Four city hall officials
arrived at the house. They got out of their car and waited for the
garbage
collectors to arrive. There
were twenty of them, in
five garbage trucks. The house was
surrounded by trash.
There were three old cars, shopping carts, old tires, boxes full
of plastic bags, wood and metal. The front yard was completely full and
the garbage spilled
out onto the street. A large
group of neighbors
gathered to watch, and two police cars arrived. One of the officials
shouted out to the old man who lived in the house, 'Mr.Nishimoto. The
time
has come to leave. I have a court
order
which allows
us to clear
out
your house and
garden of all the garbage. Please come out.'
There was no reply.
'Mr.Nishimoto. The police will arrest
you if you try to stop us doing
our
job.'
'Go away! It isn't garbage. I need all these things. Everything is
important to me. You don't understand. You don't understand....'
'Mr.Nishimoto. This is your final
warning.
We will start to remove the
garbage in one minute. Please come out.'
'Go away! This is my life. These things are all I have,' shouted the
old man from inside his house.
The official gave a signal
to his workers to begin clearing away the
garbage. The neighbors started clapping
and cheering.
Kenji Nishimoto watched from an upstairs window. Tears ran down his face and fell onto the wooden floor. His long hair and gray beard were wet with his sadness. Outside in the yard, the workers, wearing safety masks, gloves, and overalls were throwing all his things into the garbage trucks. He watched them throw away the floor cushions that he and his dear wife had sat on so many years ago. He watched them throw away the tires of their first car - a Toyota in which they drove to Nikko in back in 1962. He saw them throw away the black-and-white television set that he had bought with his first salary a junior manager at the factory. All those memories disappearing and being lost forever.
After several hours the workers
had cleared the yard and were standing outside the old man's
front door. The official spoke to him through a broken window,
'Mr.Nishimoto, please come out and let us finish our job.'
Mr.Nishimoto knew that he could do nothing more, and so went
downstairs. He opened the door and
walked
out. 'Take it all, take it all,' he cried, 'I have nothing left.'
He walked into the street and sat down on the small road with
his head in his hands.
A television news crew approached him. There was a reporter wearing an
expensive suit, with white teeth and a fake
smile,
'So, Mr.Nishimoto,
why
did you keep so much garbage? Why did you cause your neighbors so much
trouble? Why were you so dirty?'
the reporter asked, pushing a
microphone into his face.
The old man looked down at his old sandals and dirty feet, then up into
the reporters
face, 'Son,' he said, ' Let me tell you something. All those things
were my memories. I knew every single
thing inside and outside my
house, where I bought it, when I bought it, what I did with it. My dear
wife died when she was only twenty-seven years old. After that, I
couldn't throw
anything away. I was so afraid of
forgetting my
past, of forgetting
my dear wife. Those things kept her memory alive.
And now they have gone.'
The reporter stood in silence
for a few seconds before turning his face into his camera and finishing
his
report, 'Here, in Machida, we have seen a crazy old man's mountain of
garbage removed
in five trucks. It is a happy day for his neighbors, who have suffered
for many years.
I hope the viewers take care of their own elderly relatives.'
The old man walked away down the street and disappeared. He was never
seen again.
The official entered the old
man's house. The smell was terrible and he had to put on his mask to
stop himself from being sick.
All the garbage men followed him in with
their shovels
and bags, and started to clear up all the trash lying
about the house.
It took the rest of the day to clear to empty the house. The old man did not return. By early evening, all the garbage collectors had finished the work and gone home. The official was left alone in the empty house. Then he realized that no one had checked the basement. He walked in to the kitchen, opened the door leading downstairs, and switched on the light. He slowly walked down the wooden stairs and noticed that there was no garbage anywhere, the place was spotless. When he got to the bottom he gasped in surprise. The basement was filled with the most wonderful paintings and sculptures of a beautiful woman. The whole room was like a shrine to Mrs.Nishimoto: As well as the paintings, there were poems written in ink, photographs of her everywhere, some of her clothes in plastic bags hanging around the walls and her jewelry displayed with loving care. The official walked back up the stairs and switched off the light. He didn't know what to do next.