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novel he had begun. He couldn’t leave that behind. It had no real value to anyone else,
but to Tengo it was precious. He put the manuscript in a paper bag,
then stuffed it into
the hard, russet nylon shoulder bag he used when he went to the cram school. The bag
was really heavy now. He crammed floppy disks into the pocket of his leather jacket.
He couldn’t very well take his word processor along with him, but he did add his
notebooks and fountain pen to his luggage.
What else?
he wondered.
He remembered the envelope the lawyer had given him in Chikura. Inside were his
father’s savings book and seal, a copy of their family record, and the mysterious
family photo (if indeed that was what it was). It was probably best to take that with
him. His elementary school report cards and the NHK commendations he
would leave
behind. He decided against taking a change of clothes or toiletries. They wouldn’t fit
in the now-bulging bag, and besides, he could buy them as needed.
Once he had packed everything in the bag, he had nothing left to do. There were no
dishes to wash, no shirts left to iron. He looked at the wall clock again. Ten thirty. He
thought he should call his friend to take over his classes at the cram school, but then
remembered that his friend was always in a terrible mood if you phoned before noon.
Tengo lay down on his bed, fully clothed, and let his mind wander through various
possibilities. The last time he saw Aomame was when he was ten. Now they were
both thirty. They had both gone through a lot of experiences in the interim. Good
things, things that weren’t so good (probably slightly more of the latter).
Our looks,
our personalities, the environment where we live have all gone through changes
, he
thought.
We’re no longer a young boy and a young girl
. Is the Aomame over there
really the Aomame he had been searching for? And was he the Tengo Kawana she
had been looking for? Tengo pictured them on the slide tonight looking at each other,
disappointed at what they saw. Maybe they wouldn’t find anything to talk about. That
was a real possibility. Actually, it would be kind of strange if it didn’t turn out that
way.
Maybe we shouldn’t meet again
. Tengo stared up at the ceiling.
Wasn’t it better if
they kept this desire to see each other hidden within them, and never actually got
together? That way, there would always be hope in their hearts. That hope would be a
small, yet vital flame that warmed them to their core—a tiny flame to cup one’s hands
around and protect from the wind, a flame that the violent winds of reality might
easily extinguish
.
Tengo stared at the ceiling for a good hour, two conflicting emotions surging
through him. More than anything, he wanted to meet Aomame.
At the same time, he
was afraid to see her. The cold disappointment and uncomfortable silence that might
ensue made him shudder. His body felt like it was going to be torn in half. But he
had
to see her. This is what he had been wanting, what he had been hoping for with all his
might, for the last twenty years. No matter what disappointment might come of it, he
knew he couldn’t just turn his back on it and run away.
Tired of staring at the ceiling, he fell asleep on the bed, still lying faceup. A quiet,
dreamless sleep of some forty or forty-five minutes—the deep, satisfying sleep you
get
after concentrating hard, after mental exhaustion. He realized that for the last few
days he had only slept in fits and starts and hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep. Before
it got dark, he needed to rid himself of the fatigue that had built up. He had to be
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rested and relaxed when he left here and headed for the playground. He knew this
instinctively.
As he was falling asleep, he heard Kumi Adachi’s voice—or he felt like he heard
it.
When morning comes you’ll be leaving here, Tengo. Before the exit is blocked
.
This was Kumi’s voice, and at the same time it was the voice of the owl at night. In
his
memory the voices were mixed, and hard to distinguish from each other. What
Tengo needed then more than anything was wisdom—the wisdom of the night that
had put down roots into the soil. A wisdom that might only be found in the depths of
sleep.
At six thirty Tengo slung his bag diagonally across his shoulders and left his
apartment. He had on the same clothes as the last time he went to the slide: gray
windbreaker and old leather jacket, jeans, and brown work boots. All of them were
worn but they fit well, like an extension of his body.
I probably won’t ever be back
here again
, he thought. As a precaution he took the typed cards with his name on
them out of the door slot and the mailbox.
What would happen to everything else?
He
decided not to worry about it for now.
As he stood at the entrance
to the apartment building, he peered around cautiously.
If he believed Fuka-Eri, he was being watched. But just as before, there was no sign
of surveillance. Everything was the same as always. Now that the sun had set, the
road in front of him was deserted. He set off for the station, at a slow pace. He
glanced back from time to time to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He turned
down several narrow streets he didn’t need to take, then came to a stop and checked
again to see if anyone was tailing him.
You have to be careful
,
the man on the phone
had cautioned.
For yourself, and for Aomame, who’s in a
tense situation.
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