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he
knew nothing, it didn’t necessarily mean that
they
hadn’t done anything to her. It could just be that they hadn’t told him about it.
“It’s none of my business, Mr. Kawana, but having an affair with a married woman
is a dangerous business. You’re a young, healthy single male. You should be able to
have any number of single young girls without doing such dangerous things.” Having
said this, Ushikawa deftly licked the crumbs from the corner of his mouth.
Tengo watched Ushikawa in silence.
Ushikawa said, “Of course, male-female relationships don’t work by logic and
reason. Even monogamous marriage has its own set of contradictions. I’m telling you
for your own good, though, if she has left you, it might be best to let the situation stay
as it is. What I’m trying to say is this: there are things in this world that are better left
as unknowns. The business about your mother, for example. Learning the truth would
just hurt you. And once you do learn the truth, you end up having to take on a certain
responsibility for it.”
Tengo scowled, holding his breath for a few seconds. “You know something about
my mother?”
Ushikawa flicked his tongue over his lips. “Yes, to some extent, I do. Our
researcher investigated that area very thoroughly. So if you ever want to learn about
that, I can hand you all the materials on your mother as is. As I understand it, you
grew up knowing absolutely nothing about her. However, there might be some not-
very-pleasant information included in the file.”
“Please leave now, Mr. Ushikawa,” Tengo said, pushing his chair back and
standing up. “I have no desire to talk to you any more. And please don’t ever show
your face to me again. Whatever ‘harm’ might be coming to me, it would be better
than having to deal with you. I don’t want that ‘grant’ of yours or your guarantees of
‘safety.’ There’s only one thing I want, and that is never to see you again.”
Ushikawa showed no discernible reaction to this. Perhaps he had had worse things
said to him any number of times. There was even a hint of a smile gleaming deep in
his eyes.
“That’s fine,” Ushikawa said. “I’m glad I got your answer at least. A definite no.
You have declined our offer. Clear and easy to understand. I will convey it to my
superiors in that form. I am just a lowly errand boy. Now, simply because your
381
answer is no, that doesn’t mean that harm will come to you right away. It just
might
,
is all I am saying. It might never happen. That’s what I am hoping for. No, really,
with all my heart. Because I like you, Mr. Kawana. I’m sure that’s the last thing you
want—for me to like you—but that’s just the way it is. This nonsensical guy who
shows up with nonsensical deals, terrible to look at. I’ve never had the problem of
being liked too much. But the simple fact is that I have good feelings toward you, Mr.
Kawana, as unwelcome as you may find them. And I hope that you go on to achieve
great success in life.”
Having said this, Ushikawa proceeded to stare at his own fingers. They were short,
stubby fingers. He turned them over a few times. Then he stood up.
“Well, then, I’ll be excusing myself. Now that you mention it, this will probably be
the last time you see me. Yes, I will do my best to honor your wishes. May things go
well for you in the future. Good-bye.”
Ushikawa picked up the worn-out leather case he had set on the chair and
disappeared into the cafeteria’s crowd. As he walked, the mass of young male and
female students parted naturally to make way for him, like medieval village children
trying to avoid a fearsome slave trader.
Tengo dialed his own apartment from the public phone in the school lobby. He was
planning to hang up after three rings, but Fuka-Eri picked up at the second ring.
“I was going to let it ring three times and then call again. We had an arrangement,”
Tengo said wearily.
“I forgot,” Fuka-Eri said with apparent unconcern.
“I’m sure I asked you not to forget.”
“Want to do it again,” Fuka-Eri asked.
“No, never mind, we’re talking. Has anything unusual happened since I left?”
“No calls. Nobody came.”
“Good. I’m through working. I’ll be coming back now.”
“A big crow came and cawed outside the window,” Fuka-Eri said.
“He comes every evening. Nothing to worry about. It’s like a social call. Anyhow,
I should be back by seven.”
“Better hurry.”
“Why’s that?” Tengo asked.
“The Little People are stirring.”
“The Little People are stirring,” Tengo repeated her words. “In my apartment?”
“No. Somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else.”
“Way far away.”
“But you can hear them.”
“I can hear them.”
“Does it mean something?” Tengo asked.
“That something extra ordinary is starting.”
It took Tengo a moment to realize she meant “extraordinary.” “And what kind of
extraordinary something would that be?”
“I can’t tell that much.”
382
“The Little People are going to make this extraordinary thing happen?”
Fuka-Eri shook her head. He could feel it through the phone. It meant she didn’t
know.
“Better come back before the thunder starts,” she said.
“Thunder?”
“If the train stops running, we’ll be apart.”
Tengo turned and looked out the window. It was a calm late-summer evening
without a cloud in the sky. “It doesn’t look like thunder.”
“You can’t tell from looks.”
“I’ll hurry,” Tengo said.
“Better hurry,” Fuka-Eri said, and hung up.
Tengo stepped outside, looked up once again at the clear evening sky, and walked
briskly toward Yoyogi Station, Ushikawa’s words resounding in his head like a tape
on auto-repeat.
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