I had the air conditioner replaced with new one. It had been originally fixed in my apartment room for over 20 years. One day, one of the blades of the air conditioner fell off over my head. It was time to replace.

I asked the landlord if I could get rid of the old one. Then she said she’ll buy new one for us. I appreciated her.

The installation was carried out on Saturday. They worked from 10 to 13, without break.
The landlord stayed with me in my apartment room, too. She came at ten thirty and stayed there till the end. She was a very talkative woman and brought a small whiteboard to have a chat with me. To be honest, I didn’t feel like talking. So, I started knitting.
The landlord wrote on her whiteboard, “My mother is hard of hearing, too, because of aging.”
She might seldom write at her home, I thought. The white board was new as no one had ever written on it. Thinking of a ward after a word, she wrote very slowly.

The repairman was working alone. He didn’t speak to us though the landlord spoke to him now and then. After a while, another repairman came. They carried the outdoor unit of the air conditioner from the balcony. It looked so heavy.
My sandals were being torn. The crack became larger after the man with big feet wore them.

The landlord kept talking.
There are kairanban, community circular notices in our apartment building. Once a month, I find some notices in my mail box and put them into the board. This is the task of the first door. I pass the board with notices to the next. It takes no more than ten seconds to post the kairanban.
It is surprising that, according to the landlord, some people are reluctant to pass the kairanban. The kairanban contains less important information, for example, a call for works for a local exhibition, notices of local festivals, sports events, or the red feather donation. It is necessary to pass kairanban among the residents, though.

“Does your husband like Chiikawa? Even men like such cute characters, don’t they? How strange!”
I don’t understand other people’s preferences as she does, but that is none of my business.
“Where’s he going?”
The landlord repeated the question three times or more. I replied, “I don’t know.”
My husband went out for a drive to spare the parking space for the air conditioner repairman’s car.

The landlord told me about the donut shop in front of the station.
“The shop used to be on the place which is occupied by the post office now. They just sold donuts and we took them out. We couldn’t eat in the shop those days!”
“I would often buy donuts there after work. A donut cost 100 yen before. But now it’s so expensive!”
“Pin De Rings were released lately, while Old Fashioned have been sold since before!”
She always writes “!” at every end of the sentences.

I had knitted almost all the yarn when the installment of the air conditioner finished. The repairman didn’t expect my help. I was just sitting on the chair and knitting, but somehow felt so tired.
At last, the repairman wrapped all the tools and cracked parts with a blanket and left my apartment. The landlord left with him, too.
When I was vacuuming the floor, I found a roll of tape which the repairman left. If it were tools like wrench or hammer, I’d have took that to the repairman’s office. But a roll of tape is consumable. I decided to remain it under the bookshelf.
It was when I stayed alone in the quiet room when a question came up to my mind.
“How did you become a landlord?”