After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

particularly—living as myself scares me more.” 
The dowager gave a fleeting smile that seemed to revive her a little. Her lips now 
had a touch of color. Maybe speaking with Aomame had helped, or perhaps the sip of 
sherry was having its effect. 
“I believe you said there is a particular man you are in love with.” 
“Yes, it’s true, but the chances of my actually being with him are infinitely close to 
zero. So even if I were to die, the resulting loss would also be infinitely close to zero.” 
The dowager narrowed her eyes. “Is there a concrete reason that you think you 
probably will never be united with him?” 
“Not in particular,” Aomame said. “Other than the fact that I am me.” 
“Don’t you have any intention of taking the initiative to approach him?” 
Aomame shook her head. “The most important thing to me is the fact that I want 
him with my whole heart.” 
The dowager kept her eyes fixed on Aomame for a while in apparent admiration. 
“You are very clear about your own ideas, aren’t you?” she said. 
“I had to be that way,” Aomame said, going through the motions of bringing the 
sherry glass to her lips. “It was not a matter of choice.” 
Silence filled the room for a short while. The lilies continued hanging their heads, 
and the goldfish continued swimming in the refracted summer sunlight. 
“We can set things up so that you are alone with Leader,” the dowager said. “It 
won’t be easy, and it will take a good deal of time, but I can make it happen. All you 
have to do is what you always do for us. Except this time, you’ll have to disappear 
afterward. Have plastic surgery. Quit your current job, of course, and go far away. 
Change your name. Get rid of all your possessions. Become another person. Of course 
you will be compensated with a suitable payment. I will be responsible for everything 
else. Is this all right with you?” 
Aomame said, “As I said before, I don’t have anything to lose. My work, my 
name, this life of mine in Tokyo: none of them mean anything to me. I have no 
objections at all.” 
“And your face? You don’t mind if it changes?” 
“Would it change for the better?” 
“If you wanted, of course we could do that,” the dowager replied with a somber 
expression. “We can make a face according to your wishes—within limits, of course.” 
“As long as we’re at it, I might as well have them do a breast enlargement.” 

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The dowager nodded. “That may be a good idea—for disguise purposes, I mean, of 
course.” 
“I’m just kidding,” Aomame said, softening her expression. “I’m not exactly proud 
of them, but I don’t mind leaving them just the way they are. They’re light and easy to 
carry. And it would be such a pain to buy all new bras.” 
“That’s nothing. I’d buy you as many as you liked.” 
“No, I’m kidding about that, too,” Aomame said. 
The dowager cracked a smile. “Sorry, I’m not used to hearing jokes from you.” 
“I don’t have any objection to plastic surgery,” Aomame said. “I’ve never felt I 
wanted to have it, but I don’t have any reason to refuse it, either. I’ve never really 
liked my face, and I don’t have anybody who likes it especially, either.” 
“You’ll lose all your friends, too, you know.” 
“I don’t have any ‘friends,’ ” Aomame said, but then Ayumi came to mind. 
If I 
were to just disappear without saying anything to her, she might be sad. She might 
even feel betrayed
. But there had been a problem with calling her a “friend” right 
from the start. Aomame was traveling too dangerous a road to make friends with a 
police officer. 
“I had two children,” the dowager said. “A boy and a girl. She was three years 
younger than he. As I told you before, she died—she committed suicide. She had no 
children. My son and I have had our troubles and have not gotten along well for a 
very long time. I hardly ever talk to him now. I have three grandchildren, but I 
haven’t seen them for a long time, either. When I die, though, most of my estate will 
go to my only son and his children, almost automatically. Wills don’t carry much 
force these days, unlike the way it used to be. For now, though, my discretionary 
funds are quite considerable. I’d like to leave a lot of that money to you, if you 
succeed in this new task. Please don’t misunderstand, though: I’m not trying to buy 
you off. All I want to say is that I think of you as my own daughter. I wish you 
were
my actual daughter.” 
Aomame gazed quietly at the dowager, who set her sherry glass on the table as if 
suddenly recalling that she was holding it. She then turned to look at the glossy petals 
of the lilies behind her. Inhaling their rich fragrance, she looked once again at 
Aomame. 
“As I said before, I was planning to adopt Tsubasa, but now I’ve lost her, too. I 
couldn’t help her. I did nothing but stand by and watch her disappear alone into the 
dark of night. And now, I’m getting ready to send you into far greater danger than 
ever before. I don’t really want to do that, but unfortunately, I can’t think of any other 
way to accomplish our goal. All I can do is offer you tangible compensation.” 
Aomame listened attentively without comment. When the dowager fell silent, the 
chirping of a bird came clearly through the windowpane. It continued for a while, 
until the bird flew off somewhere. 
“That man must be ‘taken care of,’ no matter what,” Aomame said. “That is the 
most important thing now. I have nothing but the deepest gratitude for the way you 
feel about me. I think you know that I rejected my parents and they abandoned me 
when I was a child; we both had our reasons. I had no choice but to take a path 
without anything like family affection. In order to survive on my own, I had to adapt 
myself to such a frame of mind. It wasn’t easy. I often felt that I was nothing but 

