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The Bridge Builder – Part 09

On the outskirts of the Eastern European neighborhood of East Village stood a seashell-shaped building deep in the lush greenery of the Miracle Garden, the Carousel.

Night had fallen, and the lights were out. Quiet blanketed the surroundings. Large tropical leaves swayed gently in the summer breeze drifting through the windows. Birds slept perched on branches, and only nocturnal animals with glowing blue eyes roamed around.

“Aaah-aaaah!”

A handsome young man dressed as Tarzan howled as he swung across the high, open ceiling. His long, brown hair flowed like a mane.

He fell awkwardly in front of the Pony Room by the stairs on the top floor.

“O-Ow!”

There were no longer any people around. Apart from the caretaker, there were only strange, exotic animals and plants.

The caretaker lit a candle and observed the small unit that had just welcomed its new tenant. Old, large suitcases left by Kazuya were piled in the corner. The caretaker wondered what was inside.

Noticing a wooden sign resting on top of the chest of drawers, he brought the candle closer. “Gray Wolf Detective Agency,” he read. “Oh! So, they are starting a detective agency. No mystery unsolved? Ace detective, huh?”

He nodded grimly, then frowned. “I sure hope they don’t end up shot or strung up by the mafia.” He carefully placed the sign back. “As a housewarming gift, I’ll place an ad in the newspaper for free.”

He made a note and looked up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. “Ace detective… I know. I’ll add ingenious and philosophical to it. I wonder if the Asian guy is an assistant.”

Then, grabbing a vine, he cried out, “Aaah-aaaah!” and flew off into the distance.

A large owl flapped over and perched atop the dresser, hooting softly.

Moonlight sparkled from the ceiling, illuminating the vibrant, mysterious exotic flowers in full bloom.

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Final Chapter: Let’s Go Home

Brooklyn Bridge. Nighttime.

The venue had been cleared, and the bridge had returned to its usual state.

Victorique and Kazuya were slowly, very slowly, making their way from the middle of the bridge toward the Brooklyn side.

Their pace was as slow as a turtle’s. Kazuya was dragging his right foot in pain, and Victorique lent him her shoulder for support, stumbling to the right and left, yet continuing without complaint.

The massive arched bridge sloped gently downward from the middle. The crescent moon shone bright, casting a pale light on them. Both were tired, but they walked with smiles.

“Kujou, once we reach the apartment, what do you do first? It has a door, so it’s considered a house, correct? That means you open the door and go inside.”

“Really? I have to explain from the top? You really don’t know anything, do—” Kazuya swallowed the rest of what he was about to say. Instead, he let his imagination run. “Well, first, I’d open the front door on the ground floor, then go up the stairs. First floor, second floor… and third floor…”

Seeing that Victorique was listening very seriously, he straightened up.

“And when we reach our unit…”

“Ah-huh. And then?”

“I’d use the key to unlock the door. Then…”

“And then?”

“First, I’d clean up. Make the bed nice and fresh so you can rest well because I know you’re tired. And then… I need to write a letter to my father. It’s been bothering Ruri.”

Victorique nodded gravely. “I see.”

Still limping along, Kazuya asked, “What about you?”

“Do you really need to ask?” Victorique replied confidently.

“What is it?”

“Remember what they said? That you should bring something.”

She took out a blue portable radio from her pocket and showed it off.

Kazuya sighed. “But it’s broken. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I like this one! You fool! Idiot!”

“I-Idiot? You mean me? Argh, I’ve had enough of you. Why?”

As they bickered, Kazuya’s feet lightened, and their pace quickened.

Finally, they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and reached a spacious wooden plaza, a pleasant place bathed in the light of the moon and the stars. Groups of casually dressed couples and young people, seemingly locals, lingered about. This area appeared to be a Jewish immigrant neighborhood. The youths had small, quiet, and thoughtful-looking gray eyes. Though their hair varied in color, from red to black, their attire was stylish, predominantly in black and white.

Even in this small town, the sight of the beautiful, small Victorique de Blois with her glimmering silver hair and green eyes, alongside Kazuya Kujou with his black hair and jet-black eyes, stood out.

They passed through the plaza and climbed a gentle curve to the right.

Kazuya checked the map. “Right after crossing the Brooklyn Bridge should be Brooklyn Heights. Look, there are modest houses and apartments.”

Suddenly, Victorique stopped, causing Kazuya to stumble. “Whoa! What’s wrong, Victorique?”

“Behold. Another mystery of the New World has been solved,” Victorique said, stifling laughter.

“What? Another mystery?” Kazuya followed Victorique’s gaze.

