After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

Maybe we 
are nothing but skin cells as far as the world is concerned. If so, there’s nothing 
mysterious about somebody suddenly disappearing one day
. 
“I may be next,” Tengo said. 
Fuka-Eri gave her head a tight, little shake. “Not you,” she said. 
“Why not me?” 
“Because I did a purification.” 

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Tengo contemplated this for several seconds without reaching a conclusion. He 
knew from the start that no amount of thinking could do any good. Still, he could not 
entirely forgo the effort to think. 
“In any case, we can’t see Mr. Komatsu right now,” Tengo said. “And I can’t give 
the money back to him.” 
“The money is no problem,” Fuka-Eri said. 
“Then what is a problem?” Tengo asked. 
Of course, he did not receive an answer. 
Tengo decided to follow through on last night’s resolution to search for Aomame. If 
he spent the whole day in a concentrated effort, he should at least be able to come up 
with some kind of clue. But in fact, it turned out not to be that easy. He left Fuka-Eri 
in his apartment (after warning her repeatedly not to open the door for anyone) and 
went to the telephone company’s main office, which had a complete set of telephone 
books for every part of the country, available for public use. He went through all the 
phone books for Tokyo’s twenty-three central wards, looking for the name 
“Aomame.” Even if he didn’t find Aomame herself, a relative might be living there, 
and he could ask that person for news of Aomame. 
But he found no one with the name Aomame. He broadened his search to include 
the entire Tokyo metropolis and still found no one. He further broadened his search to 
include the entire Kanto region—the prefectures of Chiba, Kanagawa, and Saitama. 
At that point, his time and energy ran out. After glaring at the phone books’ tiny type 
all day, his eyeballs were aching. 
Several possibilities came to mind. 
1 She was living in a suburb of the city of Utashinai on Hokkaido. 
2 She had married and changed her name to “Ito.” 
3 She kept her number unlisted to protect her privacy. 
4 She had died in the spring two years earlier from a virulent influenza.
There must have been any number of possibilities besides these. It didn’t make 
sense to rely strictly on the phone books. Nor could he read every one in the country. 
It could be next month before he finally reached Hokkaido. He had to find another 
way. 
Tengo bought a telephone card and entered a booth at the telephone company. 
From there he called their old elementary school in Ichikawa and asked the female 
office worker who answered the phone to look up the address they had on file for 
Aomame, saying he wanted to reach her on alumni association business. The woman 
seemed kind and unhurried as she went through the roster of graduates. Aomame had 
transferred to another school in the fifth grade and was not a graduate. Her name 
therefore did not appear in the roster, and they did not know her current address. It 
would be possible, however, to find the address to which she moved at the time. Did 
he want to know that? 
Tengo said that he did want to know that. 
He took down the address and telephone number, “c/o Koji Tasaki” in Tokyo’s 
Adachi Ward. Aomame had apparently left her parents’ home at the time. Something 

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must have happened. Figuring it was probably hopeless, Tengo tried dialing the phone 
number. As he had expected, the number was no longer in use. It had been twenty 
years, after all. He called Information and gave them the address and the name Koji 
Tasaki, but learned only that no telephone was listed under that name. 
Next Tengo tried finding the phone number for the headquarters of the Society of 
Witnesses, but no contacts were listed for them in any of the phone books he 
perused—nothing under “Before the Flood,” nothing under “Society of Witnesses” or 
anything else of that ilk. He tried the classified directory under “Religious 
Organizations” but found nothing. At the end of this struggle, Tengo concluded that 
they probably didn’t want anyone contacting them. 
This was, upon reflection, rather odd. They showed up all the time. They’d ring the 
bell or knock on the door, unconcerned that you might be otherwise occupied—be it 
baking a soufflé, soldering a connection, washing your hair, training a mouse to do 
tricks, or thinking about quadratic functions—and, with a big smile, invite you to 
study the Bible with them. They had no problem coming to see you, but you were not 
free to go to see them (unless you were a believer, probably). You couldn’t ask them 
one simple question. This was rather inconvenient. 
But even if he did manage to find the Society’s phone number and get in touch 
with them, it was hard to imagine that such a wary organization would freely disclose 
information on an individual believer. No doubt they had their reasons for being so 
guarded. Many people hated them for their extreme, eccentric doctrines and for the 
close-minded nature of their faith. They had caused several social problems, as a 
result of which their treatment often bordered on persecution. It had probably become 
second nature for them to protect their community from a less-than-welcoming 
outside world. 
In any case, Tengo’s search for Aomame had been shut down, at least for now. He 
could not immediately think of what additional search methods might remain. 
Aomame was such an unusual name, you could never forget it once you’d heard it. 
But in trying to trace the footsteps of one single human being who bore that name, he 
quickly collided with a hard wall. It might be quicker to go around asking Society of 
Witnesses members directly. Headquarters would probably doubt his motives and 
refuse to tell him anything, but if he were to ask some individual member, he felt, 
they would probably be kind enough to tell him. But Tengo did not know even one 
member of the Society of Witnesses. Come to think of it, no one from the Society had 
knocked on his door for a good ten years now. Why did they not come when you 
wanted them and come only when you didn’t want them? 
One possibility was to put a classified ad in the paper. “Aomame, please contact 
me immediately. Kawana.” Stupid sounding. Tengo couldn’t believe that Aomame 
would bother to contact him even if she saw such an ad. It would probably just end up 
scaring her away. “Kawana” was not such a common name, either, but Tengo 
couldn’t believe that Aomame would still remember it. Kawana—who’s that? She 
simply wouldn’t contact him. And besides, who read classified ads, anyway? 
Another approach might be to hire a private detective. They should know how to 
look for people. They have their methods and connections. The clues Tengo already 
had might be enough for them to find her right away. And it probably wouldn’t be too 

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expensive. But that might be something to set aside as a last resort, Tengo thought. He 
would try a little harder to see what he could come up with himself. 
When the daylight began to fade, he went home to find Fuka-Eri sitting on the floor, 
listening to records—old jazz records left by his girlfriend. Record jackets were 
spread on the floor—Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, Billie Holliday. Spinning on 
the turntable just then was Louis Armstrong singing “Chantez les Bas,” a memorable 
song. It reminded him of his girlfriend. They had often listened to this one between 
bouts of lovemaking. Near the end, the trombonist, Trummy Young, gets carried 
away, forgets to end his solo at the agreed-upon point, and plays an extra eight bars. 
“Here, this is the part,” his girlfriend had explained to him. When it ended, it was 
Tengo’s job to get out of bed naked, go to the next room, and turn the LP over to play 
the second side. He felt a twinge of nostalgia recalling those days. Though he never 
thought the relationship would last forever, he had not expected it to end so abruptly. 
Tengo felt odd seeing Fuka-Eri listening intently to the records that Kyoko Yasuda 
had left behind. Wrinkling her brow in complete concentration, she seemed to be 
trying to hear something beyond the old music, straining to see the shadow of 
something in its tones. 
“You like this record?” 
“I listened to it a lot,” Fuka-Eri said. “Is that okay.” 
“Sure, it’s okay. But aren’t you bored here all by yourself?” 
Fuka-Eri gave her head a little shake. “I have stuff to think about.” 
Tengo wanted to ask Fuka-Eri about what had happened between them during the 
thunderstorm.