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scum—some kind of meaningless, filthy residue—which is why I am so grateful to 
you for what you just said to me. But it’s a bit too late for me to change my attitude or 
lifestyle. This is not true of Tsubasa, however. I’m sure she can still be saved. Please 
don’t resign yourself to losing her so easily. Don’t lose hope. Get her back!” 
The dowager nodded. “I’m afraid I didn’t put it very well. I am of course not 
resigned to losing her. I will do everything in my power to bring her back. But as you 
can see, I’m too tired right now. My failure to help her has filled me with a deep sense 
of powerlessness. I need a little time to get my energy back. On the other hand, I may 
just be too old. The energy might never come back, no matter how long I wait.” 
Aomame got up from the sofa and went over to the dowager. Sitting on the arm of 
her armchair, she grasped the woman’s slim, elegant hand. 
“You’re an incredibly tough woman,” Aomame said. “You can go on living with 
more strength than anybody. You just happen to be exhausted. You ought to lie down 
and get some rest. When you wake up, you’ll be your old self, I’m sure.” 
“Thank you,” the dowager said, squeezing Aomame’s hand in return. “You’re 
right: I should probably get some sleep.” 
“I’ll be leaving, then,” Aomame said. “I will be waiting to hear from you. I’ll put 
my things in order—not that I own so many ‘things’ to put in order.” 
“Prepare yourself to travel light. If there’s anything you need, we’ll take care of 
it.” 
Aomame released the dowager’s hand and stood up. “Good night. I’m sure 
everything is going to go well.” 
The dowager nodded. Still cradled in her chair, she closed her eyes. Aomame took 
one last glance at the goldfish bowl and one last whiff of the lilies before she left the 
high-ceilinged living room. 
. . . 
Tamaru was waiting for her at the front door. Five o’clock had come, but the sun was 
still high in the sky, its intensity undiminished. The glare of its light reflected off 
Tamaru’s black cordovan shoes, which were perfectly polished as usual. A few white 
summer clouds appeared in the sky, but they gathered at its corners, where they could 
not block the sun. The end of the rainy season was not yet near, but there had been 
several days in a row of midsummer-like weather, complete with the cries of cicadas, 
which now sounded from the garden’s trees. The cries were not very strong. If 
anything, they seemed somewhat restrained. But they were a positive sign of the 
season to come. The world was still working as it always did. The cicadas cried, the 
clouds moved along, Tamaru’s shoes were spotless. But all of this seemed fresh and 
new to Aomame: that the world should continue along as usual. 
Aomame asked Tamaru, “Can we talk a little? Do you have time?” 
“Fine,” Tamaru said. His expression did not change. “I have time. Killing time is 
part of what I do for a living.” He lowered himself into one of the garden chairs by the 
front door. Aomame sat in the chair next to his. The overhanging eaves blocked the 
sunlight. The two of them sat in their cool shadow. There was the smell of fresh grass. 
“Summer’s here already,” Tamaru said. 
“The cicadas have started crying,” Aomame replied. 

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“They seem a little early this year. This area’s going to get very noisy again for a 
while. That piercing cry hurts your ears. I heard exactly the same sound when I stayed 
in the town of Niagara Falls. It just kept going from morning to night without a letup, 
like a million cicadas.” 
“So you’ve been to Niagara Falls.” 
Tamaru nodded. “It was the most boring town in the world. I stayed there alone for 
three days and there was nothing to do but listen to the sound of the falls. It was too 
noisy to read.” 
“What were you doing alone in Niagara Falls for three days?” 
Instead of answering, Tamaru just shook his head. 
Tamaru and Aomame went on listening to the faint cries of the cicadas, saying 
nothing. 
“I’ve got a favor to ask of you,” Aomame said. 
This seemed to pique Tamaru’s interest. Aomame was not in the habit of asking 
people for favors. 
She said, “It’s kind of unusual. I hope it doesn’t annoy you.” 
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to accommodate you, but I’ll be glad at least to listen. 
It’s not polite to be annoyed when a lady asks a favor.” 
“I need a gun,” Aomame said flatly. “One that would fit in a handbag. Something 
with a small recoil but still fairly powerful and dependable. Not a modified fake or 
one of those Filipino copies. I’ll only need to use it once. And one bullet should be 
enough.” 
Silence. Tamaru kept his eyes on Aomame the whole time, unwavering. 
Then, speaking slowly and carefully, Tamaru said, “You 
do
know that it is illegal 
in this country for an ordinary citizen to own a handgun, don’t you?” 
“Of course I do.” 
“And just so you know, let me say this,” Tamaru continued. “I have never once 
been charged with a crime. That is to say, I have no police record. Now, this may be 
owing to some oversights on the part of the justice system, I don’t deny that. But at 
least as far as the written record is concerned, I’m a good citizen. Honest, upright, 
pure. I’m gay, but that’s not against the law. I pay my taxes as ordered, and I vote in 
elections—though no candidate I voted for was ever elected. I’ve even paid all my 
parking tickets before the due date. I haven’t been stopped for speeding in the past ten 
years. I’m enrolled in the National Health Insurance system. I pay my NHK licensing 
fee automatically from my bank account, and I carry both an American Express card 
and a MasterCard. Although I have no intention of doing so now, I could qualify for a 
thirty-year mortgage if I wanted one, and it always pleases me immensely to think 
that I am in such a position. In other words, I could be called a pillar of society 
without the least bit of irony. Do you realize that you are asking such a person to 
provide you with a gun?” 
“Which is why I said I hoped you wouldn’t be annoyed.” 
“Yes, I heard you say that.” 
“Sorry, but I couldn’t think of anyone besides you I could ask.” 
Tamaru made a small, strangled sound in the back of his throat that could well 
have been the suppression of a sigh. “Now, just supposing that I were in a position to 

