“I-I see. The owner is Mr. Walter Bluecandy, right? And you are?”

“I’m a Broadway actor, but I don’t get many roles. According to the director, I’m too serious! Too stiff! Zero appeal! So, I’m working as the caretaker here. My hobby is climbing the walls of buildings. Nice to meet you.”

“What? I heard about a half-naked man climbing buildings at the office.”

Sparky nodded. “That was me. I’m training to break out of my shell and become a bolder person. I climbed today too. A reporter took pictures. But enough about a boring guy like me! Let me show you to your lovely unit.” He walked towards the spiral staircase with perfect posture.

Kazuya hurriedly picked up the suitcases and followed. Victorique started after with a frown.

The green-tiled spiral staircase glowed as if water flowed through it. An orange, rounded giant tortoise moved incredibly slowly.

On both sides of the staircase, there were numerous small rooms with no doors, varying in style. Asian with paper lanterns and alcoves, Egyptian with yellow walls and a sphinx, Russian, and so on. A young businessman in a suit sat at a desk, a shoemaker worked with tanned leather and shoe molds, and a half-naked old man did handstands, seemingly engaged in some sort of training. Victorique watched them all with an icy, indifferent gaze.

“This building is widely believed to have been constructed by a certain Eastern European dictator known as Everyman who fled the ravages of war and crossed the sea. Cornered by the revolutionary army in his hideout, he put a gun in his mouth, and bang!”

Sparky dramatically acted out the scene with the skill of a professional actor, falling to the floor with wide eyes. Then, he immediately got up and continued climbing.

“He blew his own head off—is what the historical accounts say. But it’s said that the person who died was actually his younger brother, a body double, and the real dictator is still on the run around the world. He supposedly lived in Manhattan Island for a while, built the Carousel, and hid away with his lover, who was nicknamed ‘The Spinning Mare.’”

“Oh,” Victorique breathed.

“The varied interior design was meant to make him feel he still controlled the world while in hiding. Or perhaps he wanted to feel like he was rendezvousing around the globe. In any case, bounty hunters tracked him down, so he eventually fled again and disappeared somewhere. It’s an old story at this point.”

“I see,” Kazuya said.