After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

“The thing to do is keep your cash in your mattress so in a jam you can grab 
it and escape out the window.”
“That’s it,” Ayumi said, snapping her fingers. “Like in
The Getaway
. 
The 
Steve McQueen movie. A wad of bills and a shotgun. I love that kind of stuff.”
It’s not much fun to live like that
, Aomame said to the wall. 
Aomame went into the bathroom, stripped, and showered. The hot water took off the 
remaining unpleasant sweat still clinging to her body. Then she went into the kitchen, 
sat at the counter, and took another swallow from her beer can while toweling her 
hair. 
In the course of this one day, several things have taken a decisive step forward
, 
Aomame thought. 
The gears have turned forward with a click. And gears that have 
turned forward never turn back. That is one of the world’s rules
. 
Aomame picked up the gun, turned it upside down, and put the muzzle into her 
mouth. The steel felt horrendously cold and hard against her teeth. She caught the 
faint scent of grease. 
This is the best way to blow the brains out. Pull the hammer, 
squeeze the trigger. Everything ends—just like that. No need to think. No need to run 
around
. 
Aomame was not particularly afraid of dying. 
I die, Tengo lives. He goes on living 
in this 1Q84, this world with two moons. But I’m not in it. I don’t get to meet him in 
this world. Or any world. At least, that’s what Leader says
. 
Aomame took another slow scan of the room. 
It’s like a model apartment
, she 
thought. 
Clean and uniform, with every need supplied. But distant and devoid of 
individuality. Papier-mâché. It wouldn’t be very pleasant to die in a place like this. 
But even if you changed the backdrop to something more desirable, is there really a 
pleasant way to die in this world? And come to think of it, isn’t
this world we live in 

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itself like a gigantic model room? We come in, sit down, have a cup of tea, gaze out 
the window at the scenery, and when the time comes we say thank you and leave. All 
the furniture is fake. Even the moon hanging in the window may be made of paper
. 
But I love Tengo
. Aomame murmured the words aloud. “I love Tengo.” 
This is no 
honky-tonk parade. 1Q84 is the real world, where a cut draws real blood, where pain 
is real pain, and fear is real fear. The moon in the sky is no paper moon. It—or they—
are real moons. And in this world, I have willingly accepted death for Tengo’s sake. I 
won’t let anyone call this fake
. 
Aomame looked at the round clock on the wall. A simple design, by Braun. Well 
matched to the Heckler & Koch. The clock was the only thing hanging on the walls of 
this apartment. The clock hands had passed ten. Just about time for the two men to 
find Leader’s corpse. 
In the bedroom of an elegant suite at the Hotel Okura, a man had breathed his last. 
A big man. A man who was far from ordinary. He had moved on to another world. No 
one could do anything to bring him back. 
Time now for ghosts. 

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