After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

if you make 
up your mind to do it. Isn’t that true?
But he had to prove it to himself. 
Tengo decided to discard the manuscript he had written thus far and start a brand-
new story from scratch. He closed his eyes and, for a long time, listened closely to the 
dripping of the little spring inside him. Eventually the words began to come naturally 
to him. Little by little, taking all the time he needed, he began to form them into 
sentences. 
In early May Komatsu called him for the first time in quite a while. The phone rang 
just before nine o’clock at night. 
“It’s all set,” Komatsu said, with a note of excitement in his voice. This was rare 
for him. 
Tengo could not tell at first what Komatsu was talking about. “What’s all set?” 
“What else? 
Air Chrysalis
took the new writers’ award a few minutes ago. The 
committee reached a unanimous decision, with none of the usual debate. I guess you 
could say it was inevitable, it’s such a powerful work. In any case, things have started 
to move. We’re in this together from now on, Tengo. Let’s give it our best shot.” 
Tengo glanced at the calendar on the wall. Come to think of it, today 
was
the day 
the screening committee was going to pick the winner. Tengo had been so absorbed in 
writing his own novel, he had lost all sense of time. 
“So what happens now?” Tengo asked. “In terms of the prize schedule, I mean.” 
“Tomorrow the newspapers announce it—every paper in the country. They’ll 
probably have photos, too. A pretty seventeen-year-old girl wins: that alone will cause 
a sensation. Don’t take this the wrong way, but that has a lot more news value than if 
the new writers’ prize had gone to some thirty-year-old cram school teacher who 
looks like a bear coming out of hibernation.” 
“Way more,” Tengo said. 
“Then comes the award ceremony on May 16 in a Shinbashi hotel. The press 
conference is all arranged.” 
“Will Fuka-Eri be there?” 
“I’m sure she will, this time at least. There’s no way the winner of a new writers’ 
prize wouldn’t be present at the award ceremony. If we can get through that without 
any major mishaps, we can then adopt a policy of total secrecy. ‘Sorry, but the author 

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does not wish to make public appearances.’ We can hold them at bay like that, and the 
truth will never come out.” 
Tengo tried to imagine Fuka-Eri holding a press conference in a hotel ballroom. A 
row of microphones, cameras flashing. He couldn’t picture it. 
“Do you really need to have a press conference?” he asked Komatsu. 
“We’ll have to, at least once, to keep up appearances.” 
“It’s bound to be a disaster!” 
“Which is why it’s your job, Tengo, to make sure it doesn’t turn into a disaster.” 
Tengo went silent. Ominous dark clouds appeared on the horizon. 
“Hey, are you still there?” Komatsu asked. 
“I’m here,” Tengo said. “What does that mean—it’s 
my job
?” 
“You have to drill Fuka-Eri on how a press conference works and how to deal with 
it. Pretty much the same sorts of questions come up every time, so you should prepare 
answers for questions they’re likely to ask, and have her memorize them word for 
word. You teach at a cram school. You must know how to do stuff like that.” 
“You want 
me
to do it?” 
“Of course. She trusts you, for some reason. She’ll listen to you. There’s no way I 
can do it. She hasn’t even agreed to meet me.” 
Tengo sighed. He wished he could cut all ties with 
Air Chrysalis
. He had done 
everything asked of him, and now he just wanted to concentrate on his own work. 
Something told him, however, that it was not going to be that simple, and he knew 
that bad premonitions have a far higher accuracy rate than good ones. 
“Are you free in the evening the day after tomorrow?” Komatsu asked. 
“I am.” 
“Six o’clock at the usual café in Shinjuku. Fuka-Eri will be there.” 
“I can’t do what you’re asking me to do,” Tengo said to Komatsu. “I don’t know 
anything about press conferences. I’ve never even seen one.” 
“You want to be a novelist, right? So imagine it. Isn’t that the job of the novelist—
to imagine things he’s never seen?” 
“Yes, but aren’t you the one who told me all I had to do was rewrite