After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

kakekomidera
, temples 
in the old days that sheltered wives running away from abusive husbands. Anyway, it 
isn’t going to fatten a real estate agent’s wallet.” 
The old man laughed, with his mouth shut. He sounded like a woodpecker. 
“A 
kakekomidera
, eh?” Ushikawa said. He offered him a Seven Stars cigarette. 
The old man took it, let Ushikawa light it for him with his lighter, and took a deep, 
appreciative drag on it. This is exactly what the Seven Stars must long for, Ushikawa 
mused—to be enjoyed so thoroughly. 
“Women whose husbands smack them around and run away, their faces all puffed 
up, they—they take shelter there. They don’t have to pay rent.” 
“Like a kind of public service,” Ushikawa said. 
“Yes, that sort of thing. They had this extra apartment building so they used it to 
help people in trouble. She’s tremendously wealthy, so she could do whatever she 
wanted, without worrying about making money. Not like the rest of us.” 
“But why did Mrs. Ogata start doing that? Was there something that led up to it?” 
“I don’t know. She’s so rich that maybe it’s like a hobby?” 
“Well, even if it is a hobby,” Ushikawa said, beaming, “that’s a wonderful thing, to 
help people in trouble like that. Not everyone with money to burn takes the initiative 
to help others.” 
“Of course it’s a nice thing to do,” the old man agreed. “Years ago I used to hit my 
old lady all the time, so I’m not one to talk.” He opened his mouth, showing off his 
missing teeth, and guffawed, as if hitting your wife every once in a while were one of 
life’s notable pleasures. 
“So I take it that several people live there now?” Ushikawa asked. 
“I go past there when I take a walk every morning, but you can’t see anything from 
outside. But it does seem like a few people are living there. I guess there will always 
be men in the world who beat their wives.” 
“There are always far more people in the world who make things worse, rather 
than help out.” 
The old man guffawed again loudly, his mouth wide open. “You got that right. 
There are a lot more people who do bad things than do good.” 
The old man seemed to have taken a liking to Ushikawa. This made Ushikawa 
uncomfortable. 
“By the way, what sort of person is Mrs. Ogata?” Ushikawa asked, trying to sound 
casual. 
“I really don’t know that much about her,” the old man replied, knitting his brow 
like the spirit of an old, withered tree. “She lives a very quiet, reserved life. I’ve done 

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554
business here for many years, but at most I’ve just caught glimpses of her from afar. 
When she goes out she always has a chauffeur, and her maids do all the shopping. She 
has a man who is like her personal secretary and he takes care of most everything. I 
mean, she’s a well-bred, wealthy woman, and you can’t expect her to talk with the hoi 
polloi.” The old man frowned, and from the midst of those wrinkles came a wink, 
directed at Ushikawa. 
By hoi polloi, the old man with the yellowed face seemed to be talking about a 
group composed primarily of two people: himself and Ushikawa. 
Ushikawa asked another question. “How long has Mrs. Ogata been active in 
providing a safe house for victims of domestic violence?” 
“I’m not really sure. I’ve only heard from others that the place is a kind of 
kakekomidera
. But about four years ago, people started to go in and out of that 
apartment building. Four or five years, something like that.” The old man lifted the 
teacup to his lips and drank his cold tea. “It was about then that they built a new gate 
and the security got tighter. It’s a safe house, after all, and if anyone can just wander 
in, the folks who live there won’t be able to relax.” 
The old man seemed to come back to the present. He looked at Ushikawa a bit 
suspiciously. “So—you said you’re looking for a reasonably priced place to rent?” 
“That’s correct.” 
“Then you better try somewhere else. This neighborhood is full of expensive 
mansions and even if there are places for rent that come on the market, they’re all 
high-end rentals aimed at foreigners who work in the embassies. A long time ago 
there were a lot of regular people who lived around here, ones who weren’t so 
wealthy. As a matter of fact, finding places for them is how our business got started. 
But there aren’t any affordable houses left, so I’m thinking of closing the business. 
Land prices in Tokyo have skyrocketed and small fry like me can’t handle it anymore. 
Unless you have bags of cash to spare, I suggest you try elsewhere.” 
“I’ll do that,” Ushikawa said. “The truth is, I am a bit strapped. I’ll try some other 
location.” 
The old man breathed out cigarette smoke and a sigh. “But once Mrs. Ogata 
passes, you can bet that mansion will disappear. That son of hers is a real go-getter, 
and there’s no way he’s going to let a prime piece of real estate like that in a premium 
area just sit around. He’ll knock it down in a flash and put up an ultra-high-end 
condo. He may very well be drawing up the blueprints as we speak.” 
“If that happens this whole neighborhood won’t be quite as serene as it is now.” 
“Yup, you won’t recognize it.” 
“You mentioned her son. What business is he in?” 
“Basically he’s in real estate. The same as me. But the difference between us is 
like chalk and cheese. Like a Rolls-Royce and an old bicycle. He takes a huge amount 
of capital and then makes investments on his own, one after another. He licks up all 
the honey himself, without leaving a drop behind. Nothing spills over in my direction, 
I can tell you that. The world sucks, that’s for sure.” 
“I was just walking around a while ago and wandered all around the outskirts of 
that mansion. I was impressed. It’s quite a place.” 