Victorique was looking up at the windows of the first apartment at the entrance to Brooklyn Heights.

Every window was lit, showing a young couple around a stew pot, children doing homework, an elderly person reading in an easy chair. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope.

Among them was a peculiar sight. At a dining table where children were eating brown meat stew with spoons, a young father and mother stood on either side, smiling, each holding a black umbrella over the table and the children.

Kazuya nodded. “We saw the same thing in the East Village during the day. A strange family eating with umbrellas indoors.”

Victorique laughed. “Once understood, it’s a trivial mystery.”

She pointed, and Kazuya looked up at the ceiling of the unit.

Plaster was falling from it like powder. Looking at the unit above, he saw a well-dressed elderly couple practicing a dance routine.

Victorique chuckled. “Since it’s an old apartment, vibrations shake the plaster loose from the ceiling. Instead of complaining to the residents above, they chose to use umbrellas. It’s a rational solution. These New World mysteries are quite something.”

“I see,” Kazuya said with a smile.

They resumed walking. Kazuya’s pace had almost returned to normal. Victorique walked carefully and slowly, as if traversing an unfamiliar forest.

“Once we turn this corner, we’ll be on Cranberry Street. Over there is Orange Street, and that one’s Pineapple Street. They’re all named after food. Here we are, Victorique.”

Kazuya stopped, compared the street with the map, and pointed. Walking side by side, they turned the corner and found a charming street filled with light-pink flowers.

Kazuya couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Memories of his beloved Eastern island nation came to his mind—the park where his family went to see the cherry blossoms when he was a child, the old row of cherry trees in the neighborhood, his sister running around in a pink yukata, his father and mother, his brothers. The beautiful streets, parks, old trees that no longer existed, burned down during the war.

He also remembered the story Ruri had told him this morning about the Pilgrim Fathers.

“When the Mayflower crossed the terrifying Atlantic and finally reached the New World, it was summer, and pink flowers were blooming everywhere. The sight reminded them of the rich nature in their homeland. They held hope for the New World, and came to love this flower as a symbol of hope and nostalgia.”

And then he saw a lovely little Victorique in a pink yukata.

“What a beautiful street,” Kazuya said. “Don’t you think so, Victorique?”

“Indeed, it is. It reminds me of something.”

Victorique stared at Cranberry Street with her mysterious green eyes, then looked up at the buildings standing on either side. Beyond the flowers of the roadside trees spread an old-fashioned, solemn townscape, primarily in black and white.

It was different from the modern buildings of Manhattan Island they had seen before crossing the bridge.

The first-generation immigrants who came across the sea must have built it with old European techniques. It was so old-fashioned and majestic that it created the illusion of having returned to the Old World under a strange spell. Black brick facades, wooden-framed square windows, intertwining green vines. Doorknobs in the shape of bizarre gargoyles, cold iron outdoor lamps. It was like a miniature model of medieval Europe.

Victorique and Kazuya slowly stepped forward. Their silhouettes blended into the neighborhood, quickly becoming a natural part of the scenery. Though it was their first time there, they felt a strange sense of nostalgia as they walked into the mystical Cranberry Street.

A hint of a smile crossed Victorique de Blois’ face.

“You’re going to write a letter at home, right?” she said.

“And you’re going to place your radio somewhere.”

Victorique nodded solemnly, like an old sage.

They ambled between the antiquated buildings and flowering roadside trees.

Eventually, Kazuya stopped in front of a small apartment. It looked smaller and older than the surrounding buildings. The front door alone was large and black, like a door to the demon realm. The silver door handle was shaped like a reclining dog.

“We’re here, Victorique.” Kazuya pointed to the iron plate with the address.

Victorique’s characteristic low, raspy voice brightened a little. “Indeed we are, Kujou.”

And so on this night, July 10, 1930, Victorique de Blois and Kazuya Kujou finally arrived at their immigrant apartment at 14 Cranberry Street, Brooklyn, New York, a place that would long serve as the Kujou residence.

They stood in front of the building, holding hands in silence for a while.

Finally Kazuya said, “Let’s go in, shall we?”

Victorique gave a nod. “Yes, let’s.”

Together, they climbed the ten steps connecting the street to their home. Kazuya reached for the silver dog door handle. He applied some force.

Slowly, the front door of their home opened.

---

The Daily Road

July 11, 1930, Morning Edition, Page 15

The Gray Wolf Detective Agency Opens Today!

Location: Top floor of the Carousel in East Village, in the Pony Room. The ingenious and philosophical ace detective, along with her Asian assistant, are now accepting clients. Affordable rates, swift resolutions.

There is no mystery we cannot solve!