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CHAPTER 21
Aomame
WHAT SHOULD I DO?
That night, Aomame stepped out onto the balcony in her slippers and gray jersey
workout clothes to look at the moons. She was holding a cup of cocoa. It was the first
time in a very long time that she felt like drinking cocoa, but the sight of a can of Van
Houten cocoa in a kitchen cabinet had suddenly inspired her. Two moons—a big one
and a little one—hung in the perfectly clear southwestern sky. Instead of sighing, she
produced a tiny moan. A
dohta
had been born from an air chrysalis, and now there
were two moons. 1984 had changed to 1Q84. The old world had vanished, and she
could never get back to it.
Sitting on the balcony’s garden chair, taking little sips of the hot cocoa and looking
at the two moons through narrowed eyes, Aomame tried to recall things from the old
world. All she could bring back at the moment, however, was the potted rubber plant
she had left in her apartment. Where could it be now? Was Tamaru looking after it as
he had promised?
Of course. There’s nothing to worry about
, Aomame told herself:
Tamaru is a man who keeps his word. He might kill you without hesitation if
necessary, but even so, he would care for your rubber plant to the end
.
But why am I so concerned about that rubber plant?
Aomame had barely thought about the thing until the day she left it behind in her
apartment. It was nothing but a sad-looking rubber plant, its color pale and dull, its
poor health obvious at a glance. It had carried an 1,800-yen price tag in a special sale,
but the cashier had further dropped the price to 1,500 yen without being asked, and if
Aomame had bargained it might have gotten cheaper still. It had obviously remained
unsold for a long time, and all the way home she had regretted having bought it on
impulse, not only because it was sad-looking, bulky, and hard to carry, but because it
was a living thing.
That was the first time in her life that she had owned something alive. Whether a
pet or a potted plant, she had never bought one or received one or found one. The
rubber plant was her very first experience of living with a thing that had a life of its
own. The moment she had seen the two little red goldfish in the living room and heard
from the dowager that she had bought them for Tsubasa at a night stall in a street fair,
Aomame had wanted to have her own fish—badly. She could hardly keep her eyes off
them. Where had this desire come from all of a sudden? Perhaps she felt envious of
Tsubasa. No one had ever bought Aomame anything at a street fair—or even taken
her to one. Ardent members of the Society of Witnesses, faithful in every way to the
485
teachings of the Bible, her parents had disdained and avoided all the secular world’s
festivals.
And so Aomame had made up her mind to go to a discount store near the station in
her Jiyugaoka neighborhood and buy a goldfish. If no one was going to buy her a
goldfish and bowl, then she would do it herself.
What’s wrong with that?
she had
thought.
I’m a grown-up, I’m thirty years old, and I live in my own apartment. I’ve
got bricks of money piled up in my safe-deposit box. I don’t have to ask anyone’s
permission to buy myself a damned goldfish
.
But when she went to the pet department and saw actual goldfish swimming in the
tank, their lacy fins waving, Aomame felt incapable of buying one. She could not help
but feel that paying money to take ownership of a living organism was inappropriate.
It made her think, too, of her own young self. The goldfish was powerless, trapped in
a small glass bowl, unable to go anywhere. This fact did not appear to bother the
goldfish itself. It probably had nowhere it wanted to go. But to Aomame this was a
matter of genuine concern.
She had felt none of this when she saw the two goldfish in the dowager’s living
room. They had appeared to be enjoying themselves swimming in their glass bowl so
elegantly, the summer light rippling through the water. Living with goldfish seemed
like a wonderful thought. It should add a certain richness to her own life. But the sight
of the goldfish in the pet department of the discount store by the station only made
Aomame feel short of breath.
No, it’s out of the question. I can’t possibly keep a
goldfish
.
What caught her eye at that point was the rubber plant, over in a corner of the
store. It seemed to have been shoved into the least noticeable spot in the place, hiding
like an abandoned orphan. Or at least it appeared so to Aomame. It was lacking in
color and sheen, and its shape was out of kilter, but with hardly a thought in her head,
she bought it—not because she liked it but because she
had to
buy it. And in fact,
even after she brought it home and set it down, she hardly looked at it except on those
rare occasions when she watered it.
Once she had left it behind, however, and realized that she would never see it
again, Aomame couldn’t stop herself from worrying about the plant. She frowned
hugely, the way she often did when she wanted to scream out loud in confusion,
stretching every muscle in her face until she looked like a completely different
person. When she had finished distorting her face into every possible angle, Aomame
finally returned it to normal.
Why am I so concerned about that rubber plant?
. . .
In any case, I know for sure that Tamaru will treat the plant well. He is used to loving
and caring for living things. Unlike me. He treats his dogs like second selves. He even
uses his spare time to go through the dowager’s garden, inspecting her plants in great
detail. When he was in the orphanage, he risked his own life to protect a younger boy
with impaired abilities. I could never do anything like that
, Aomame thought.
I can’t
afford to take responsibilities for others’ lives. It’s all I can do to bear the weight of
my own life and my own loneliness
.
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“Loneliness” reminded Aomame of Ayumi.
Some man had handcuffed her to a bed in a love hotel, violently raped her, and
strangled her to death with a bathrobe sash. As far as Aomame knew, the perpetrator
had not been taken into custody.
Ayumi had a family and colleagues, but she was
lonely—so lonely that she had to experience such a horrible death. Still, I wasn’t
there for her. She wanted something from me, that was certain. But I had my own
secrets—and my own loneliness—that had to be protected. I could never share them
with Ayumi. Why did she choose me, of all people, when there are so many others in
this world?
Aomame closed her eyes and pictured the potted rubber plant that she had left in
her empty apartment.
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