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555
“Well, it’s definitely the best residence in this neighborhood. When I picture those 
beautiful willow trees being chopped down, it hurts.” The old man shook his head as 
if he really were in pain. “I can only hope that Mrs. Ogata lives a little longer.” 
“I hear you,” Ushikawa agreed. 
Ushikawa found a listing for the Center for Victims of Domestic Violence in the 
phone book and decided to contact them. It was a nonprofit organization, run by 
volunteers and headed by several lawyers. Ushikawa made an appointment in the 
name of his phony office, the New Japan Foundation for the Advancement of 
Scholarship and the Arts. He led them to believe he might be a potential donor, and 
they set the time for the appointment. 
Ushikawa proffered his business card (which was the same as the one he had given 
to Tengo) and explained how one of the purposes of his foundation was to pinpoint an 
outstanding nonprofit organization that was making a real contribution to society, and 
provide them with a grant. Though he couldn’t reveal who the sponsor was, the grant 
could be used in any way the recipient wished. The only requirement was to submit a 
simple report by the end of the year. 
Ushikawa’s appearance didn’t inspire any goodwill or trust, and the young lawyer 
he spoke with eyed him warily at first. However, they were chronically short on 
funds, and had to accept any support, no matter the source. 
“I’ll need to know more about your activities,” Ushikawa said. The lawyer 
explained how they had started the organization. Ushikawa found this history boring, 
but he listened carefully, his expression one of devoted interest. He made all the 
appropriate noises, nodded in all the right places, and kept his expression docile and 
open. As he did, the lawyer warmed up to him. Ushikawa was a highly trained 
listener, adopting such a sincere and receptive manner that he almost always 
succeeded in putting the other person at ease. 
He found the opportunity to casually nudge the conversation in the direction of the 
safe house. For the unfortunate women who are running away from domestic 
violence, he asked, if they can’t find an appropriate place to go, where do they end up 
living? He put on an expression that showed his deep sympathy for these women 
whose fate was like that of leaves tossed about in some outrageously strong wind. 
“In instances like that we have several safe houses where they can go,” the young 
lawyer replied. 
“Safe houses?” 
“Temporary refuges. There aren’t many, but there are places that charitable people 
have offered us. One person has even provided an entire apartment building for us to 
use.” 
“An entire apartment building,” Ushikawa said, sounding impressed. “I guess 
some people can be quite generous.” 
“That’s right. Whenever our activities are covered in newspapers or magazines, 
inevitably we’ll get a call from people wanting to help out. Without offers from 
people like that, we would never be able to keep this organization going, since we 
depend almost entirely on contributions.” 
“What you’re doing is very meaningful,” Ushikawa said. 

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556
The lawyer flashed him a vulnerable smile.