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she gazed at the two moons, lined up side by side in the early-winter sky, Aomame
rubbed her belly through the blanket. Occasionally tears would well up for no reason.
She would find a tear rolling down her cheek and falling to the blanket on her lap.
Maybe
it was because she was lonely, or because she was anxious. Or maybe
pregnancy had made her more sensitive. Or maybe it was merely the cold wind
stimulating the tear ducts to produce tears. Whatever the reason, Aomame let the tears
flow without wiping them away.
Once she had cried for a while, at a certain
point the tears would stop, and she
would continue her lonely vigil.
No
, she thought,
I’m not that lonely. I have this
little
one
with me. There are two of us—two of us looking up at the two moons, waiting for
Tengo to appear
. From time to time she would pick up her binoculars and focus on
the deserted slide. Then she would pick up the automatic pistol to check its heft and
what it felt like.
Protecting myself, searching for Tengo, and providing this
little one
with nourishment. Those are my duties now
.
One time, as the cold wind blew and she kept watch over the playground, Aomame
realized she believed in God. It was a sudden discovery, like finding, with the
soles of
your feet, solid ground beneath the mud. It was a mysterious sensation, an unexpected
awareness. Ever since she could remember, she had always hated this thing called
God. More precisely, she rejected the people and the system that intervened between
her and God. For years she had equated those people and that system with God.
Hating them meant hating God.
Since
the moment she was born
they
had been near her, controlling her, ordering
her around, all in the name of God, driving her into a corner. In the name of God, they
stole her time and her freedom, putting shackles on her heart. They preached about
God’s kindness, but preached twice as much about his wrath and intolerance. At age
eleven, Aomame made up her mind and was ultimately able
to break free from that
world. In doing so, though, much had been sacrificed.
If God didn’t exist, then how much brighter my life would be, how much richer
.
Aomame often thought this. Then she should be able to share all the beautiful
memories that normal children had, without the constant anger and fear that
tormented her. And then how
much more positive, peaceful, and fulfilling her life
might be.
Despite all this, as she sat there, her palm resting on her belly, peeking through the
slats of the plastic boards
at the deserted playground, she couldn’t help but come to
the realization that she believed in God. When she had mechanically repeated the
words of the prayer, when she brought her hands together, she had believed in a God
outside the conscious realm. It was a feeling that had seeped into her marrow,
something that could not be driven away by logic or emotion. Even hatred and anger
couldn’t erase it.
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