After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

He can see in the dark
, she thought. 
He is
viewing 
far more 
than the eyes can see
. 
“Things can be seen better in the darkness,” he said, as if he had just seen into her 
mind. “But the longer you spend in the dark, the harder it becomes to return to the 
world aboveground where the light is. You have to call a stop to it at some point.” 
Having said this, he spent another interval observing Aomame. There was nothing 
sexual in his gaze. He was just 
viewing
her as an object, the way a boat passenger 
stares at the shape of a passing island. But this was no ordinary passenger. He was 
trying to see through to 
everything
about the island. With prolonged exposure to such 
a relentless, piercing gaze, Aomame strongly felt the imperfections of her own fleshly 
self. This was not how she felt normally. Aside from the size of her breasts, she was, 
if anything, proud of her body. She trained it daily and kept it beautiful. Her muscles 
were smooth and taut without the slightest excess flesh. Stared at by this man, 
however, she could not help but feel that her flesh was a worn-out old bag of meat. 
As though he had read her thoughts, the man stopped staring at her. She felt the 
power suddenly go out of his gaze. It was as if someone had been spraying water with 
a hose when another person behind the building turned off the spigot. 
“Sorry, but could you open the curtains just a bit?” the man asked softly. “I’m sure 
you could use some light, too, for your work.” 
Setting the gym bag on the floor, Aomame went over to the window and pulled on 
the cords at the side to open, first, the thick, heavy curtains and then the inner white 
lace curtains. Nighttime Tokyo poured its light into the room. Tokyo Tower’s 
floodlights, the lamps lining the elevated expressway, the moving headlights of cars, 
the lighted windows of high-rise buildings, the colorful rooftop neon signs: they all 
combined to illuminate the hotel room with that mixed light unique to the big city, but 
just barely, enough so that Aomame was now able to make out some of the room’s 
furnishings. Aomame saw the light with a pang of familiarity. This was light from the 
world to which she herself belonged. She suddenly realized how urgently she needed 
such light. As weak as it was, though, it appeared to be too strong for the man’s eyes. 
Still seated on the bed in the lotus position, he covered his face with his two large 
hands. 
“Are you all right?” Aomame asked. 
“Don’t worry,” he said. 
“Shall I close the curtains a bit more?” 
“No, that’s fine. I have a problem with my retinas. It takes time for them to adjust 
to light. I’ll be all right in a minute. Have a seat over there.” 
A problem with his retinas?
Aomame wondered. People with retinal problems are 
usually on the verge of going blind. But this was of no concern to Aomame now. She 
was not here to deal with this man’s sight. 
While the man was covering his face with his hands and letting his eyes adjust to 
the light streaming in from the window, Aomame sat on a sofa and watched him. Now 
it was her turn to study him in detail. 
He was a very large man. Not fat, just large. Tall and broad and powerful looking. 
She had heard about his large size from the dowager, but she had not expected him to 
be this big. There was, of course, no reason that a religious guru should not be huge. 

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366
She imagined ten-year-old girls being raped by this big man and found herself 
scowling. She imagined him naked and mounted on a tiny girl. There was no way for 
such girls to resist. Even an adult woman would have a difficult time of it. 
The man was wearing something like thin sweatpants that narrowed at the ankles 
with elastic bands, and a solid-color long-sleeved shirt that had a slight, silk-like 
sheen. The loose-fitting shirt buttoned up the front, but the man had left the top two 
buttons open. Both the pants and the shirt appeared to be white or a light cream color. 
These were not pajamas but more like comfortable lounging clothes or an outfit that 
would look normal under palm trees in southern lands. His bare feet looked big. The 
broad stone wall of his shoulders brought to mind an experienced martial arts 
combatant. 
After waiting for a pause in Aomame’s observation, the man said, “Thanks for 
coming today.” 
“It’s my job,” Aomame said in a voice devoid of emotion. “I go where I’m 
needed.” Even as she spoke, however, she felt like a prostitute who had come when 
called. Perhaps this was due to the way he had undressed her in the darkness with that 
penetrating gaze. 
“How much do you know about me?” the man asked Aomame, his hands still 
covering his face. 
“How much do I know about you?” 
“That’s right.” 
“Almost nothing,” Aomame said, choosing her words carefully. “I have not even 
been told your name. All I know is that you are the head of a religious organization in 
Nagano or Yamanashi, that you have some kind of physical problem, and that I may 
be able to help you with it.” 
The man gave his head a few quick shakes and took his hands away from his face. 
Now he and Aomame were looking directly at each other. 
His hair was long. His abundant head of hair hung straight down to his shoulders. 
It had much gray mixed in. The man was probably somewhere in his late forties or 
early fifties. He had a large nose that occupied a good deal of his face. It was 
admirably straight and brought to mind a calendar photo of the Alps. The mountain 
had a broad base and great dignity. It was the first thing one noticed when looking at 
his face, and it contrasted sharply with his eyes, which were set so deeply into his face 
that it was hard to tell what they were looking at. Like his body, his face was broad 
and thick. Clean-shaven, it bore no scars or moles. The features worked well together, 
producing a look of serenity and intelligence but also something peculiar, out of the 
ordinary, something that did not inspire easy trust. It was the kind of face that, on first 
impression, gives people pause. Perhaps it was because the nose was too big. Because 
of it, the face was missing a certain balance, perhaps the root of what left the observer 
feeling unsettled. Or perhaps it was the deep-set eyes that did it, the way they gave off 
the quiet glow of an ancient glacier. Then again, it might have been the cruel 
impression created by the thin lips, which looked as if they were ready to spit out 
unpredictable words at any moment. 
“And besides that?” he asked. 

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367
“Besides that I have heard very little. All I was told was to be prepared to perform 
stretching exercises. The muscles and joints are my area of expertise. I don’t need to 
know much about my clients’ positions or personalities.”