After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

Why is he 
doing this?
Ushikawa thought from inside the plastic bag. 
I told him everything I 
know. So why does he have to kill me?
In his head, about to burst, he thought of his little house in Chuorinkan, and about 
his two young daughters. And the dog they owned. The dog was small and low to the 
ground and Ushikawa never could bring himself to like it. The dog never liked him, 
either. The dog wasn’t very bright, and barked incessantly. It chewed the rugs and 
peed on the new flooring in the hallway. It was a totally different creature from the 
clever mutt he had had as a child. Still, Ushikawa’s final conscious thoughts in this 
life were of the silly little dog scampering around the lawn in their backyard. 
Tamaru watched as Ushikawa, his body tightly bound into a ball, writhed on the 
tatami like some huge fish out of water. Ushikawa’s arms and legs were tied behind 
him, so no matter how much he struggled, the neighbors next door wouldn’t hear a 
thing. Tamaru knew very well what a hideous way to die this was. But it was the most 
efficient, cleanest way to kill someone. No screams, no blood. Tamaru followed the 
second hand on his Tag Heuer diver’s watch. After three minutes Ushikawa stopped 
thrashing around. His body trembled slightly, as if resonating to something, and then 
the trembling stopped. Tamaru looked at his wristwatch for another three minutes. He 
felt Ushikawa’s wrist for a pulse and confirmed that all signs of life had vanished. 
There was a faint whiff of urine. Ushikawa had lost control of his bladder again, this 
time emptying it completely. Understandable, considering how much he had suffered. 
Tamaru removed the rubber band and peeled away the plastic bag. The bag had 
been partly sucked into his mouth. Ushikawa’s eyes were wide, his mouth open and 
twisted to one side in death. His dirty, irregular teeth were bared, his tongue with its 
greenish moss visible. It was the kind of expression Munch might have painted. 

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758
Ushikawa’s normally misshapen head looked even more lopsided. He must have 
suffered terribly. 
“I’m sorry about this,” Tamaru said. “I didn’t do it because I wanted to.” 
Tamaru used his fingers to relax the muscles of Ushikawa’s face, straighten out the 
jaw, and make his face more presentable. He used a kitchen towel to wipe away the 
drool from Ushikawa’s mouth. It took a while, but his face began to look a bit better. 
At least a person looking at it wouldn’t avert their eyes. But no matter how hard he 
tried, he couldn’t get Ushikawa’s eyes to shut. 
“Shakespeare said it best,” Tamaru said quietly as he gazed at that lumpish, 
misshapen head. “Something along these lines: if we die today, we do not have to die 
tomorrow, so let us look to the best in each other.” 
Was this from 
Henry IV
, or maybe 
Richard III
? Tamaru couldn’t recall. To him, 
though, that wasn’t important, and he doubted Ushikawa wanted to know the precise 
reference. Tamaru untied his arms and legs. He had used a soft, towel-like rope, and 
he had a special way of tying it so as to not leave marks. He took the rope, the plastic 
bag, and the heavy-duty rubber band and stowed them in a plastic bag he had brought 
with him for that purpose. He rummaged through Ushikawa’s belongings and 
collected every photo he had taken. He put the camera and tripod in the bag as well. It 
would only lead to trouble if it got out that Ushikawa had been conducting 
surveillance. People would ask who he was watching, and the chances were pretty 
good that Tengo Kawana’s name would surface. He took Ushikawa’s notebook, too, 
crammed full of detailed notes. He made sure to collect anything of importance. All 
that was left behind were the sleeping bag, eating utensils, extra clothes, and 
Ushikawa’s pitiful corpse. Finally, Tamaru took out one of Ushikawa’s business 
cards, the ones that said he was Full-time Director, New Japan Foundation for the 
Advancement of Scholarship and the Arts, and pocketed it. 
“I’m really sorry,” Tamaru said again as he was leaving. 
. . . 
Tamaru went into a phone booth near the station, inserted a telephone card into the 
slot, and dialed the number Ushikawa had given him. It was a local Tokyo number, 
Shibuya Ward by the look of it. The phone rang six times before someone answered. 
Tamaru skipped the preliminaries and told him the address and room number of 
the apartment in Koenji. 
“Did you write it down?” 
“Could you repeat it?” 
Tamaru did so. The man wrote it down and read it back. 
“Ushikawa is there,” Tamaru said. “You are familiar with Ushikawa?” 
“Ushikawa?” 
Tamaru ignored what he said and continued. “Ushikawa is there, and unfortunately 
he isn’t breathing anymore. It doesn’t look like a natural death. There are several 
business cards with Full-time Director, New Japan Foundation for the Advancement 
of Scholarship and the Arts on them in his business card holder. If the police find 
these, eventually they will figure out the connection with you. That wouldn’t be to 

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759
your advantage, I imagine. Best to dispose of everything as soon as you can. That’s 
what you’re good at.” 
“Who are you?” the man asked. 
“Let’s just say I’m a kind informant,” Tamaru said. “I’m not so fond of the police 
myself. Same as you.” 
“Not a natural death?” 
“Well, he didn’t die of old age, or very peacefully.” 
The man was quiet for a moment. “What was this Ushikawa doing there?” 
“I don’t know. You would have to ask him the details, and as I explained, he’s not 
in a position to respond.” 
The man on the other end of the line paused. “You must be connected with the 
young woman who came to the Hotel Okura?” 
“That’s not the sort of question to which you can expect an answer.” 
“I’m one of the people who met her. Tell her that and she’ll understand. I have a 
message for her.” 
“I’m listening.” 
“We’re not planning to harm her,” the man said. 
“My understanding is that you are trying your best to track her down.” 
“That’s right. We’ve been trying to locate her for some time.” 
“Yet you’re telling me you don’t plan to harm her,” Tamaru said. “Why is that?” 
There was a short silence before the response came. 
“At a certain point the situation changed. Leader’s death was deeply mourned by 
everyone. But that’s over, finished. Leader was ill, and, in a sense, he was hoping to 
put an end to his suffering. So we don’t plan to pursue Aomame any further regarding 
this matter. Instead, we would simply like to talk with her.” 
“About what?” 
“Areas of common interest.” 
“That’s just what