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rules that govern the world have begun to loosen up around us. As I said before, I
have this strange
sense that you are
actually doing that
. Like you have gone to my
apartment in Koenji and are knocking on the door. You know what I mean? You
announce you’re an NHK fee collector, bang hard on the door, and yell out a threat in
a loud voice. Just like you used to do all the time when we
made the rounds in
Ichikawa.”
He felt a change in the air pressure in the room. The window was open, but there
was barely any sound coming in. There was just the occasional burst of chirping
sparrows.
“There is a girl staying in my apartment in Tokyo. Not a girlfriend or anything—
something happened and she’s taking shelter there temporarily. A few days ago she
told me on the phone about an NHK collector who came by,
how he knocked on the
door, and what he did and said out in the corridor. It was strange how closely it
resembled the methods you used to use. The words she heard were exactly the same
lines I remember, the expressions I was hoping I could totally erase from my memory.
And I’m thinking now that that fee collector might actually have been you. Am I
wrong?”
Tengo waited thirty seconds. His father didn’t twitch a single eyelash.
“There’s just one thing I want: for you to never knock on my door again. I don’t
have a TV. And those days when we went around together collecting fees are long
gone. I think we
already agreed on that, that time in front of my teacher—I don’t
remember her name, the one who was in charge of my class. A short lady, with
glasses. You remember that, right? So don’t knock on my door ever again, okay? And
not just my place. Don’t knock on any more doors anywhere. You’re not an NHK fee
collector anymore, and you don’t have the right to scare people like that.”
Tengo stood up,
went to the window, and looked outside. An old man in a bulky
sweater, clutching a cane, was walking in front of the woods. He was probably just
taking a stroll. He was tall, with white hair, and excellent posture.
But his steps were
awkward, as if he had forgotten how to walk, as if with each step forward he was
remembering how to do it. Tengo watched him for a while. The old man slowly made
his way across the garden, then turned the corner of the building and disappeared. It
didn’t look like he had recalled the art of walking. Tengo turned to face his father.
“I’m not blaming you. You have the right to send your consciousness wherever
you want. It’s your life, and your consciousness. You have
your own idea of what is
right, and you’re putting it into practice. Maybe I don’t have the right to say these
things. But you need to understand:
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