After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

state as possible. 
I am concentrating my mind on that task and mobilizing all the strength I can muster 
up. I can think about the other task after this one is finished
. 
At the same time, Aomame was unable to suppress her curiosity. The man’s far-
from-ordinary illness; the fine, healthy muscles so terribly obstructed by it; the strong 
will and powerful flesh that enabled him to bear the intense pain he called his 
“payment for heavenly grace”: all aroused her curiosity. She wanted to see what she 
could do for this man, what kind of response his flesh would show. It was a matter of 
both professional curiosity and personal curiosity. 
Also, if I killed him now, I would 
have to leave right away. If the job ends too quickly, the two men in the next room 
might find it suspicious. I told them that it would take an hour at the very least
. 
“I’m halfway done. Now I’ll do the second half. Could you please turn over onto 
your back?” 
The man rolled over slowly like some large aquatic animal that has been cast up on 
the shore. 
“The pain is definitely lessening,” the man said after releasing a long breath. 
“None of the treatments I have tried thus far have done as much.” 
“I am only treating the symptoms, however, not solving the basic problem. Until 
you identify the cause, the same thing will probably keep happening.” 
“I know that. I considered using morphine, but I would rather not use drugs if 
possible. Long-term use of drugs destroys the function of the brain.” 
“I will go on with the rest of the treatment now,” Aomame said. “I gather you are 
all right with my not holding back.” 
“It goes without saying.” 

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386
Aomame emptied her mind and worked on the man’s muscles with total 
concentration. The structure of each muscle in the human body was engraved in her 
professional memory—its function, the bones to which it was attached, its unique 
characteristics, its sensitivities. She inspected, shook, and effectively worked on each 
muscle and joint in order, the way zealous inquisitors used to test every point of pain 
in their victims’ bodies. 
Thirty minutes later, they were bathed in sweat, panting like lovers who have just had 
miraculously deep sex. The man said nothing for a time, and Aomame was at a loss 
for words. 
Finally, the man spoke: “I don’t want to exaggerate, but I feel as if every part of 
my body has been replaced.” 
Aomame said, “You might experience something of a backlash tonight. During the 
night your muscles might tighten up tremendously and let out a scream, but don’t 
worry, they will be back to normal tomorrow morning.” 
If you have a tomorrow morning
, Aomame thought. 
Sitting cross-legged on the yoga mat, the man took several deep breaths, as though 
testing the condition of his body. Then he said, “You really do seem to have a special 
talent.” 
Aomame toweled the sweat from her face as she said, “What I do is strictly 
practical. I studied the structure and function of the muscles in college and have 
expanded my knowledge through actual practice. I’ve put together my own system by 
making tiny adjustments to my technique, just doing things that are obvious and 
reasonable. ‘Truth’ here is for the most part observable and provable. It also involves 
a good deal of pain, of course.” 
The man opened his eyes and looked at Aomame as though intrigued. “So that is 
what you believe.” 
“What do you mean?” Aomame asked. 
“That truth is strictly something observable and provable.” 
Aomame pursed her lips slightly. “I’m not saying it is true for all truths, just that it 
happens to be the case in my professional field. Of course, if it were true in all fields, 
things in general would be a lot easier to grasp.” 
“Not at all,” the man said. 
“Why is that?” 
“Most people are not looking for provable truths. As you said, truth is often 
accompanied by intense pain, and almost no one is looking for painful truths. What 
people need is beautiful, comforting stories that make them feel as if their lives have 
some meaning. Which is where religion comes from.” 
The man turned his neck several times before continuing. 
“If a certain belief—call it ‘Belief A’—makes the life of that man or this woman 
appear to be something of deep meaning, then for them Belief A is the truth. If Belief 
B makes their lives appear to be powerless and puny, then Belief B turns out to be a 
falsehood. The distinction is quite clear. If someone insists that Belief B is the truth, 
people will probably hate him, ignore him, or, in some cases, attack him. It means 
nothing to them that Belief B might be logical or provable. Most people barely 

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387
manage to preserve their sanity by denying and rejecting images of themselves as 
powerless and puny.” 
“But people’s flesh—all flesh, with only minor differences—is a powerless and 
puny thing. This is self-evident, don’t you think?” 
“I do,” the man said. “All flesh, with only minor differences, is a powerless and 
puny thing doomed soon to disintegrate and disappear. That is an unmistakable truth. 
But what, then, of a person’s spirit?” 
“I try my best not to think about the spirit.” 
“And why is that?” 
“Because there is no particular need to think about it.” 
“Why is there no particular need to think about the spirit? Setting aside the 
question of whether it has any practical value to do so, thinking about one’s own spirit 
is one of the most indispensable of all human tasks, is it not?” 
“I have love,” Aomame declared.