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pen stuck through her bun), and Nurse Adachi, who had rosy cheeks and wore her
hair in a ponytail. Nurse Tamura, a middle-aged nurse with metal-framed glasses,
usually staffed the reception desk, but if they happened to be shorthanded she would
pitch in and care for his father too. All three of them seemed to take a personal
interest in Tengo.
Except for his special hour at twilight, Tengo had plenty of time on his hands and
talked with them about all kinds of things. It was more like a question-and-answer
session, though, with the nurses asking questions about his life and Tengo responding
as honestly as he could.
The nurses talked about their own lives as well. All three had been born in this
area, had entered nursing school after high school, and had become nurses. They all
found work at the sanatorium monotonous and boring, the working hours long and
irregular, but they were happy to be able to work in their hometown. The work was
much less stressful than being at a general hospital, where they would face life-and-
death situations on a daily basis. The old people in the sanatorium gradually lost their
memory and died, not really understanding their situation. There was little blood, and
the staff minimized any pain. No one was brought there by ambulance in the middle
of the night, and there were no distraught, sobbing families to deal with. The cost of
living was low in the area, so even with a salary that wasn’t the most generous they
were able to comfortably get by. Nurse Tamura, the one with glasses, had lost her
husband five years earlier in an accident, and lived in a nearby town with her mother.
Nurse Omura, who wore the ballpoint pen in her hair, had two little boys and a
husband who drove a cab. Young Miss Adachi lived in an apartment on the outskirts
of town with her sister, who was three years older and worked as a hair stylist.
“You are such a kind person, Tengo,” Nurse Omura said as she changed an IV bag.
“There’s no one else I know who comes here to read aloud to an unconscious
patient.”
The praise made Tengo uncomfortable. “I just happen to have some vacation
days,” he said. “But I won’t be here all that long.”
“No matter how much free time someone might have, they don’t come to a place
like this because they want to,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but these are
patients who will never recover. As time passes it makes people get more and more
depressed.”
“My father asked me to read to him. He said he didn’t mind what I read. This was
a long time ago, when he was still conscious. Besides, I don’t have anything else to
do, so I might as well come here.”
“What do you read to him?”
“All kinds of things. I just pick whatever book I’m in the midst of reading, and
read aloud from wherever I’ve left off.”
“What are you reading right now?”
“Isak Dinesen’s
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