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provide you with what you are asking for, common sense tells me that I would 
probably want to ask you this: Whom do you intend to shoot?” 
Aomame pointed her index finger toward her own temple. “Right here, probably.” 
Tamaru stared at the finger expressionlessly for a moment. “My next question 
would probably be, ‘Why?’ ” 
“Because I don’t want to be captured,” Aomame said. “I’m not afraid to die. And 
although I probably wouldn’t like it, I could tolerate going to prison. But I refuse to 
be held hostage and tortured by some unknown bunch of people. I just don’t want to 
give away anybody’s name. Do you see what I am saying?” 
“I think I do.” 
“I don’t plan to shoot anybody or to rob a bank. So I don’t need some big, twenty-
shot semiautomatic. I want something compact without much kick.” 
“A drug would be another option. It’s more practical than trying to get ahold of a 
gun.” 
“Taking out a drug and swallowing it would take time. Before I could crush a 
capsule in my teeth, somebody might stick a hand in my mouth and stop me. With a 
gun, I could hold the other person off while I took care of things.” 
Tamaru thought about this for a moment, his right eyebrow slightly raised. 
“I’d rather not lose you, if I can help it,” he said. “I kind of like you. Personally, 
that is.” 
Aomame gave him a little smile. “For a human female, you mean?” 
Without changing his expression, Tamaru said, “Male, female, human, dog—I 
don’t have that many individuals I’m fond of.” 
“No, of course not,” Aomame said. 
“At the same time, my single most important duty is protecting Madame’s health 
and safety. And I’m—what should I say?—kind of a pro.” 
“That goes without saying.” 
“So let me see what I can do. I can’t guarantee anything, but I might be able to find 
somebody I know who can respond to your request. This is a very delicate business, 
though. It’s not like buying an electric blanket by mail order. It might take a week 
before I can get back to you.” 
“That would be fine,” Aomame said. 
Tamaru squinted up at the trees where the cicadas were buzzing. “I hope 
everything goes well. I’ll do whatever I can, within reason.” 
“Thanks, Tamaru. This next job will probably be my last. I might never see you 
again.” 
Tamaru spread his arms, palms up, as if he were standing in a desert, waiting for 
the rain to fall, but he said nothing. He had big, fleshy palms marked with scars. His 
hands looked more like parts of a giant machine than of a human body. 
“I don’t like good-byes,” Tamaru said. “I didn’t even have a chance to say good-
bye to my parents.” 
“Are they dead?” 
“I don’t know whether they’re alive or dead. I was born on Sakhalin Island the 
year before the war ended. The south end of Sakhalin was a Japanese territory called 
Karafuto, but the Soviets occupied it, and my parents were taken prisoner. My father 
apparently had some kind of job with the harbor facilities. Most of the Japanese 

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civilian prisoners were returned to Japan soon enough, but my parents couldn’t go to 
Japan because they were Koreans who had been sent to Sakhalin as laborers. The 
Japanese government refused to take them. Once Japan lost the war, Koreans were no 
longer subjects of the empire of Japan. It was terrible. The government didn’t have a 
shred of sympathy for them. They could have gone to North Korea if they wanted to, 
but not to the South, because the Soviet Union at the time didn’t recognize the 
existence of South Korea. My parents came from a fishing village near Pusan and had 
no desire to go to the North. They had no relatives or friends up there. I was still a 
baby. They put me in the hands of a couple being repatriated to Japan, and those 
people took me across the straits to Hokkaido. The food situation in Sakhalin at the 
time was horrendous, and the Soviet army’s treatment of their prisoners was terrible. 
My parents had other small children and must have figured it would be hard to bring 
me up there. They probably figured they would send me over to Hokkaido first and 
join me later. Or maybe it was just an excuse to get rid of me. I don’t know the 
details. In any case, we were never reunited. They’re probably still in Sakhalin to this 
day—assuming they haven’t died yet.” 
“You don’t remember them?” 
“Not a thing. I was just a little over a year old when we separated. The couple kept 
me for a while and then sent me to a facility for orphans in the mountains near 
Hakodate, way down near the southern tip of Hokkaido, about as far as you could go 
from Sakhalin and still be on Hokkaido. They probably couldn’t afford to keep me. 
Some Catholic organization ran the orphanage, which was a